“Still Thy love, O Christ, arisen,
Yearns to reach all souls in prison;
Down beneath the shame and loss
Sinks the plummet of Thy cross;
Never yet abyss was found
Deeper than that cross could sound.”
--_J. G. Whittier._
After repeated invitations from the Indians of the Fraser River, who
spoke the same language as the Nanaimos, and who had heard, through
Bros. Robson and White, of my ability to speak to them in their own
tongue, I made my way in a canoe across the Gulf of Georgia and up the
river to New Westminster, where I found thousands of natives gathered
for the celebration of the Queen’s birthday. This gave me the privilege
of preaching to hundreds who would not have heard otherwise. One
evening fully a thousand people were gathered on a square where two
streets crossed, listening eagerly to the message of life, many for the
first time, in their own language.
On this occasion I went up the river as far as Mission, calling at
Kat-sey, Langley and Whonnock, preaching to the people, who everywhere
received me gladly.
The joy of these poor people in hearing the grand old Gospel story,
and their earnest pleading for more out of “the Good Book,” fully
repaid me for the toils of the trip, and led me to seek an early
opportunity to return.
My next visit was made during the time when the country was suffering
from a scourge of smallpox. The disease had been brought from ’Frisco,
and was rapidly spreading among the Indians. Everyone felt interested
in stamping it out. The Government supplied me with a stock of vaccine,
and I passed down the coast of Vancouver Island, vaccinating all whom I
could reach. Near Saanich I came across a very bad case; one had died,
and his body was left on the beach covered with brush, while another
poor fellow, a mass of disease, was still alive and sitting on the
bank beside a little fire of bark. We asked him how he got along for
food and drink. Near him was a little canoe fastened by a long rope,
and he told me that when the tide was up his friends would come from
their village, about five miles away, and put food in the little canoe
and push it towards him. Here the poor fellow stayed until he finally
recovered.
The Indians dreaded the smallpox, and not without reason. On one
occasion, it is said, there came a thousand Hydahs in their large
canoes from Queen Charlotte Islands, and camped in and about Victoria.
The smallpox got among these people and spread with great rapidity.
Alarmed for the safety of the citizens, the city council met and
ordered the northerners to leave immediately. The next day they started
up the coast, carrying their dead and dying with them. At Nanaimo
they were forbidden to land, and on and on went that awful funeral
procession. At every camping place some would die, and they piled up
wood and burned them, and then went on. One canoe was found floating in
the Gulf, a veritable funeral barge, for everyone was dead on board.
Out of that one thousand members of a fine race only one man reached
Queen Charlotte Islands alive.
A MEDICAL MISSIONARY.
On my mission of mercy I passed up the Fraser River and vaccinated
hundreds of people. Some came to my preaching who might not have done
so but for the purpose of being vaccinated. And thus even the smallpox,
in some measure, opened the way for the Gospel.
On this trip we went as far as Sumas and Chilliwack. At the latter
place, while preaching to a small band of Indians and telling them the
old story in their own tongue, the chief Atche-la-lah stepped forward
and laid down a dollar and a half.
“Missionary,” said the old man, “we want you to build a church here.
You have opened our ears. No one ever told us the good word in our own
language before; the other laplates” (priests) “did not talk to us like
this.”
This was really the first subscription to the first Protestant church
in the Chilliwack Valley, where now there are six Methodist churches
for the whites and four for the Indians.
Others came with their donations, until $12.50 lay on the table, and
this of their own free will, for I had not talked to them about church
building. During the week which followed I went from village to village
throughout the valley, visiting and vaccinating all who needed it.
At every opportunity I preached to the people and told what the old
chief and his “see-aya” (friends) had done towards a church, until the
donations increased to nearly $100.
The following Sunday afternoon, after having preached to both whites
and Indians in another part of the valley, I came to Squi-ala, a
village at the mouth of the Chilliwack.
Big Jim, an Indian, met me in his canoe, to take me across the river. I
took the saddle off my horse, put it in the canoe, and the intelligent
little beast swam behind us over to the other side.
“Me think not many come to-day, Mr. Crosby. Priest he come.” The
priest, having heard I had made this appointment, had evidently
intended to be there at the same time.
“Well, Jim,” I replied, “suppose you and I and Jesus, we will have a
good time. Ring your bell!”
