 
By Canoe and Dog Train

The Adventures of   
Sharing the Gospel with Canadian Indians

Egerton Ryerson Young

Introduction by Mark Guy Pearse

"Out of the darkness of night

The world rolls into the light,

It is daybreak everywhere."

(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

Contents

Introduction

Ch. 1: Evangelizing the Indian

Ch. 2: Mission Work in Canada

Ch. 3: The Summons and Departure for the Indian Mission

Ch. 4: Journey to Norway House

Ch. 5: Settling in at Norway House

Ch. 6: Christianity's Effect on Indian Life

Ch. 7: Travelling by Canoe

Ch. 8: Travel by Dog Train

Ch. 9: Winter Camp

Ch. 10: Nelson River Indians – What Took So Long?

Ch. 11: Rev. John Semmens and the Nelson River Indians

Ch. 12: Rev. James Evans and the Cree Alphabet

Ch. 13: Sowing and Reaping

Ch. 14: Dangerous Journey to Sandy Bar

Ch. 15: Testimonies

Ch. 16: Changing the Indian Lifestyle

Ch. 17: Smallpox

Ch. 18: The Blizzard Trip

Ch. 19: Resolving Polygamy and Family Situations

Ch. 20: Negotiating Treaties

Ch. 21: A New Mission

About the Author

To my faithful and loving Wife,

Who for years shared the hardships and toils of some of the most trying mission fields, cheerfully and without complaint; whose courage never faltered, and whose zeal abated not, even when in peril from hunger, bitter cold, and savage men –

This volume is dedicated by her affectionate Husband.
Introduction

My friend, Mr. Egerton R. Young, has asked me to write a few words of preface to his book. Although he needs no words of mine to introduce him to the people "at home," as the Canadians call the motherland, I gladly comply with his request.

On a sunny day in the early part of May 1887, I met Mr. Young at Meaford on the shores of Georgian Bay. We passed the river, crowded with boys and men snatching with leaded hooks at the mullet that were swarming in shoals from Lake Huron. By the wharves at the water's edge on the pebble ridge, we sat and talked. He was a simple, honest, straightforward Methodist preacher, so one felt at home with him at once. I found that he had been a missionary for many years among the Cree and Saulteaux Indians away in "the lone land." I had but to ask a question here and there and sat entranced; the people, the country, the cold, the dogs, the bears, the whole surroundings of the life began to live before me with many a wild scene of adventure and wonderful story of conversion. That afternoon sped away much too quickly, and ever since it has hung in "the chambers of my imagery," among my most vivid and treasured pictures.

I went to his house and made the acquaintance of Mrs. Young, his brave and devoted wife, and the children. I stood on a fur mat, which interested me. "What is this?" I asked.

My host laughed, "A silver-grey wolf: a mad fellow that wanted to make a meal of my boy Eddie, and but for God's mercy, would have."

That began another story: As with elephants, buffaloes, and all creatures that are gregarious, often for some reason one lives alone and is the most mischievous, dangerous, and perhaps mad. In this case, it was a wolf. The Indians were in the forest cutting wood for the winter, and the little lad with his train of dogs enjoyed the drive in the sled, bringing home the load of wood or racing back in the empty sled. As the boy was returning from the forest, the fierce beast rushed out and raced beside him. The wolf tried to reach him on the pile, while the frightened dogs galloped furiously to the Mission House. With a moment's delay or an upset, the wolf would have had the lad; but in God's providence, he reached home in safety. A little afterward, the wolf was killed, and its silver fur rested in front of the fireplace.

Everything suggested some new question, and that led to some new story. At last I had to leave for my service and then home by a long row across the lake. Before we parted, Mr. Young promised to come to England and tell the people "at home" the story of his mission.

I felt that he could renew the popular interest in the foreign missionary enterprise, a work that needed to be done. I had hoped that the Missionary Society might use him for deputation work and send him through the country on this errand. This hope, however, has not been fulfilled. But Mr. and Mrs. Young rendered a great service by going from place to place. They interested and thrilled tens of thousands by their accounts of great success and God's blessing among the Indians.

It is said that "men who make history do not write it." Years among the dog trains and birch canoes did not afford much room for practicing the art of writing, especially when six months were required to receive any communication from the "world of letters." Mr. Young's written narrative may not have the force and charm of his spoken addresses, but is that not true of everything that is worth hearing when it loses the voice of the speaker? In spite of this, we are certain that thousands will be thankful to have a permanent form of that which Mr. Young has given them here. Many others will be glad to read what they could not hear. My earnest wish is that the book may have the circulation it deserves; my prayer is that it may be made the blessing, which its author desires.

– Mark Guy Pearse.

Dog Train at Full Speed.
Chapter 1

Evangelizing the Indian

"Gather the harvest in:

The fields are white, and long ago ye heard,

Ringing across the world, the Master's word:

'Leave no such fruitage to the lord of sin;

Gather the harvest in'."

The question of evangelizing the Indian tribes of North America is one that has been more or less prominent before the Christian churches for many years. To fulfill this work, some of the noblest of God's heroes have been engaged, some of the greatest hardships and suffering have been endured, and some of the grandest trophies have been won.

Indian missionary biographies are sorely limited. But few are the "abiding records" in book form of those heroic men who have devoted themselves to this missionary pursuit.

We rejoice in the biographies of Eliot, Brainerd, and a few others of the early missionaries who nobly toiled, and not in vain, among the people of the forest. We regret, however, that so little has been published of such Indian missionaries as Evans, Rundle, McDougall, Steinheur, and others. Their daring, patience, endurance, and successful work would make biographies as thrillingly interesting and valuable to the church as those of Carey, Judson, Hunt, or Morrison.

