1869-1870.--Home Desolate.--At the General Assembly.--Summer
Campaign.--A. L. Riggs.--His Story of Early Life.--Inside View
of Missions.--Why Missionaries' Children Become
Missionaries.--No Constraint Laid on Them.--A. L. Riggs Visits
the Missouri Sioux.--Up the River.--The Brules.--Cheyenne and
Grand River.--Starting for Fort Wadsworth.--Sun
Eclipsed.--Sisseton Reserve.--Deciding to Build There.--In the
Autumn Assembly.--My Mother's Home.--Winter Visit to
Santee.--Julia La Framboise.
As Abraham, a stranger and sojourner in the land of the children of
Heth, bought of them the cave of Machpelah wherein to bury Sarah, so
it seemed to me that I had come to Beloit to make a last resting-place
for the remains of Mary. The house seemed desolate. Sooner or later,
it involved the breaking-up of the family. Indeed it commenced very
soon. Robert went up to Minnesota to spend a year at Martha's. In the
meantime, Anna had become mistress of the home, and had with her Mary
Cooley, an invalid cousin.
That year of 1869 I was commissioner from the Dakota Presbytery to the
General Assembly, which met in New York City. It was an assembly of
more than ordinary interest, as at that meeting, and the one that
followed in the autumn, the two branches of the Presbyterian Church
North were again united. During this stay in New York City I was the
guest of Hon. Wm. E. Dodge. That was quite a contrast to living among
the Dakotas. But at the close of the assembly I hastened westward to
join Dr. Williamson at St. Peter. He had procured a small double wagon
and a pony team, with which we together should make our summer
campaign. Having fitted ourselves out, as we always did, with tent and
camping materials, our first objective point was Sioux City, where we
had arranged to meet and take in Alfred L. Riggs.
Since a little previous to the outbreak in 1862, he had been preaching
to white people; first at Lockport, Ill., where he was ordained and
continued with the church five years, and then for a year at Centre,
Wis., and now at Woodstock, Ill. But all this time he seemed to be
only waiting for the Dakota work to assume such a shape as to invite
his assistance. For some time he had been especially acquainting
himself with the most approved methods of education, that he might
fill a place which, year by year, was becoming more manifestly
important to be filled.
As in the progress of modern missions a large and increasing share of
the new recruits are the children of missionaries, it will be
interesting to know, from one of themselves, how they grow up _in_ and
_into_ the Missionary Kingdom.
"My first serious impression of life was that I was living under a
great weight of something; and as I began to discern more clearly, I
found this weight to be the all-surrounding, overwhelming presence of
heathenism, and all the instincts of my birth and all the culture of a
Christian home set me at antagonism to it at every point. The filthy
savages, indecently clad, lazily lounging about the stove of our
sitting-room, or flattening their dirty noses on the window-pane,
caused such a disgust for everything Indian that it took the better
thought of many years to overcome the repugnance thus aroused. Without
doubt, our mothers felt it all as keenly as we, their children, but
they had a sustaining ambition for souls, which we had not yet gained.
"This feeling of disgust was often accompanied with, and heightened
by, fear. The very air seemed to breathe dangers. At times violence
stalked abroad unchallenged, and dark, lowering faces skulked around.
Even in times when we felt no personal danger, this incubus of savage
life all around weighed on our hearts. Thus it was, day and night.
Even those hours of twilight, which brood with sweet influences over
so many lives, bore to us on the evening air only the weird cadences
of the heathen dance or the chill thrill of the war-whoop.
"Yet our childhood was not destitute of joy. Babes prattle beside the
dead. So, too, the children of the mission had their plays like other
children. But it was lonesome indeed when the missionary band was
divided, to occupy other stations, and the playmates were separated.
Once it was my privilege to go one hundred and twenty miles--to the
nearest station--to have a play-spell of a week, and a happy week it
was.
