“When passing through the watery deep,
I ask in faith His promised aid;
The waves an awful distance keep,
And shrink from my devoted head.
Fearless, their violence I dare,
They cannot harm--for God is there.”
--_C. Wesley._
Soon after I got the language of the people, other teachers took the
school work, and I went out travelling from place to place, literally
“paddling my own canoe.”
There were few steamers in those days, and none between Nanaimo, the
centre of our work, and New Westminster and the Fraser River, where I
was often called in my labors among the natives.
These trips were invariably made by canoe, except for the chance of
catching the river steamer which journeyed from New Westminster to Yale.
The canoes of the Pacific Coast are of the type usually called
“dug-outs,” that is to say, they are mostly cut out of a cedar log.
In the south, the large ones were spoken of as “Chinook” canoes, with
rather a stub or short stern and a very high bow or neck. There were a
great variety of smaller canoes used for hunting and fishing, as well
as what they called a “spoon canoe,” flat-bottomed and nearly straight,
with hardly any bow or stern, which was used for travelling on very
shallow rivers. These latter were often made of cottonwood, while the
other types were always made of cedar.
The largest canoes were made in the north. The great war-canoes, with a
very heavy bow and stern, and capable of carrying easily fifty or sixty
people, were so shaped that, when properly managed, they would sail
over almost any sea. The Hydahs of Queen Charlotte Islands made the
largest and best canoes; they had larger cedar trees on their islands
than could be found on the mainland opposite. These canoes were often
from thirty to forty feet long and five or six feet beam, a beautiful
model, with gracefully shaped bow and stern, that would in English
phraseology be called a “clipper” for sailing. One of the largest of
these canoes, seventy feet in length by eight feet beam, was presented
to Lord Lorne when he visited British Columbia during his term of
administration as Governor-General of Canada.
The medium-sized canoe was the best. With two large sails and well
manned, one of these northern canoes would safely ride almost any sea.
It was by means of these smaller craft that I made many a toilsome
journey up and down the east coast of Vancouver Island, among the
beautiful islands which lie along that coast, across the Gulf of
Georgia, up the Fraser River, down into Puget Sound, and in and out of
the many inlets which pierce the coast of the mainland. In one year I
made four trips across the Gulf of Georgia and up the Fraser River and
back. Twice I travelled the distance from Nanaimo to Yale and return,
a round trip of about 340 miles, paddling the whole way.
In journeying to and fro I travelled over two thousand miles a year in
all kinds of weather, braving the dangers of stormy seas and the eddies
and swift currents of treacherous rivers, and enduring the discomforts
of the wild, open life in a new country. In it all I see the good hand
of God saving me from manifold dangers.
In time one becomes used to such toils and difficulties, and, after
all, they were only the common, every-day experiences of the miner or
the frontiersman of those early days.
A DANGEROUS TRIP.
In the days when steamboats were few, and only one plying between
Victoria and New Westminster, we were summoned to the latter place by
the Chairman of the District, from Nanaimo, to attend District Meeting.
This was in March, 1865.
A little iron steamer had just been brought out from England by the
coal company, by which we had hoped to cross to New Westminster, but,
unfortunately for us, she ran upon the rocks on Protection Island,
in front of the harbor of Nanaimo, the night before we had to start.
Disappointed by this, Rev. E. White and I went to the Indian village
and engaged the largest Chinook canoe we could find. A man accustomed
to travel by canoe, when he saw it, said, “I would just as soon go in
that craft as the steamer _Enterprise_.”
We started with a crew of three Indian men and one woman, Chilk,
the captain, an old heathen, having his wife with him. A Dutchman
joined us, who said he had been a sailor for fifteen years, and thus
there were seven of us in the party. It was a glorious day, and with
provisions, paddles, sails, and all things necessary for the journey,
we were soon away down south among the beautiful islands of the coast.
We made a good run and camped for the night. In the evening one of our
party shot a fine deer, which we added to our stock of provisions, and
after a bountiful supper we enjoyed the sweet rest of an open-air camp.
We aroused the men about three o’clock next morning, as we were anxious
to secure an early start. After a good breakfast, in which venison was
the chief feature, we gathered for prayers, and then were ready to
commence our journey across the Gulf.
It was one of those cold, grey mornings in March which promise almost
anything, and the Indians were unwilling to start out so soon, thinking
that the weather was uncertain. We felt, however, that we must press on
or be too late for District Meeting.