These missionaries to the aborigines of the American continent deserve even more credit. They devoted their lives and energies to the benefit of what is considered a vanishing people, a dying race. In too many instances, the gospel of bullets has been preached more loudly than the gospel of love to the Indian. More laws have been enacted to legislate him out of existence than to lift him up into the condition of a loyal citizen and the enjoyment of a consistent Christianity. In these so-called Christian lands, many forget the doctrine of the universal brotherhood of humanity and the universality of the atonement. They have become so dwarfed and prejudiced in their minds concerning the Indian as to leave him completely outside the pale of humanity and utterly beyond the reach of God's mercy.

Though ignorance, terror, ambition, or greed have caused many to have such views, we can be thankful many others have differed. They have gone to work to do the Indians good, and their lives have not been complete failures. Except for the priests who accompanied Cortez, Pizarro, and other military adventurers in the early sixteenth century, priests were only laboring in Florida and the Rio Grande country for the conversion of the natives. They counted their converts by thousands long before any considerable settlement of English speaking people had been formed on the continent.

In the following century, stories arose of the labors and hardships of the Jesuits and other organizations of the Church of Rome among the Hurons of Canada, the Iroquois of New York, the Abenakis of Maine, and various other tribes. These narratives in the pages of Parkman's fascinating histories read more like thrilling romances than the sober recital of facts.

In the first settlements in Maryland, the conversion of the Indians was a subject that attracted attention, and the laborers did not toil in vain. In the Charter given to the band of adventurers who fixed upon Virginia as their home in 1607, these words occur: "Use all proper means to draw the Indian people to the true knowledge and service of God."

Within a year after the arrival of the Pilgrims at Plymouth Rock, one of the elders, Mr. Cushman, wrote back to his friends in England. He referred to "the tractable disposition of the Indian youths and the possibility of doing them much good." Those grand and sturdy people declared they had come to the wilderness of America for weighty and solid reasons. They wanted to be used for the "propagation and advancing of the gospel and kingdom of Christ." In their conscientious way, they set about the fulfillment of these designs.

A good deal has been written of the wonderful revivals among the Indians under the labors of the Revs. David and John Brainerd. Their consecrated zeal and great successes fired anew the hearts of such glorious men as the Wesleys, Whitefield, and Jonathan Edwards. An eminent writer has declared that "the work of God among the Indians at that period was perhaps without parallel in missions since the days of the apostles." In writing of the wondrous work, David Brainerd said, "The power of God seemed to descend upon the Indians like a mighty rushing wind and with astonishing energy bore down all before it. Marvelous were the results. Old men and women were in deep distress for their souls, and the most stubborn hearts were compelled to bow. Thousands were happily converted to God."

John Wesley was so impressed with Brainerd's work among the Indians that we find the following question and answer in the fifth volume of his Works:

Question: "What can be done to revive the work of God where it is decayed?"

Answer: "Let every preacher read carefully over the 'Life of David Brainerd,' etc."

Though it would be interesting and a labor of love, it would take volumes to follow and record the work carried on by the churches among these "wards of the nations." Before mentioning the Canadian work, suffice it to say, that the churches of the United States are carrying on a grand enterprise with increasing vigor and encouraging success. Excellent schools, like those at Carlisle in Pennsylvania and Hampton Institute in Virginia, are developing noble Christian men and women. These individuals are giving fresh impetus to the blessed work of lifting up the remnants of once mighty tribes to true religion and a higher plane of civilization. An encouraging sign of the times is that the government of the mightiest republic the world has ever seen is waking up to its responsibility. It is entering on a new career, having resolved that justice, although long delayed, shall yet be meted out to its Indian subjects as if to atone for the misdeeds of its agents and the sad blunders of the past.

The "blood-and-iron" policy was a disgrace to American civilization and to our common Christianity. The effort to make the Indian "decent by force" has been a complete failure. The force of honest, straightforward example will do vastly more. General Grant deserves to be held in kindly remembrance for his "peace policy." When so called friends urged him to make a change, his reply was characteristic of the man and worthy to be remembered: "If the present policy towards Indians can be improved in any way, I will always be ready to receive suggestions on the subject. I do not believe our Creator ever placed different races of men on this earth with a view to having the stronger exert all his energies in the extermination of the weaker. If any change takes place in the Indian policy of the government while I hold my present office, it will be on the humanitarian side of the question."
Chapter 2

Mission Work in Canada

For many years the Methodist Church of Canada had taken a deep interest in the spiritual welfare of the Indian tribes of the great Dominion. For a long time its efforts were feeble, and the results proportionally small. In the year 1823, an impetus was given to the work by the conversion of an Indian lad. He later became the Rev. Peter Jones, a devoted and successful missionary to his own people. When this Indian lad first stood up in a fellowship meeting and told the simple story of his conversion, the presiding elder, the Rev. William Case, shouted out, "Glory to God! Now is the door opened for the work of conversion in his nation."

The report of what was going on in the old province of Upper Canada fired up the hearts of the parent Wesleyan Missionary Society in England. In the year 1840, they sent the Rev. Messrs. Barnley, Rundle, and others to the Hudson Bay Territory. (Messrs. is plural of Mr.) They were to be under the superintendence of the Rev. James Evans, who had been laboring in Upper Canada, but who left his successful work and hurried to assume the leadership of that heroic band which was about to enter into the very heart of this unknown region with apostolic zeal.