He rang his little hand bell, and nearly everybody crowded into the big
house where we were going to have service. Among those present I found
a number of white men who had come, some of them, a long distance,
bringing their half-breed families to be vaccinated. As soon as the
service was over I said to the people, “I am going away to-morrow, and
if any wish to be vaccinated, now is the time.”
[Illustration: FIRST PROTESTANT CHURCH IN THE CHILLIWACK VALLEY. _p.
172_]
Numbers came forward, and uncovering the arms of themselves and
their children, I went to work, scratching and putting on the vaccine.
While thus engaged, a knock was heard on the door, and presently it
opened and someone, very abruptly and in broken English, said, “Is Mr.
Crosby here?”
“That is my name, sir,” I replied.
“I would like to speak to you,” said the priest, for it was he.
“When I get through my duty I shall be glad to speak to you, sir,” and
I went on with my work.
This complete, I bade the people good-bye, warning them not to listen
to what the devil might say when I was gone. He would very likely say
that I had taken their money. I expected to be back in three months,
and would then see about building a church. In the meantime I would
leave the subscription list with Mr. A. C. Wells, a respected settler
whom they all knew.
Going to the door, I met my brother the priest.
“You wish to speak to me, sir,” I said.
“Yes, I want to say that you take all my converts away.”
“I beg your pardon! I didn’t do anything to your converts.”
“But,” he persisted, “these are all my converts that are here.”
“Well, sir, I only preach the Gospel to them, as I do wherever I go,” I
replied.
“I don’t care about your Gospel; it’s no good,” and the eyes of the
little priest flashed as he continued, “You compel one man to give
money to help build your church.”
“Now, sir, I would like very much to see that man,” and I continued,
“I am in a hurry, but if you let me see that man I will be very much
pleased.”
So he called up a happy-looking lame man, named Tom.
“Now, Tom,” I said, “you speak in Chinook, for this ‘father’ won’t
understand you if you speak in your own language; and speak the truth,
Tom.”
“Nawitka” (yes), Tom assented. “Spose nika halo delate wawaw, Saghalie
Tyee solleks kopa nika” (“If I do not speak the truth, God will be
angry with me”).
“That is right, speak all the truth, Tom.”
“Well, you came to my house this last week, and you say to me, ‘Tom,
what you think about building this new church?’ I say to you, ‘I am a
Catholic.’ You say, ‘Oh, very well, Tom, suppose you not give anything,
all right.’ But you asked me where my brother is. I tell you my brother
is very sick in the house. You go in and talk very kind to my brother
about Jesus, in our own language, and sing, oh, so nicely, and then you
say, ‘Let us pray,’ and you kneel down and pray in my own language, and
you pray and pray; by and by my heart get very warm, when you pray; and
when we get up, I tell you I give $2.50 to help build your church.”
Turning to the priest I said, “Now, did I compel the man to give money
to my church?” and jumping on my horse, I bade him good-bye, leaving
all the white men and the Indians, who had crowded around to see what
was going to be done by the two priests, to judge for themselves.
I rode on to my evening appointment, where I had promised to preach
to the white people. On the way, whether it was the excitement of my
interview, or something else, I do not know, but I forgot both my
sermon and text. I expected to preach to a number of settlers, some of
whom had families by native women, to whom they were not married.
By the time I reached the farm-house my mind was directed to the
text, “No man cared for my soul.” And if ever the Almighty helped a
poor mortal to preach He did it that night. Thoughts seemed to come
right down from heaven, pouring through my soul to the people around
me. I spoke of the judgment day, when the cry would come from these
dishonored mothers and children, “You sinned with us and dragged us
down, but you never cared for our souls.” God helped me fearlessly to
preach the truth, and then applied it with convicting power to their
hearts.
At the close of the service I spoke of how the Indians had started a
subscription to build a church, and said that if anyone there would
like to help they were at liberty to do so.
“Well, I think I can give you five dollars after that heat,” said an
old man, whom some thought the worst in the crowd. Several followed his
example and gave five dollars each. Thus the first church in Chilliwack
was subscribed for by Indians and whites alike, and for a time served
the purpose for both.
Early next morning I left for the coast of Vancouver Island.
THE BEGINNING OF THE REVIVAL.