When we got out some distance from shore we found a strong north-west
breeze after us, which, in a very little while, blew a gale of wind. We
now tried in vain to get back to shore; the wind blew so hard that we
could see the branches of the trees breaking off on the island behind
us. There was nothing left for us but to go before the wind, keeping
our course as well as we could straight for the main channel of the
Fraser River.
As the sea began to dash over us, the Dutch sailor shouted out, “Take
down the sail! Take down the sail!”
I told him to mind his own business and bail the water out. But again
he shouted frantically, “Take down the sail!”
“If you don’t stop you’ll have to go overboard,” I shouted at him. “Let
the Indians alone, they know more about managing a canoe than you do.”
It was clear to anyone that had the sail been taken down--we had furled
more than half of it--we would have been swamped in a very little
while, as it was the only thing that gave her headway.
As the great sea swept over us, three of us were kept bailing out,
while the other men managed the canoe. Every few minutes old Chilk
would shout, “Hold on! There is another great wave coming.” We would
grasp the side of the canoe and hold on for fear of being swept out,
and then to our bailing again every chance we had. Thus we dashed on
over the mighty, angry waves until we came to the sand heads at the
mouth of the Fraser, and were in danger of foundering on the bars.
It seemed as if that awful trip would never end, and yet every moment
we were busy, so busy that our exertions kept us warm, in spite of
the bleak March weather. At one time a tremendous wave broke over us,
followed by another, and still another, close after, and the canoe
dipped into the water as if she were going down nose first. The water
seemed to rush forward for a final plunge, while all held their breath,
expecting every moment to be submerged; then, all at once, she made a
lurch up with her bow and the water rushed back. When the old captain
saw hope he shouted, “Tlil-a-sit! tlil-a-sit! tlil-a-sit!” (“Bail out!
bail out!”) The very shout sent a thrill through everyone on board, and
we were bailing out as hard as we could to get the water down. It all
seemed done in less time than it takes to tell it.
[Illustration: “We were bailing out as hard as we could.” _p. 146_]
As we neared the mouth of the river the reason for this awful sea was
made clear. The waves raised by the gale met the mighty current of the
river, and the awful tide-rip at the sand heads was the worst we had to
pass through.
In two hours and a half we reached the mouth of the Fraser River, all
drenched to the skin, but thankful to a kind Providence which had
brought us safely through.
“I did not hear you ministers pray at all in the storm,” said the old
heathen captain, after we had landed.
We told him we prayed in our hearts while we were working. But there
was no doubt about his prayers, for we could hear him and his wife
shouting back at the great waves, “Don’t drown us! Don’t take us down!
for the missionaries are on board. Oh, you great big angry waves, don’t
be so angry, and we will be good if you don’t drown us.” And then
all the Indians would join in the cry, “Don’t take us! Don’t drown
us!” True to their custom, I think they would have liked some food or
property to give as a sacrifice to the angry waves.
I told the old captain I was glad to hear him pray, as I had never
heard him pray before, but he should give his heart to God and become a
Christian, and he might be useful in leading others to Jesus. He was a
strong, daring fellow, a great dancer, a confirmed gambler, and, poor
fellow! he was a terror when drunk.
On one occasion I found poor old Chilk standing at bay, with a pile of
cobble-stones beside him, with which he was defending himself against
anyone who might come near. He was dangerous when drunk, and two
policemen were vainly endeavoring to get close enough to arrest him.
When I came along the police appealed to me.
“Oh, Chilk, you should not do that. Go home and be a good man,” I said
to him as I passed.
“Don’t talk to me! Don’t talk to me!” he replied.
I did not stop to argue with him, but, passing on, I immediately
wheeled around, and while his attention was again being taken by the
policeman, I ran back and grabbed him by his long hair and pulled him
over backwards. He commenced to kick and bite, but the policemen seized
their opportunity, and before he could do any harm they had him bound
hand and foot, and shortly afterwards landed him in jail.
The next day, sober and in his right mind, and liberated, Chilk came
to me and thanked me most earnestly for the part I had played. Nor was
there any sarcasm in his action, for, he said, “I am so glad for what
you did, for I might have killed somebody and been now in jail.”
CANOE BETTER THAN STEAMBOAT.
Just as we entered the Fraser River we were surprised to see the little
steamer _Enterprise_ coming down, and as we passed her the chairman,
Dr. Evans, and his colleague, Rev. Arthur Browning, bowed to us.
District Meeting was over, and they were going home to Victoria!