Mr. Evans and his family travelled in a birch bark canoe all the way from Thunder Bay on Lake Superior to Norway House, a distance of many hundreds of miles. His library and household effects had to be shipped to London, England, and then re-shipped on the Hudson's Bay Company's vessel to York Factory on the western side of Hudson's Bay. From this port they were carried in open boats up a dangerous, toilsome route of over five hundred miles. Scores of times they had to be unloaded and carried on men's shoulders around the falls or rapids of treacherous, dangerous rivers. Finally, they reached Mr. Evans after crossing the Atlantic twice and travelling a distance of twelve thousand miles. Many months were required for this journey, which now, by the aid of rail and steamer, can be made in five days.

Evans, Rundle, and Barnley worked well together. In that great land, their names are still fragrant as the breath of heaven. Their heroic deeds live on; their faithful words are not forgotten; and to this day many Indians remain who were rescued from sin by their faithful labors. The "church triumphant" holds a considerable company who have finished their course with joy.

In 1854 the Indian Missions in the Northwest Territories were transferred from the English Wesleyan to the Canadian Methodist Church. The appointments for that year were as follows:

Norway House, Lake Winnipeg – Thomas Hurlburt

Oxford House – Robert Brooking

Lac La Pluie – Allen Salt

Edmonton and Rocky Mountains – Henry Steinheur

Thomas Hurlburt came from a family that gave five sons to the Methodist ministry. He entered the ministry in 1829 and devoted the greater part of his long ministerial life to the evangelization and civilization of the Indians, a work in which he was very successful.

Robert Brooking also deserves honorable mention. Before coming to America, Mr. Brooking was a missionary of the English Wesleyan Church. For years he lived and labored in Ashantee on the west coast of Africa. With his health failing in the excessive heat of that field of labor, he returned home. After his restoration, he came to Canada and devoted himself to the Indian work. Strange to say, he was sent to the coldest field in the world. He gave more than thirty years of faithful service to the Indian work. After long years of self-denying toil, he enjoyed a happy and contented old age, patiently waiting until the summons be heard to "come up higher."

Allen Salt, the third name on the 1854 list of appointments for the great lone land, was a pure Indian, one of the first converts of missionary toil. He was a man of commanding appearance and pleasing address. He proved himself to be a most trust-worthy and useful brother, respected by the whites, and a blessing to his own people.

Henry Steinheur, the last of the four, was also a pure-blooded Indian. His name has been a household word for many years in and beyond Canadian Methodism.

As a poor neglected Indian boy, he was found by one of the missionaries and induced to attend a Mission school. His progress in his studies was rapid, and his life became pure and consistent. A more complete record of him will be found further on. He now rests from his labors. Two noble sons took up his mantle and promised to serve the Master.

Time and space would fail us if we should attempt to enumerate the long list of good and true men who have given their lives to this blessed work.

When "in age and feebleness extreme," at the Brampton Conference in 1883, Dr. Egerton Ryerson stated that the happiest year in his life was that of 1826. He was stationed at the Credit as a missionary, where he preached and toiled a good deal among the Indians.

Who can forget Sha-wun-dais, the Rev. John Sunday, the Indian orator and the Christian gentleman? How fresh and spontaneous his wit! How gentle his spirit! How overwhelming his appeals for missions! Then there was Solomon Waldron, who cheerfully gave the best years of his life to the Indian work. Scores of others also toiled, whose records are on high and whom any church might feel honoured to claim as her sons.

"They climbed the steep ascent of heaven,

Through peril, toil and pain.

O God, to us may grace be given

To follow in their train!"

Before beginning my own personal narrative, I will give brief sketches of three successful native Indian missionaries – Peter Jones, John Sunday, and Henry Steinheur.

The Rev. Peter Jones

Peter Jones was born on the heights of Burlington Bay, Canada West, January 1, 1802. He was brought up by his Indian mother in the customs and ways of her people. For fourteen years he lived and wandered about the woods with the Indians in Canada and the United States.

He suffered many hardships in that kind of life. His name was Kah-ke-wa-quon-a-by, which means "Sacred waving feathers." Like all other Indian lads, he was taught to use the bow and arrows and later became expert with the gun. He was a good canoe man and fisherman.

In 1816 he had the advantages of an English school and learned to read and write. After this he settled among the Mohawk Indians. In 1820 he began attending church and thought favorably about the Christian religion. But when he saw the whites get drunk, quarrel, fight, and cheat the poor Indians, he thought the Indian's religion was the best. Though a wild youth, he never fell into the vice of drunkenness. In 1823 he became acquainted with Seth Crawford, an earnest Christian worker, who had taken a deep interest in the spiritual welfare of the Indians. His piety and sympathy for them made a deep impression on the mind of Peter Jones.

Soon after, the early Methodists held a camp meeting in the township of Ancaster. Many were drawn by curiosity to visit this gathering. Among the rest, this young Indian and his sister Mary came to see how the Methodists worshipped the Great Spirit in the wilderness.

William Case, who was later called "the Apostle of the Indian work in Canada," had the general oversight of the camp meeting. A number of ministers were associated with him, who alternately delivered pointed and powerful discourses from the preacher's stand to the large multitudes who gathered from many miles around. Generally, three sermons were preached each day, after which prayer and inquiry meetings were held, where the unconverted were exhorted to a personal acceptance of Christ. Peter Jones' own description of the scene is as follows:

"On arriving at the encampment, I was immediately struck with the solemnity of the people, several of whom were engaged in singing and prayer. Some strange feeling came over my mind, and I was led to believe that the Supreme Being was in the midst of His people, who were now engaged in worshipping Him.

"We pitched our tent upon the ground allotted to us; it was made of coarse linen cloth. The encampment contained about two acres enclosed by a brush fence. The tents were pitched within this circle. All the underbrush was taken away, while the larger trees were left standing, forming a most beautiful shade. Three gates led into the encampment. During each night, the whole place was illuminated with fire stands, which had a very imposing appearance among the trees and leaves. The people came from different parts of the country, some ten, some twenty, and some even fifty miles. They came in their wagons with their sons and daughters for the purpose of presenting them to the Lord for conversion. I should judge there were about a thousand persons on the grounds.

