When I was a small boy, my father was stationed on a large mission in
the back woods of Canada. The hardy emigrants from the Old World were
crowding into that new country, and every year additional thousands of
acres of grain were growing, where shortly before the dark primeval
forests, which had stood for centuries, held possession.
The native Indian tribes were retreating before this irresistible march
of the white man, or were settling on reservations selected for them by
the government. For years they retained their right to roam about, and
kill the game which still abounded, but which was rapidly becoming less
as the white settlements increased. In addition to their hunting and
fishing, the industrious Indians added to their comfort by manufacturing
native baskets, brooms, handles for axes, hoes and similar articles,
which they sold to the friendly settlers for food and clothing. Those
that left the fire-water alone, and were industrious, were thus able to
live comfortably.
To these Indians on their reservations the Gospel was proclaimed by the
self-sacrificing missionaries, as they travelled their toilsome rounds.
These visits were not made in vain. Many of these children of the
forest, sick and dissatisfied with their old paganism which gave no
peace to their troubled spirits, gladly received the truth, and became
earnest, consistent Christians. Their godly lives were, in many places,
a constant reproof to the inconsistencies and sins of their white
neighbours. At rare intervals in my boyhood days it was my great
privilege to be permitted to accompany my father to some of the Indian
encampments that were not very far from our home, I well remember the
sweet plaintive voices of the Indians, as they sung some of our hymns
which had been translated into their language. Their devout and
attentive demeanour during the religious services, deeply impressed me.
It was ever a great pleasure to visit them in their wigwams, to see the
young people at their sports, and the older ones at their work: building
canoes, or making baskets.
In my boyish curiosity, I did not confine my rambling solely to the
Christian Indians; but, as all were very friendly, I wandered about the
encampments to the different wigwams, to see what I could that was novel
and interesting. Being known as the son of the Blackcoat--for in this
way was the missionary designated by the tribe--I was always welcomed in
the wigwams, and was given a seat in the circle around the fire.
In one wigwam the following characteristic incident occurred which made
a deep impression on my mind. Seated on the ground were representatives
of three generations, all, except the aged grandfather, busily engaged
in work, principally basket-making. He was a patriarchal-looking old
man, and, to my youthful eyes as he sat there on his blanket smoking his
long pipe, seemed to be absorbed in thought, noticing neither me nor any
one else.
The youngest of the company, and the one that naturally attracted my
attention, was a young lad of about my own age. He was busily engaged
with an Indian crooked knife, endeavouring to make an arrow. In his
eagerness to succeed, he let his knife slip, and unfortunately, cut
himself very badly. At the sight of the blood,--which flowed freely,
for the wound was an ugly one--the lad set up a howl of pain and alarm,
which greatly startled his stoical relatives. Relief was quickly
afforded, the cut covered with balsam and tied up in a piece of deer
skin. Not one word of sympathy did the boy receive; but on the contrary
from nearly all in the wigwam arose a chorus of indignation and disgust.
To them it was a great disgrace that one of their family, and he a boy
of so many winters, should howl and cry like that, for such a trifling
injury.
How the other families would laugh at them when they heard of it! It
looked for a time as if they would severely punish him, not for his
awkwardness in handling his knife, but because he did not control his
feelings and treat the wound and the pain with utter indifference.
The old grandfather especially, was deeply stirred and indignant at
conduct so unworthy of his grandson, to whom evidently he was deeply
attached.
Indians very seldom punish their children. Upon the boys especially,
the rod is seldom used. The girls in the heathen families often have a
hard time of it, being frequently knocked about and beaten; but the boys
generally escape, even if they richly deserve punishment. Here,
however, was a very serious case. The boy had committed a crime in
crying out at an ordinary cut on his hand, inflicted by himself. It
would never do to let this pass. The lad must be taught a lesson he
would never forget. And this is the way in which it was done, much to
my amazement, by his old grandfather.
Placing near him the lad, who evidently was now feeling that he had been
very guilty, he gave him a talk upon the duty of bearing pain without
uttering a cry, or even a groan. Then the old man, who had been a great
warrior in his younger days, told him, that unless he were more
courageous than that, he would never become a brave warrior or a good
hunter; and, that unless he was able to control his feelings, and never
cry out no matter what happened, they could never respect him any more
than they would an old grandmother.
While the old man talked excitedly to him, now thoroughly roused out of
his usual calm demeanour, he renewed the fire which had partly burnt
down. When, by the addition of some very dry wood, it was burning very
vigorously, he again turned quickly to his grandson, and speaking out
sharply and excitedly, said: "See here! Look at me! This is the way a
brave warrior should stand pain!" Then, to my horror, he suddenly
reached out his hand, and holding one finger in the flame, kept it there
until it was fearfully burnt.
During this sickening ordeal, not a muscle of the old man's face
quivered; not a groan escaped from his firmly set lips. To judge from
his appearance, it might have been a stick that he was burning. When at
length he drew back the crisp burnt finger of his now blistered hand, he
held it toward his grandson and gave him another lecture, telling him
among other things that if he ever expected to be great or honoured
among his people, he must hear pain without flinching or uttering a cry.