Next morning, when we were down at the wharf at Westminster, there
came in the Hudson’s Bay Company’s steamer _Labouchere_, and the
Union Pacific Navigation Company’s steamer, _Shoebrick_--the latter
carrying supplies for the overland telegraph line, which was to unite
the continents by way of Alaska, which enterprise was broken up by the
successful laying of the Atlantic cable. The men on the wharf wanted to
know from the captains of the ships why they had not come yesterday.
“Oh!” they said, “it was blowing a terrific gale on the Gulf, and we
couldn’t cross.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” taunted the bystanders, “Parson White and his crew
crossed in a canoe, and you couldn’t come over with your large
steamships.” But they little knew what a trip we had had.
And now our old Dutch sailor had to have his say. He went boasting
about the town that he had had his eye on Parson White’s gold watch--a
present to him as he left New Westminster some time before--and that if
we had upset he was going for that. Poor, miserable fellow, he was the
greatest coward in the crowd.
This was one of the many terrible canoe trips we had to take while at
our work, when to all human appearances there was every possibility
that we would never reach shore. Once after I made the journey in
the opposite direction in a small canoe, with a single Indian as my
companion, and again we were nearly swamped before reaching the shore.
To-day, as always, I sympathize with the hundreds of fishermen who go
out to the mouth of the river and venture into the Gulf, braving the
awful storms which so often sweep down across this treacherous arm of
the sea. Nearly every year reports have reached us of those who have
risked their lives, and of some who have lost them, on this part of the
coast.
“SPUL-QUEET-SA!” (“A GHOST! A GHOST!”)
We usually travelled in a much smaller canoe than the one in which
we made the trip narrated above. On several occasions, when on my
missionary tours, I took Her Majesty’s mail to Victoria from Nanaimo.
On one occasion Dr. Evans and I made a trip along the east coast to
look out ground for an industrial school, where we might educate our
young native men, with the hope of preparing them for teachers or
missionaries. This was in 1868. We selected a fine place, on an island,
but the Missionary Society could not see its way clear to undertake
this work. Strangely enough, this was the very spot where afterwards
the Dominion Government built Kuyper Island Industrial School. As the
Methodist Church did not see its way to undertake this charge, the
Government placed the school under the direction of the Roman Catholic
Church.
One fine day on that trip a very amusing incident occurred, which
illustrates the Indian’s superstitious dread of anything which seems
unnatural. As we were paddling along the Doctor was relating a joke
about a miner and an Indian woman on the streets of Victoria. In order
to appreciate the story, one must be told that the Indians lived to
a considerable extent upon clams, which fact was made the butt of
continual jokes, while the miners, in those days, subsisted largely on
bacon and beans. The Doctor said: “An Indian woman was passing a group
of miners on the street, when one of them drawled out, ‘Cla-ms!’ in a
mocking tone of voice. The woman at once turned around very sharply
and, much to the amusement of the crowd, retorted, ‘B-b-beans!’”
As the Doctor, in relating the story, was attempting to imitate the
Indian woman’s way of saying “beans,” his set of false teeth fell out
and very nearly went overboard. The Indian in the stern, seeing the
teeth fly out, threw up both hands and very nearly went overboard
himself.
“Ah-na! ah-na-na! this man has come from the grave!” he cried.
“Spul-queet-sa! Spul-queet-sa! I can’t go on. This man is not a living
man, he is a spirit,” he told his friend in the bow.
The other man refused to believe that a man could handle his teeth, as
it was said the Doctor had done. They commenced to wrangle over the
matter and were losing time.
“Doctor, you will have to show the other fellow your teeth,” I said. In
an instant the Doctor pulled them out and held them before the man’s
face. With that he threw up his hands and screeched and screamed till
we thought he would fall overboard. Then they got a little quieted down
and paddled on, but every once in a while they would stop to discuss
the thing, whether this was really a living man or a ghost from the
grave. They watched him, especially when we went ashore to camp for the
night. When they saw that he could eat and laugh and talk like the rest
of us they could not understand it.
This reminds me of a trader’s wife, a devoted Christian, living up the
coast, who had a native servant. The girl had been with her for some
time and had become very much attached to her mistress. She used to
go home to the camp every night and return to her work early in the
morning. One morning, as the lady, whose name was Viona, was busy with
her toilet, and was in the act of brushing her teeth, the Indian maid,
returning, chanced to look in at the door. Seeing her mistress putting
her teeth in her mouth, she cried out, “Oh, Viona! Viona!” and ran
away as hard as she could run. She told her friends that the lady was
a ghost and had come from the grave, and she could not be persuaded to
return for many a day.