"At the sound of the horn, we went and took our seats in front of the stand from which a sermon was delivered. After this, there was a prayer meeting, where all who felt disposed took part in exhorting and praying for penitents. The next day, Saturday, the second of June, several sermons were preached, and prayer meetings were held during the intervals.

"By this time I began to feel very sick in my heart but did not make my feelings known. On the Sabbath, a great concourse of people came from the adjoining settlements, and many discourses were delivered. Some of these deeply impressed my mind, as I could understand most of what was said. I thought the 'black-coats' knew all that was in my heart and that I was the person addressed. The burden of my soul began to increase, and my heart said, 'What must I do to be saved?' for I saw myself to be in the gall of bitterness and in the bond of iniquity. The more I understood the plan of salvation by our Lord Jesus Christ, the more I was convinced of the truth of the Christian religion and of my need of salvation. In spite of my old Indian heart, tears flowed down my cheeks at the remembrance of my sins. I saw many of the white people powerfully awakened and heard them crying aloud for mercy, while others stood and gazed, and some even laughed and mocked. The meeting continued all Monday, and several discourses were delivered from the stand. My convictions at this time were deep and powerful. During the preaching, I wept much. This, however, I endeavoured to conceal by holding down my head behind the shoulders of the people. I felt anxious for anyone to see me weeping like an old woman, as all my countrymen consider this beneath the dignity of an Indian brave.

"In the afternoon of this day, my sorrow and anguish of soul greatly increased, and I felt as if I should sink down to hell for my sins, which I saw to be very great and exceedingly offensive to the Great Spirit. I was fully convinced that if I did not find mercy from the Lord Jesus, of whom I heard much, I certainly should be lost forever. I thought if I could only get the good people to pray for me at their prayer meetings, I should soon find relief to my mind, but I did not have sufficient courage to make my desires known. O, what a mercy that Christ did not forsake me when my heart was so slow to acknowledge Him as my Lord and Saviour!

"Towards evening I retired into the solitary wilderness to try to pray to the Great Spirit. I knelt down by the side of a fallen tree. The rattling of the leaves over my head with the wind made me uneasy. I retired further back into the woods and then wrestled with God in prayer, who helped me to resolve to go back to the camp and get the people of God to pray for me. I went, but when I arrived at the meeting, my fearful heart again began to hesitate. I stood by the side of a tree, considering what I must do, whether I should give up seeking the Lord altogether or not.

"It was now about dusk. While I was thus hesitating as to what to do, a good old man named Reynolds came to me and said, 'Do you wish to obtain religion and serve the Lord?'

"I replied, 'Yes.'

"He then said, 'Do you desire the people of God to pray for you?' I told him I did, and that was what I had desired. He then led me into the prayer meeting. I fell upon my knees and began as well as I could to call upon the name of the Lord. The old man prayed for me and exhorted me to believe on our Lord Jesus Christ, who had died for Indians as well as for white people. Several of the preachers prayed for me. When I first began to pray, my heart was soft and tender, and I shed many tears.

"But, strange to say, sometime after that, my heart got as hard as a stone. I tried to look up, but the heavens seemed like brass. I began to say to myself, 'There is no mercy for a poor Indian.' I felt myself an outcast, a sinner bound for hell. About midnight I got so fatigued and discouraged that I retired from our prayer meeting and went to our tent, where I immediately fell asleep. I don't know how long I had slept when I was awakened by the Rev. E. Stoney and G. Ferguson, who had missed me at the prayer meeting and had come with a light to search for me.

"Mr. Stoney said to me, 'Arise, Peter, and go with us to the prayer meeting and get your soul converted. Your sister Mary has already obtained the Spirit of adoption, and you must also seek the same blessing.'

"When I heard that my sister was converted and had found peace (not knowing before that she was even so much as seeking the Lord), I sprang up and went with the two good men, determining that if there was still mercy left for me, I would seek until I found it. On arriving at the prayer meeting, I found my sister apparently as happy as she could be. She came to me and began to weep over me and exhort me to give my heart to God, telling me how she had found the Lord. These words came with power to my poor sinking heart, and I fell upon my knees and cried to God for mercy. My sister prayed for me, as well as other good people, including Mr. Stoney, whose zeal for my salvation I shall never forget. At the dawn of day, I was able to cast myself wholly upon the Lord and claim the atoning blood of Jesus as my all-sufficient Saviour, who had borne all my sins in His own body on the cross. That very instant my burden was removed, joy unspeakable filled my heart, and I could say, 'Abba, Father.'

"The love of God being now shed abroad in my heart, I loved Him intensely and praised Him in the midst of the people. Everything now appeared in a new light, and all the works of God seemed to unite with me in uttering the praises of the Lord. The people, the trees of the woods, the gentle winds, the warbling notes of the birds, and the approaching sun all declared the power and goodness of the Great Spirit. And what was I that I should not raise my voice in giving glory to God, who had done such great things for me!

"My heart was now drawn out in love and compassion for all people, especially for my parents, brothers, sisters, and countrymen. I prayed for their conversion – that they might also find this great salvation. I believed with all my heart in God the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost and gladly renounced the world, the flesh, and the devil. I cannot describe my feelings at this time. I was a wonder to myself. O, the goodness of God in giving His only begotten Son to die for me, and thus to make me His child by the Spirit of adoption! May I never forget the great things He has done for me on the glorious morning of the fifth day of June 1823!