"Notwithstanding our play-spells, ours was a serious life. The serious
earnestness of our parents in the pursuit of their work could not fail
to fall in some degree on the children. The main purpose of
Christianizing that people was felt in everything. It was like
garrison life in time of war. But this seriousness was not ascetical
or morose. Far from it. Those Christian missionary homes were full of
gladness. With all the disadvantages of such a childhood was the rich
privilege of understanding the meaning of cheerful earnestness in
Christian life. Speaking of peculiar privileges, I must say that I do
not believe any other homes can be as precious as ours. It is true
every one thinks his is the best mother in the world, and she is to
him; but I mean more than this; I mean that our missionary homes are
in reality better than others. And there is reason for it. By reason
of the surrounding heathenism, the light and power of Christianity is
more centred and confined in the home. And then, again, its power is
developed by its antagonism to the darkness and wickedness around it.
For either its light must ever shine clearer, or grow more dim until
it expires.
"Next to our own home, we learned to love the homeland in 'the
States,' whence our parents came. A longing desire to visit it
possessed us. We thought that there we should find a heaven on earth.
This may seem a strange idea; but as you think of us engulfed in
heathenism and savage life, it will not seem so strange. It was like
living at the bottom of a well, with only one spot of brightness
overhead. Of course, it would be natural to think that upper world all
brightness and beauty. Thus all our glimpses of another life than that
of heathenism came from 'the States.' There all our ideas of
Christianized society were located. The correspondence of our parents
with friends left behind, the pages of the magazines and papers of the
monthly mail, and the yearly boxes of supplies, were the tangible
tokens which in our innocent minds awakened visions of the wonderful
world of civilization and culture in 'the East.'
"These supplies were in reality, perhaps, very small affairs, but we
thought them of fabulous value. Indeed they were everything to us.
With the opening of the new year the list of purchases began to be
arranged. Each item was carefully considered, and the wants of each
of the family remembered. This was no small task when you had to look
a year and a half ahead. What debates as to whether B could get on
with one pair of shoes, or must have two; or whether C would need some
more gingham aprons, or could make the old ones last through. And,
then, it was so hard to remember mosquito bars and straw hats in
January; but if they were forgotten once, the next January found them
first on the list. It was fun to make up the lists, but not so
exhilarating when, on summing up the probable cost, it was found to be
too much, and then the cruel pen ran through many of our new-born
hopes. Then the letter went on its way to Boston, or maybe to
Cincinnati, and we waited its substantial answer. Sometimes our boxes
went around by lazy sloops from Boston to New Orleans; thence the
laboring steamboat bore them almost the whole length of the Father of
Waters; then the flat-boatmen sweated and swore as they poled them up
the Minnesota to where our teams met them to carry them for another
week over the prairies. Now it was far on into rosy June. After such
waiting, no wonder that everything seemed precious--the very hoops of
the boxes and the redolent pine that made them; even the wrappers and
strings of the packages were carefully laid away. And, thanks to the
kind friends who have cared for this work at our several purchasing
depots, our wants were generally capitally met; and yet sometimes the
packer would arrange it so that the linseed oil would give a new taste
to the dried apples, anything but appetizing, or turn the plain white
of some long-desired book into a highly 'tinted' edition.
"When the number of our years got well past the single figures, then
we went to 'the States,' to carry on the education begun at home. Then
came the saddest disappointment of all our lives. We found we were yet
a good way from heaven. For me, the last remnant of this dream was
effectually dispelled when I came to teach a Sabbath-school in a back
country-neighborhood, where the people were the drift-wood of Kentucky
and Egyptian Illinois. Thenceforth the land of the Dakotas seemed more
the land of promise to me. From that time the claims of the work in
which my parents were engaged grew upon my mind.
"Of late years the children of missionaries have everywhere furnished
a large portion of the new reinforcements. This is both natural and
strange. It is natural that they should desire to stay the hands of
their parents, and go to reap what they have sown. On the other hand,
they go out in face of all the hardships of the work, made vividly
real to them by the experience of their childhood. They are attracted
by no romantic sentiment. The romance is for them all worn off long
ago. For instance, those of us on this field know the noble red man of
the poet to be a myth. We know the real savage, and know him almost
too well. Thus those who follow in the work of their missionary
fathers do not do it without a struggle--often fearful. On the one
hand stands the work, calling them to lonesome separation, and on the
other the pleasant companionship of civilized society. But if the word
of the Lord has come to them to go to Nineveh, happy are they if they
do not go thither by way of Joppa.