SOME MORE EXCITING EXPERIENCES.
I had been preaching down the coast and was returning when, at the
north end of Salt Spring Island, I fell in with old Chief Chil-qua-lum,
from Nanaimo. He, too, was returning home from a hunting and fishing
expedition, and had with him his two wives and their families, and
their “iktahs” (belongings)--dogs, cats, fish traps, and a load of
fish, dried meat, clams and other Indian eatables.
He allowed me to get on board on condition that I would work my passage
by helping him manage the big canoe. With hard paddling we got along
very well until we reached Dodds’ Narrows, seven or eight miles from
Nanaimo. Through this passage, at certain stages, the tide rushes at
about ten miles an hour, forming whirlpools that would at times engulf
any small craft whose misfortune it might be to be caught in them.
At first it was a question whether we should venture through or not
with such a load of freight and human beings, but as the tide seemed
fair and the old man wished to push on, it was a great temptation.
In going through it was difficult to keep the heavily-laden canoe
straight in the centre of the passage, and, veering a little to one
side, we were caught in one of the whirlpool-like eddies. We were
tossed about like a chip on the current, round and round, whirling
like a top, two or three times, until it seemed as if we would surely
be sucked down into the vortex that yawned before us. The old women
jumped to their paddles, the children screamed, and the most intense
excitement prevailed. But it was only for a few moments; soon the
exertions of all told, and we were out and on our way again, safe and
sound.
Now it was the old wives’ turn, and they gave the chief a good
tongue-lashing for his foolhardiness. They discussed what would have
been the result had the missionary been drowned, and turning to the
little children they told them that God had saved them from going down
to the “Stla-la-kum” (evil spirits) in the water because the missionary
was on board.
ABRAHAM AND SARAH.
Missionary meetings were being held at Nanaimo, and Rev. A. E. Russ,
then of Victoria, was the deputation. When he was about to return home,
he learned that I was going down the coast to visit the different
tribes, and wished to take the trip with me.
We called at Chemainus, where he preached, and there baptized Abraham
and Sarah, two Indian children. The romance of it impressed him, and he
spoke on the subject of the old patriarch and his wife.
It was a very fine day, and going on further, the lazy Indians ran the
canoe upon some rocks which were covered with barnacles. I told them to
get out and pull her off, but they sat, one in the bow and the other
in the stern, and tried to push off with their paddles. It was my own
little craft, which I had painted and fixed up, and of which I took
the utmost care. I could see the twisting of the canoe, and knew that
it was in danger of splitting from end to end, so I jumped into the
water, clambered up on the rock, seized the canoe and gave her a shoot
backwards, springing into the bow as she went.
My friend Russ said, “Crosby, you will kill yourself; you are a strange
fellow.”
“Never fear!” I replied; “but I will show those lazy fellows how to do
it.”
We reached Cowichan in safety, where Brother Russ took the steamer for
Victoria.
HERE AND THERE.
In our missionary journeyings we visited the west coast of the
mainland, preaching to the Seaschelts, Squamish, and other tribes as
far north as Cape Mudge. On Vancouver Island our work extended from
Cape Mudge, on the north, to Race Rocks, near Victoria, a distance of
160 miles.
In making a visit to the former place, with a party of three men, we
were again in imminent danger of being lost. We had camped for the
night above Qual-a-kum and got an early start in the morning, when a
south-easter blew up. It was a stiff breeze, but all was well until we
got near to the south end of Denman Island, where the lighthouse now
stands, when our sail, mast and all, broke away from the socket, and it
was a miracle that we were not upset.
Some of our experiences were humorous as well as trying. I took passage
one day with Chief Tsil-ka-mut, who with his wives and children was on
his way to the Fraser River, where the Indians congregated to pick and
dry berries, and to fish and dry salmon. The trip across was uneventful
until in the fog and darkness we lost our way at the mouth of the
river.
The chief put his pole down in the mud and anchored his canoe, as he
supposed, and we went to sleep on board the craft. Next morning we
found we were high and dry in the mud on a bar that seemed to be miles
away from any water. Oh, the mud, mud! There is nothing that compares
with the mud of the Fraser for slimy stickiness when the tide is out.
It was near noon the next day before the tide again reached us, and
there we were all those hours in the scorching sun, a disconsolate
crowd indeed.