"Before the meeting closed on this Tuesday, a fellowship meeting was held. The Rev. W. Case requested all those who had experienced the blessing of justification to stand up, and a good number rose, among whom were my sister Mary and myself. When Elder Case recognized me, he exclaimed, 'Glory to God! There stands a son of Augustus Jones of the Grand River among the converts. Now the door is opened for the work of conversion among his nation!'

"The meeting being closed, we returned home, and with tears we told our parents what the Lord had done for us. Our simple story affected them much; they wept and said they were glad that we had given our hearts to God and exhorted us to persevere in the good way.

"A few days after this, the evil spirit tempted me to doubt the reality of the change wrought in my soul by the Holy Spirit, but this seemed only to urge me to seek the Lord with greater diligence. I searched the Scriptures, prayed much, and waited for a clearer manifestation of His work on my heart. One day I retired to a grove to pray. While thus engaged, all my doubts and fears were dispersed, and I was enabled to receive the witness of the Spirit bearing witness with my spirit that I was a child of God. I had passed from death unto life, and truthfully a good work was begun in my heart."

The Rev. John Sunday

One of the most remarkable conversions among the Indians of Canada was that of John Sunday, who later became well known and beloved in Canada and England. For many years after his conversion, he was employed as a missionary among his own people, and hundreds were converted through his instrumentality. He was often sought after to attend missionary anniversaries. Immense crowds gathered wherever he was announced to speak. At times a marvelous passion emerged in his addresses, and his audiences were often moved to tears, as well as charmed with his quaint humor. He lived a consistent and godly life and afforded a glorious testimony of the gospel's power to lift up and save a drunken, lost Indian.

The account of John Sunday's conversion, which he wrote after he had gone to school and acquired a partial knowledge of the English language, was so intensely interesting that we give it here in his own quaint broken English, which will give a fair idea of his way of expressing himself in his inimitable addresses.

"Brother Scott want me that I shall write my conviction about nine years ago. First is, we had camped at Mr. James Howard's place one morning. I go to Mr. Howard to get some whiskey, so I did get it some. After I took it, that fire-water, I feel very happy. By and by, James Farmer he says to me, 'Do you want go see them preachers at Belleville? They want see all Indians.'

Rev. John Sunday.

"I say to him, 'Why they want see Indians for?'

"He says to me, 'Them are preachers talk about God.' So I went home to my wigwam to tell others, and we took some our blankets. We hire with them, Mr. Howard with his team, to take us at Belleville. We got there about nine o'clock. We have no chance to go in the meeting house, so we went to the wood pile; so we sit there all day in the wood pile, until about five o'clock in the evening. By and by them came out from meeting house, so we went to them and shake hands with them. About seven o'clock in the evening went to meeting; I want to hear them very much, what they will say to us.

"By and by one of them rose up talk to us; he begin talk about God, and soul, and body; he says this: 'All mankind is only two ways we have got to go when we come to die; one is broad way, and other is narrow way. All the wicked white men and wicked Indians and drunkards go there; but the good white people shall go in the narrow way. But if the Indians also become good and serve the Lord, they can go in that narrow way.'

"Then now I begin think myself; I begin feel bad in my heart. This is, I think, I am one to go in that broad way, because I had hard drink last night. My father and my mother had taught me this ever since when I was little boy, 'All the Indians shall go where sun set, but the white people go in the Ishpeming.' That I had trouble in my heart. Next morning again they had talk to us; so they went off from us.

"As soon as they went off, some them Indian says, 'Let us get some more whiskey to drink it. What them men say unto us, we shall not do so; we must do our own way.' So they went to get more whiskey. So I take it little with them; and immediately after I had drunk it, I went home, me and Moses. Is about seven miles to our house.

"All way along the road I thinking about these two ways. Four nights I do not sleep much. On Saturday we all went to Belleville again. There I saw Brother Case. He says to me, 'How you like Peter Jones' talk?'

"I say unto him, 'Four nights I do not sleep much.' And he began to talk about religion of Jesus Christ. Oh, I feel very bad again; I thought this, 'I am one of devil his men, because I so wicked.'

"On next Monday we all went home again. That night I thought I would try pray: this is first I ever did intent to pray. I do not know how to pray; my heart is too hard; I cannot say but few words; I say this: 'Oh Lord, I am wicked, I am wicked man, take me out from that everlasting fire and dark place.' Next morning I went in the woods to pray; no peace in my heart yet. By and by I went to other Indians to tell them about what the men had said unto us at Belleville; so I went home again.

"By and by we went to cross the Bay on Sahgegwin Island. So Indians come there on island. By and by we begin have prayer meeting in the evening and in the morning. I talk with them all time. I had boy about six years old; by and by he got sick and died. I felt very bad. I thought this, 'I better not stop to pray to God.' I went to Belleville to all them Methodist men to come on Sahgegwin Island to pray for us. I asked one of them Methodist men for glass of beer to comfort in my heart.

"That man say to me, 'Beer is not good for you; better for you to have Good Spirit in your heart.' None them they do not want to come on our wigwam. So I went home without glass of beer. So we have prayer meeting. None of us had religion yet.

"By and by I went to quarterly meeting at Mr. Ketcheson. I saw one man and one woman shouting; I thought they were drunk. I thought this, 'They cannot be drunk, because is them Christian: must be something in them.' Brother Belton he preached that day: he says this, 'If any man be great sinner, Lord will forgive him, if only believe in Him.' I thought this, 'If I do well, maybe God will forgive me.'