"I have spoken of the drawbacks to entering the work, but the
inducements must also be remembered. They are greater than the
drawbacks. We know them also better than strangers can. If we have
known more of the discouragements of the work, we also know more of
its hopefulness. We know the real savage, but we now know and fully
believe in his real humanity and salvability by the power of the
cross. Now, too, when the work is entered, the very difficulties which
barred the way grow less or disappear. We find the dreaded isolation
to be more in appearance than reality. We here are in connection with
the best thought and sympathy of the civilized world, whether it be in
scholarship, statesmanship, or Christian society. And not unfrequently
do we have the visits of friends and the honored representatives of
the churches. One may be much more alone in Chicago or New York.
"The difficulties of the work in earlier years are also changing. We
have a different standing before the people among whom we labor. We
also have matured and tested our methods of operation, and can be
generally confident of success. We have also an ever increasing force
in the native agency which adds strength and hopefulness to the
campaign. The people we come to conquer are themselves furnishing
recruits for this war, so that we, the sons of the mission, stand
among them as captains of the host, and our fathers are as generals."
* * * * *
With such a growing-up, it would seem that he was _attracted_ to the
life-work of his father and mother. And yet our children will all bear
witness that no special influence was ever used to draw them into the
missionary work. Some ministers' sons, I understand, have grown up
under the burden of the thought that they were expected to be
ministers. It was certainly my endeavor not to impose any such burden
on my boys. But we certainly did desire--and our desire was not
concealed--that all our children should develop into the most noble
and useful lives, prepared to occupy any position to which they might
be called. Accordingly, when a boy, while pursuing his education, has
shown a disposition "to knock off," I have used what influence I had
to induce him to persevere. But, beyond this, it has been my desire
that each one should, under the divine guidance, _choose_, as is their
right to do, what shall be their line of work in life. At the same
time, it is but just to myself, as well as to them, to say that it
gives me great joy now, in my old age, to see so many of Mary's
children making the life-work of their father and mother their own.
* * * * *
This visit of Alfred to the Santee and Yankton agencies was made for
the purpose of looking over the field, and forming an intelligent
judgment as to whether the way was open and the time had come to
commence some higher educational work among the Dakotas. The place for
such an effort was evidently the Santee agency. And John P.
Williamson, who had so long and so well carried on the mission work
among the Santees, had for several years past been more and more
attracted to the Yanktons, where there was an open door; and to the
Yankton agency he had removed his family, in the early spring, before
our visit. So the hand of God had shaped the work. It required only
that we recognize his hand, and put ourselves in accord with the
manifestations of his will. After a few weeks, Alfred returned to his
people in Woodstock, and made his arrangements to close his labors
there in the following winter, when he accepted an appointment from
the American Board to take charge of its work at the Santee agency.
Our summer campaign now commenced. The Williamsons, father and son,
with Titus, one of the Santee pastors, and myself, proceeded up the
Missouri. We made a little stop, as we had done in former years, with
the _Sechangoos_, or Brules, near Fort Thompson, preaching to them the
Gospel of Christ. Some interest was apparent. At least, a
superstitious reverence for the name that is above every name was
manifest. "What is the name?" one asked. "I have forgotten it." And we
again told them of Jesus.
Our next point was the Cheyenne agency, near Fort Sully, a hundred
miles above Fort Thompson, at Crow Creek. There we spent a week, and
met the Indians in their council house. Our efforts were in the line
of sowing seed, much of which fell by the way-side or on the stony
places. And then we passed on another hundred miles, to the agency at
the mouth of Grand River, where were gathered a large number of
Yanktonais, as well as Teetons. This agency is now located farther up
the river, and is called Standing Rock. Among these people we found
some who desired instruction, but the more part did not want to hear.