In January following, 1868, I left my home and work at Nanaimo,
attended some rousing missionary meetings in Victoria, crossed the
Gulf, took a canoe manned by Indians, and went with them up the river.
We pushed on up the Fraser as fast as we could, for it was getting very
cold. A biting north-east wind was blowing right down the river, and
before we reached Sumas one of our men had his fingers frozen, and they
all begged of me to stop. We spent one night at Sumas Landing, and now
the weather moderated a little.
“Where are you going?” said a friend, just as I was leaving on a
preaching tour through the valley.
“I am off to Nah-nates, fourteen miles away, at the head of Sumas Lake,
to preach to the Indians; then back to Tso-wallie (Cultus Lake); then
to Skowkale, and on to Squi-ala, all Indian camps, and back to Sumas.”
“All right! Go and see the Indians,” said my friend, “but be sure and
do not go to the Upper Settlement, as the men have declared they will
do you some bodily harm. You know that fellow. Harry ----, he is the
leader of the party. They declare that they will fix you on account of
the sermon you preached to them the last time you were up there.”
“Good-bye! Pray for me!” I replied, and off I went across the prairie
as happy as mortal could be.
Continuing on my way, who should I see ahead of me but this very Harry
----, travelling alone. As I drew near to him I lifted up my heart to
God that He would give me wisdom to deal with the man in the best way.
When I met him I threw out my hand and got his in mine. Shaking hands
with him I said, “Praise the Lord, Harry, you and I are not in hell. We
might have been there long ago but for the loving Saviour. Oh, how He
has loved us.” And still holding him by the hand, and looking him in
the eyes, I continued, “Harry, do you love the Saviour? You ought to
love Him. He died for you.” By this time his eyes began to moisten.
“How are the boys in the Upper Settlement?” I went on.
“They are all jolly and well, sir,” he replied.
“Tell them that next Sabbath, if all is well, I want to preach to them,
and I hope they will all come.”
“They will be glad to see you, Mr. Crosby,” said the now thoroughly
subdued Harry.
Bidding him good-day, I continued on my journey, praising the Lord that
I had had such a good opportunity of meeting Harry alone.
These were the days of no roads, only blind trails and no bridges, so
that if you could not ford the streams and sloughs you might swim. Woe
betide the man or horse that got into a miry hole. I made my first trip
through to Chilliwack from Sumas over what was called the trail. Poles
had been laid lengthwise over the sloughs to enable one to cross, and
it was really amusing to see the little horses walk the poles. But, oh,
dear, if you had a horse that could not walk the poles!
After visiting the Indian camps as I had planned, I got back to the
Lower Settlement Friday night, where we had a prayer-meeting. On
Saturday night we had a never-to-be-forgotten service at a bachelor’s
house near Miller’s Landing. The old man seldom swept his house, and to
save the trouble of washing dishes, when he had used them on the one
side for a time, he turned them over and made use of the other side. We
had to sit on boxes around the fire, which was built, like any Indian
camp, in the centre of the floor, the smoke finding its way out through
the cracks. I trust the dear Lord blessed the poor man. He died soon
afterwards.
Sunday morning I preached to the white people of Sumas from the text,
“Thy word is truth.” At the close of the service I asked all who wished
to talk about religion to stay behind. Several remained, who showed by
their conduct and conversation that the Lord was at work upon their
hearts.
During the afternoon I went on to Chilliwack, and at night preached to
a crowd which filled to overflowing the two rooms in the private house
where we held our service. The Spirit of God was present in mighty,
awakening power, and the whole neighborhood was moved. Not an unkind
word was said to me, in spite of all the threats I had heard of. For
six weeks the work of grace continued, until nearly all the people were
converted.
The interest awakened led to a desire to improve the means of
communication between the two settlements. Early the following week “a
bee” was called to make a road, with pole bridges over the sloughs,
between Sumas and Chilliwack, which was really the first road in the
settlement.
In the midst of all this I was taken with congestion of my left lung,
and had to be kept in the house and treated with a steam bath of hot
water and cedar boughs and mustard plasters for several days. However,
the next Sabbath I took four services, and for weeks following preached
night after night, and have never had anything the matter with my lungs
since.