"About one week after this, another quarterly meeting at Seventown, Mr. Dinge's barn. In the morning they have love feast; they give each other little bread and water; they give us some too, that piece and bread and water. I do not know what they do it for. When I took it, the bread had stop in my throat and choke me. Oh how I feel in my heart! I feel very sick in my heart. I think this, 'Surely, I belong to devil, because the Lord bread choke me: I know how that Great Spirit is angry with me.' I think this again, 'I do not know what must I do to be save my soul from that everlasting fire.' I thought, 'I will try again.' Take another piece and bread not that the Lord bread, but some I got at a house. I did swallow it down. I feel worse again, because I swallowed down that bread. Oh how I feel in my heart! I feel like this – if I in under the water.

"In afternoon we went to prayer meeting in the Old House, about five o'clock, and Peter Jones says to us, 'Let us lift up our hearts to God.' I look at him; I do not understand him.

"I think this, 'If I do this – take my heart out of my body, I shall be died,' However, I kneel down to pray to God. I do not know what to say to ask for religion; I only say this: 'Oh, Keshamunedo, shahnanemeshim!' 'Oh Lord, have mercy on me, poor sinner!' By and by, the good Lord He pour His Spirit upon my poor wretched heart; then I shout and happy in my heart. I feel very light, and after prayer meeting, I went to tell Peter Jones how I feel in my heart. I say to him this, 'I feel something in my heart.'

"Peter says to me, 'Lord bless you now.' Oh how glad in my heart! I look around and look over other side a Bay, and look up, and look in the woods; the same is everything NEW to me. I hope I got religion that day. I thank the Great Spirit what He done for me. I want to be like the man, which built his house upon a rock. Amen."

Mr. Sunday lived a godly, consistent life for many years. He was beloved by all who knew him in England and Canada and died at a good old age. His end was joyous and triumphant. His body rests in the beautiful little cemetery at Alnwick, near Rice Lake, close by all that is mortal of the Rev. William Case, his beloved spiritual father.

The Rev. Henry Steinheur

One of the most devoted and successful native Indian missionaries was the Rev. Henry Steinheur.

Henry was a poor little child, wretched and neglected. He was picked up by the Rev. William Case, who patiently cared for the lad and not only taught him the simple truths of Christianity, but also laid the foundation of an English education. Later his education became so extensive that many a white man might have envied him.

Rev. Henry Steinheur.

When Mr. Case realized the boy had a very musical voice, he selected him to be one of a little company of native children with whom he travelled. They journeyed through various parts of the Northern States, where they sang their sweet Indian hymns and gave addresses to large audiences. This showed the people what could be done by the Indians, who were considered unmitigated evils to be legislated out of existence as quickly as possible.

In one of the cities visited by Mr. Case and his Indian boys, a gentleman named Henry Steinheur became interested in one of the bright, clever little Indian lads. He made an offer to Mr. Case: If the little fellow, who was only known by his native name, would take his name, he would pay all the expense incurred for a first-class education. Such an offer was not to be despised, so from that time forward, this Indian lad was known as Henry Steinheur.

When the lecturing tour was ended and some preparatory work in the Mission school completed, Henry was sent to Victoria College in the town of Cobourg, Canada. Here he remained for some years. He was not only a first class student, but also a consistent, devoted Christian. His progress in his studies was such that he proved the Indian mind is as capable as any other to receive and retain a first class education.

Many years after his college days were over, I heard him preach a capital sermon before a large congregation containing many ministers. Before reading his text in English, Mr. Steinheur read it in Greek in a way that pleased the most learned Greek scholars present, even though he had just come in from a far off Indian Mission, where he had only heard the native dialect spoken.

After his college life, he devoted himself to missionary work among his own people. For over forty years, he was the same modest, unassuming, useful, godly missionary. When I went to Norway House, I found that, although he had been away for years, his name was "like ointment poured forth." Many loving inquiries were made concerning him, and many assured me that he had been the instrument in God's hand, leading them out of the dense darkness of their old sinful lives into the blessed light of the gospel.

Henry spent the last years of his useful life among the Cree Indians at White Fish Lake and other Missions in the great Saskatchewan country of the Canadian Northwest. He triumphantly passed from labor to reward, realizing in his closing hours the sustaining power of that gospel which he had faithfully and lovingly preached to others. His two sons followed in his footsteps.

Mr. Steinheur told me the following incident, which will give an idea of the steadfastness of some of the Indian converts. At one of the Missions in the Saskatchewan country, Rev. William Rundle labored for God in the conversion of a band of Indians. Circumstances made it necessary for Mr. Rundle to return to Wolverhampton, England, where he lived in a happy old age. For several years, the Indians in Saskatchewan were never visited by a missionary or teacher. After a long time of weary travelling over the prairies, Mr. Steinheur reached that lonely western Indian village. When it was time to set up camp, he was still several miles from the village. However, he was so anxious to be with the people among whom he had come to labor and end his ten-week journey that he could not bear the idea of camping so near, yet so far, from them. He pushed on in the evening twilight ahead of his party to where he saw the wigwam village on the prairie. When he drew near to the large, outermost wigwam, he heard singing. To his surprise, instead of the monotonous droning of the pagan medicine man or conjurer, the music was a good Christian tune – one with which he was very familiar.

Soon the singing ceased; after a little pause, a clear manly voice began to pray. For a time the prayer seemed to be all thanksgiving; then there went up an urgent request from the earnest one praying: "Lord, send us another missionary like Rundle. Lord, send us a missionary to teach us out of Thy Word more about Thy Self and Thy Son Jesus." Mr. Steinheur said he was thrilled and delighted, so he lifted up the hanging, tanned leather skin door and quietly entered and bowed down with them in prayer. When they arose, he told them who he was and that he had come to dwell among them as their missionary. Great indeed was their joy and excitement. They crowded around him, and some of them kissed him. All welcomed him with shouts and tears of gladness, as though he had just come down from heaven to dwell among them.