Our attempt to gather them to a Sabbath meeting seemed quite likely to
fail. But there had been a thunder storm in the early morning, and out
a few miles, on a hill-top, a prominent Dakota man was struck down by
the lightning. He was brought into the agency, and before his burial,
at the close of the day, we had a large company of men and women to
listen to the divine words of Jesus, who is the Resurrection and the
Life. It was an impressive occasion, and it was said by white men that
many of those Indians listened that day for the first time to
Christian song and Christian prayer. But that agency has since passed
into the hands of the Catholics, and David, one of our native
preachers, who visited there recently, was not permitted to remain.
At this point--Grand River--our company separated. John P. Williamson
and Titus returned down the Missouri, and Dr. Williamson and I took a
young man, Blue Bird by name, and crossed over to Fort Wadsworth. On
Saturday we traveled up the Missouri about thirty miles, where we
spent the Sabbath, and where we were joined by a Dakota man who was
familiar with the country across to the James River, and who could
find water for us in that "dry and thirsty land." As we journeyed that
Saturday afternoon, the day grew dark, the sun ceased to shine, our
horses wanted to stop in the road. It was a weird, unnatural
darkness--an eclipse of the sun. We stopped and watched its progress.
For about five minutes the eclipse was annular--only a little rim of
light gleamed forth. The moon seemed to have a cut in one side,
appearing much like a thick cheese from which a very thin slice had
been cut out. We all noted this singular appearance. The Dakotas on
the Missouri represent that year by the symbol of a _black sun with
stars shining_ above it.
When we reached the Sisseton reservation, we held our usual
camp-meeting again at Dry Wood Lake, regulating and confirming the
churches, and receiving quite a number of additions, though not so
many as in the year previous. The place for the Sisseton agency had
been selected, some log buildings erected, and the agent, Dr. Jared W.
Daniels, with his family, was on the ground. The time seemed to have
come when, to secure the fruits of the harvest, some more permanent
occupation should be made in the reservation. Mary was gone up
higher. The boys, for whose sakes, mainly, we had made a home in
Beloit, were no longer in college. Thomas had graduated, and spent a
year in teaching freedmen in Mississippi, and was now in the Chicago
Theological Seminary; while Henry had commenced to seek his fortune in
other employment. Without apparent detriment, I could break up
housekeeping in Beloit, and build at Sisseton. The plan was formed
during this visit, and talked over with Dr. Williamson and Agent
Daniels. God willing, and the Prudential Committee at Boston
approving, it was to be carried into effect the next spring.
And so I returned to my home in Beloit, and went on to attend the
meeting of the two General Assemblies at Pittsburg, where their union
became an accomplished fact. At the close of this meeting, I spent a
couple of weeks in visiting friends in Fayette County, Pa., and the
old stone church of Dunlap's Creek, which had been the church-home of
my mother when as yet she was unmarried.
* * * * *
For several winters preceding this I had been working on translations
of the Book of Psalms and Ecclesiastes and Isaiah. They were printed
in 1871. But this winter of 1869-70 was mostly spent with the Santees.
Mr. Williamson had left that place and gone to the Yankton agency,
where he has since continued with great prosperity in the missionary
work. And so there came to me a pressing invitation from Mrs. Mary
Frances Pond and Miss Julia La Framboise to come out and help them
that winter.
Julia La Framboise was the teacher of the mission-school at Santee.
She was born of a Dakota mother, and her father always claimed that
he had Indian blood mixed with his French. Julia was a noble Christian
woman, who had been trained up in the mission families, completing her
education at Miss Sill's Seminary, in Rockford, Ill. I found them all
actively engaged in carrying forward mission work. But we conceived
more might be done to bring children into the school and men and women
to the church. Accordingly, I called together the pastors and elders
of the church, and engaged them to enter upon a system of thorough
church visitation, which had the effect of greatly increasing the
numbers in attendance on both the school and the church.
Even then, as it afterward appeared, Julia was entering upon the
incipient stages of pulmonary consumption. She was not careful of
herself. After teaching school until one o'clock, she was ever ready
to go with the agent's daughters to interpret for them in the case of
some sick person, or to relieve the wants of the poor. Before I left,
in March, her cough had become alarming. And so it increased. The
second summer after this, she was obliged to stop work, and simply
wait for the coming of the messenger that called her to the Father's
house above.