At that time there was no white man to be found settled on the Delta
lands of the Fraser. Soon after this the Ladner brothers took up land
on the south bank of the river and gave their name to the place. Then
followed Ferris on Lulu Island, and Boyd and Kilgour on Sea Island,
and others at different points, every one of whom was voted a fool for
“taking up” these swamps with cat-tails and bulrushes and frog-ponds.
Now these districts are covered with some of the most beautiful and
productive farms to be found in any part of the world. The shores are
lined with large canneries for the packing of salmon, and thousands of
people occupy these old-time mud-banks.
AN OLD CROAKER IN A CANOE.
It is the easiest thing in the world to find fault with people of
whose conditions and circumstances we know nothing. And sometimes a
little taste of the trials and toils which others have to endure is
the best cure for such unfair complainings. We had an old friend,
a Yorkshireman, on that coast, who was very apt to find fault with
others, and especially with the ministers.
“Thoo knoa thease preeachers have good teams wi’ theeir fat salaries,”
he would say. And then, seeing the gleam in my eye, he would hasten on:
“Ah dean’t mean you, thoo knoas. Ah mean thease men ’at ez t’ big fat
salaries; they can sit roond an’ dea vary little.”
“Stop your noise,” I would say to him. “I am a preacher, and don’t like
to hear you find fault with the ministers.”
On one occasion he came to me and asked when I was going to New
Westminster. When I told him and inquired why he wanted to know, he
said:
“Ah would like to gang wi’ you.”
“You can go with one understanding,” I replied.
“Weel, what is that?”
“That you work your passage. I never take deadheads with me.”
“Weel, Ah thinks Ah can paddle a little bit,” he said.
So the day came and off we started in our little canoe, down among the
lovely islands which dot the west side of the Gulf, and then across. I
was steering, an Indian sitting at the bow paddling, and our old friend
amidships. He was making a great, effort “to work his passage,” but not
being used to that kind of thing, he seemed to work his whole body in
the effort of paddling, and soon became very tired.
The day was quiet and warm, and we were making straight for Point
Grey, near the north arm of the Fraser River. After he had pulled
awhile, my friend looked round, and said:
“Ah say! do you knoa wot Ah thinks? ’At point deean’t seeam to get onny
nearer.”
“Yes,” I replied, “it gets nearer every stroke. Pull away! Preachers
get used to this kind of life.”
Then he pitched in again and made a great effort, while we were quietly
keeping stroke. We had not gone far, however, before he turned again
and said:
“Now, Ah can tell ye what it is, ’at point deean’t get onny nearer.”
“Of course it does,” I said; “every stroke brings us nearer. We must
push on to get in before it is too dark.” And we pulled on and on until
nine o’clock at night.
A little easterly wind was blowing out of the mouth of the river,
accompanied by a fine rain. The tide was out, and it was difficult to
find the channel, as it was getting dark. We would run into a sand-bank
here and a mud-bank there, until finally we got up the channel some
distance and could see the high dry shore of the river. After some
considerable effort we got up the mud-bank with our camping outfit, and
on to a dry knoll, where we started to make a fire. Gathering together
some blocks of cedar and other dry wood, we soon had supper going.
All this time my friend was standing in the midst of the rain, his
hands in his pockets, shrugging and shaking his shoulders, and
remarking at intervals:
“Ah say, this is a nasty neet.”
“The night is all right,” I replied to him; “stir yourself and let us
get something to eat.”
Supper and prayers over, we lay down under our tent, and, weary with
the toil of the day, were soon fast asleep. It was about one or two
o’clock in the morning when my old friend aroused me by shouting, “Ah
say, t’ water is comin’ doon t’ back o’ me neck.” It seems that he had
got his head close up to the wall of the tent, on the weather side, and
the water was running right over his head and down his back.
“Oh, stop your noise!” I said, I am afraid a little impatiently, “and
let me sleep. Preachers get used to this kind of thing.”
“Man, Ah can’t sleep,” he groaned, “t’ water is coomin’ doon t’ back o’
me neck.”
Next morning we were around bright and early and off up the river.
Sixteen or eighteen miles up the old Fraser against the current
required the strength of every muscle, and all the elbow grease we
could put into it, to make headway at all, but finally we reached
Queensborough (now New Westminster) in safety.
A few days after I met our old friend and said, “When will you be ready
to return?”
“Ah’ll nivver gang back wi’ you,” he replied. “Ah’ll pay t’ last dollar
t’ steamboat, an’ gang roon by Victoria. Ah’ll nivver gang wi’ you.”
It was an excellent lesson he had learned, for I never heard him croak
about the preachers having a nice time after that.