I was anxious to know about the people's steadfastness and integrity through all those years of neglect, when the Church had left them alone. They had been surrounded by pagan tribes without a missionary or religious teacher. I said to Mr. Steinheur, "Tell me, my brother, in what state did you find them as regards their religious life, the observance of the Sabbath, and their religious services?"

"Brother Young," said he, "It was just like a conference change of ministers. It seemed to me as though my predecessor had only been gone two or three weeks. They had remembered the Sabbath days and had kept them. They had not neglected any of their religious services, and they were living as consistent lives as God's dear children anywhere."

The accompanying portraits are of three Christian Indians from those western missions. Jonas is a Mountain Stoney, Samson and Pakan are Crees. Pakan is the chief, a worthy successor of Maskepetoon, who was murdered by Nahdoos, the Blackfoot chief. The story of Maskepetoon's marvelous conversion has thrilled many hearts. At a campfire on the western prairies, Maskepetoon heard the beautiful chapter which contains the Savior's prayer for His murderers: Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do. The faithful missionary held this up as the example that must be followed by those who would be real Christians. The warlike chief listened in amazement to these requirements, so opposite to the revengeful spirit of the lost. But after he had pondered them over, Maskepetoon decided to accept these words and showed the genuineness of his conversion a few days later by forgiving the murderer of his only son.

Jonas Samson Pakan
Chapter 3

The Summons and Departure for the Indian Mission

Several letters were handed into my study, where I sat at work among my books.

I was then pastor of a church in the city of Hamilton. Showers of blessing had been descending upon us, and over a hundred and forty new members had recently been received into the church. I had availed myself of the Christmas holidays by getting married and now was back with my beloved, when these letters were handed in. At that moment we were only concerned with one of them. As near as I can remember, it read as follows:

Mission Rooms, Toronto, 1868

Rev. Egerton R. Young.

Dear Brother, At a large and influential meeting of the Missionary Committee, held yesterday, it was unanimously decided to ask you to go as a missionary to the Indian tribes at Norway House and in the Northwest Territories north of Lake Winnipeg. An early answer signifying your acceptance of this will much oblige,

Yours affectionately,

E. Wood,

L. Taylor

I read the letter and then handed it, without comment, across the table to Mrs. Young, the bride of only a few days, for her perusal. She read it over carefully; then after a quiet moment, as was quite natural, asked, "What does this mean?"

"I can hardly tell," I replied; "but it is evident that it means a good deal."

"Have you volunteered to go as a missionary to that far off land?" she asked.

"Why, no. Much as I love and am deeply interested in the missionary work of our church, I have not made the first move in this direction. Years ago I used to think I would love to go to a foreign field. But lately, as the Lord has been blessing us here in the home work and has given us such a glorious revival, I should have thought it like running away from duty to have volunteered for any other field."

"Well, here is this letter; what are you going to do about it?"

"That is just what I would like to know," was my answer.

"There is one thing we can do," she said quietly, and we bowed ourselves in prayer and "spread the letter before the Lord." We asked for wisdom to guide us in this important matter, which had suddenly come upon us. If carried out, we knew this would completely change all the plans and purposes, which we, the young married couple in the joyousness of our honeymoon, had just been marking out. We earnestly prayed for Divine light and guidance to be so clearly revealed that we could not be mistaken as to our duty.

As we arose from our knees, I quietly said to Mrs. Young, "Have you any impression on your mind as to our duty in this matter?"

Her eyes were filled with tears, but the voice, though low, was firm as she replied, "The call has come very unexpectedly, but I think it is from God, and we will go."

My church and its kind officials strongly opposed my leaving them, especially when so many new converts had been brought into the church through my instrumentality.

Portrait of Mrs. Young.

I consulted my beloved ministerial brethren in the city, and with just one exception the reply was, "Remain at your present station, where God has so abundantly blessed your labors." The answer of the one brother who did not join in with the others was never forgotten. As it may be beneficial, I will put it on record:

When I showed him the letter and asked what I should do in reference to it, much to my surprise, he became deeply agitated and wept like a child. When he could control his emotions, he said, "For my answer let me give you a little of my history.

"Years ago, I was very happily situated in the ministry in the Old Land. I loved my work, my home, and my wife passionately. I had the confidence and esteem of my people and thought I was as happy as I could be this side of heaven. One day a letter came from the Wesleyan Mission Rooms in London, asking if I would go out as a missionary to the West Indies. Without consideration and without making it a matter of prayer, I at once sent back a positive refusal.

"From that day," he continued, "everything went wrong with me. Heaven's smile seemed to have left me. I lost my grip upon my people. My influence for good over them left me; I could not tell how. My once happy home was blasted, and in all my trouble I got no sympathy from my church or in the community. I had to resign my position and leave the place. I fell into darkness and lost my hold upon God. A few years ago I came out to this country. God has restored me to the light of His countenance. The church has been very sympathetic and indulgent. For years I have been permitted to labor in her fold, and for this I rejoice. But," he added with emphasis, "I long ago came to the resolve that if ever the church asked me to go to the West Indies or to any other mission field, I would be careful about sending back an abrupt refusal."

I pondered over his words and his experience. I talked about them with my good wife, and we decided to go. Our loving friends were startled at our resolve but soon gave us their benedictions, united to tangible evidences of their regard. A blessed peace filled our souls, and we longed to be away and at work in the new field, which had so suddenly opened before us.

"Yes, we will go. We may no longer doubt

To give up friends, and home, and every tie,

That binds our heart to thee, our country.

Henceforth, then

It matters not if storms or sunshine be

Our earthly lot, bitter or sweet our cup.