The awakening was so general that, far and near, nearly everyone was
affected. A man came four miles one morning, while I was ill, to tell
me that though he had taken his horses out that morning to work, he
was so troubled in his soul that he couldn’t work, and then and there
gave his heart to God. At once he became so happy that, as he said,
“the mountains looked brighter, the birds sang sweeter, and all nature
seemed to be praising the Lord,” and he thought he must come and let
me know of his new-found joy. On the way he called at the cabin of a
neighbor and found him on his knees praying.
Another man came several miles after midnight to beg me to get up and
go home with him, for, as he said, he could neither sleep nor eat, and
he feared that he would die if a change did not soon come.
“Praise the Lord!” I shouted.
“Man, don’t talk to me like that; I shall die.”
“There is no use in my going with you all that distance,” I replied.
“I have heavy work to do. But I am glad the Lord is troubling you.”
(He had a native woman and several children. I was not ordained at the
time, and could not legally marry him.)
He still begged me to go with him and talk with the poor woman as well.
“Will you promise to be the legal father of those children the first
chance you get?” I urged.
“Yes, I will do anything,” he said, and there was agony in his voice,
“for I shall die in this state and be lost.”
“Then the Lord will convert you on credit,” I said. The poor man was
made happy right there. A short time after, when an ordained minister
came up, he married five such couples.
We had some wonderful testimonies during these meetings.
One night a man got up and said: “I came here with my neighbor to
scoff. But as the meeting went on he said to me, ‘Jim, let’s get out
of this; it is too hot.’ ‘No,’ I said, ‘let’s stick it out.’ And now,
friends,” he continued, “I wish you would pray for me; I want to find
this religion you speak about.”
Another old man testified and said: “I was a soldier in the Russian
war, and one time was called up to be court-martialled for being drunk
and disorderly. All I had done was to sing a little ditty in the
presence of my chief officer, and he thought I was drunk. When the
investigation was held, my character in the past was examined. They
looked up the records and said, ‘Sergeant H-- has a clean sheet, he has
never been before the court in the past, let him go free.’ My friends,
when this revival commenced I felt that I was very wicked, and the
sins of my life came before me. But now, bless God, I have got a clean
sheet; Sergeant H-- is forgiven through the blood of the Lamb.”
Another poor man, who had been an Independent in England, said: “When
these meetings commenced I thought, ‘What are these people making so
much fuss about? I am a member of an Independent church, and I am good
enough.’ But the Spirit of God showed me how far I had wandered, and
now I am at the feet of Jesus and trusting in God alone for salvation.”
A quaint Roman Catholic Irishman attended the meetings and used to give
his testimony: “Be jabbers! you are the best praste that ivver came
to these rayjans,” he would say. “No praste ivver blessed the paypul
like you have. I wish the dear man would stay wid us and get some young
gurrls to come here, and then mesilf and some others of the poor b’ys
might get a wife.” (He was a bachelor, and remained one.)
One day during the revival a fellow came to the door and asked the kind
lady of the house for Crosby. She said, “Come in.” “No,” said he, “I
want to see Crosby out here.” I was called to the outer door, where I
met a man who, like many of his neighbors, was living a wicked life,
and thus setting a very bad example to the poor dark pagan Indians.
“Come out here. I want you. I’d like to thrash you,” he cried out.
“Come in, come in,” said I.
“No, I want you to come out here. I’ll thrash you if you said so-and-so
about some of my brothers and neighbors.”
“Well, isn’t it true?” I replied. “If it is true, what are you mad
about? You know it is true, and God will judge you for such conduct. If
you do not repent you will have a hot place in hell. So you had better
get at the confession of your sins to God. If you do it sincerely He
will help you.”
The poor fellow went away in a changed mood without thrashing the
preacher. He was afterwards converted and became one of my fast friends.
After the meetings had been continued about three weeks, Rev. Arthur
Browning came to our assistance, and some memorable services were held.
The glorious work of grace, having thus begun by the good hand of the
Lord, continued until the whole valley was aroused, and many of the
most hardened sinners were awakened and converted. When I left, shortly
after, to attend the District meeting, there was a class of thirty-one
members, nearly all the white people in the valley.
Looking back upon this marvellous work of God, so unexpected by human
foresight, of which I had been a favored witness, I am led with adoring
gratitude to exclaim, “What hath God wrought! Not unto us, O Lord, not
unto us, but unto Thy name give glory.”