We only pray, God fit us for the work,

God make us holy, and our spirits nerve

For the stern hour of strife. Let us but know

There is an Arm unseen that holds us up,

An Eye that kindly watches all our path,

Till we our weary pilgrimage have done.

Let us but know we have a Friend that waits

To welcome us to glory, and we joy

To tread that drear and northern wilderness."

The grand valedictory services were held in the old Richmond Street Church, Toronto, on Thursday, May 7, 1868. The church was crowded, and the enthusiasm was very great. The honored President of the Conference for that year, the Rev. James Elliott, presided. He had ordained me a few months before. Many speakers participated, including the Rev. George McDougall, who already had a varied experience of missionary life. He had something to talk about that was worth listening. The Rev. George Young also had much that was interesting to say, as he was there bidding farewell to his own church and the people of whom he had long been the beloved pastor. Dr. Punshon, who had just arrived from England, was present and gave one of his inimitable magnetic addresses. The memory of his loving, cheering words abode with us for many a day.

It was a great joy to us that my honored father, the Rev. William Young, was with us on the platform at this impressive farewell service. For many years, he had been one of that heroic band of pioneer ministers in Canada who had laid the foundations of the church which had contributed much to the spiritual development of the country. His benediction and blessing were among the prized favors in these eventful hours in our new career.

My father had been intimately acquainted with William Case and James Evans and at times had been partially associated with them in Indian evangelization. He had faith in the power of the gospel to save Indians and now rejoiced that he had a son and daughter who had consecrated themselves to this work.

Rev. William Young.

Because we had a long journey of many hundreds of miles after getting beyond cars or steamboats in the western States, we decided to take our own horses and canvas covered wagons from Ontario with us. We arranged to make Hamilton our starting point. On Monday, the eleventh of May, 1868, our little company filed out of that city towards St. Catharine's, where we were to take passage in a boat for Milwaukee. Thus our adventurous journey was begun.

The following were in our party: First, the Rev. George McDougall, who for years had been successfully doing the work of a faithful missionary among the Indians in the distant Saskatchewan country, a thousand miles northwest of the Red River country. He had come down to Canada for reinforcements for the work and had not failed in his efforts to secure them. As he was an old, experienced western traveller, he was the guide of the party.

Next was the Rev. George Young with his wife and son. Dr. Young had consented to go and begin the work in the Red River Settlement, a place where Methodism had never before had a footing. Grandly and well did he succeed in his efforts.

Next came the genial Rev. Peter Campbell, with his brave wife and two little girls. He relinquished a pleasant circuit to go to the distant mission field among the Indians of the northwest prairies. We had also with us two Messrs. Snyders, brothers of Mrs. Campbell, who had consecrated themselves to the work as teachers among the distant Indian tribes. Several other young men were in our party, and in Dakota we were joined by "Joe" and "Job," a couple of young Indians.

All of these, with the writer and his wife, constituted our party of fifteen or twenty. At St. Catharine's on the Welland Canal, we shipped our outfit and took passage on board the steamer Empire for Milwaukee.

The vessel was very crowded with much discomfort. In passing through Lake Michigan, we encountered rough weather, and seasickness assailed the great majority of our party.

We reached Milwaukee on the Sabbath, May 17. We found it a lively, wide-awake Americo-German city. We saw little respect for the Sabbath within the multitudes we met. Business was going full blast in many of the streets with few evidences that it was the day of rest. Doubtless there were many who had not defiled their garments and had not profaned the day, but we weary travellers had no time to find them.

Although we had taken the precaution to bond everything through to the northwest and had the American Consular certificate proving every regulation had been complied with, we were subjected to many vexatious delays and expenses by the custom house officials. We were so delayed that we telegraphed headquarters at Washington about the matter. Soon orders came to the over-officious officials to allow us to proceed at once.

Two valuable days, however, had been lost by their obstructiveness. Why can't Canada and the United States, lying side by side from the Atlantic to the Pacific, devise some mutually advantageous scheme of reciprocity? Why can't these two countries do away with the vexatious delays and annoyances and expense of these custom houses?

We left Milwaukee for La Crosse on the Mississippi on Tuesday evening at eight o'clock. At La Crosse, we embarked on the steamer Milwaukee for St. Paul. These large flat-bottomed steamers are quite an institution on these western rivers. Drawing only a few inches of water, they glide over sandbars where the water is very shallow. Swinging in against the shore, they land and receive passengers and freight where wharves are unknown, or where, if they existed, they would likely be swept away in the great spring floods.

The scenery in many places along the upper Mississippi is very fine. High bold bluffs rise up in wondrous variety and picturesque beauty. In some places they are composed of naked rock. Others are covered to their very summit with the richest green. A few years ago, the chants of the Indians sounded here, and the buffalo swarmed around these buttes and quenched their thirst in these waters. Now the shrill whistle of the steamer disturbs the solitudes and echoes and re-echoes with wondrous distinctness among the high bluffs and fertile vales.

We arrived at St. Paul on Thursday forenoon and found it to be a stirring city, beautifully situated on the eastern side of the Mississippi. We had several hours of good hard work, getting our caravan in order, purchasing supplies, and making all final arrangements for the long journey before us. Beyond this, the iron horse had not yet penetrated, and the great surging waves of immigration, which soon rolled over into those fertile territories, had only been little ripples.

Our splendid horses, which had been cooped up in the holds of vessels or cramped in uncomfortable freight cars, were now to have an opportunity for exercising their limbs and showing of what mettle they were made. At 4:00 p.m., we filed out of the city. The recollection of that first ride on the prairie will live on as long as memory holds her throne. The day was one of those gloriously perfect ones that are rarely given us, as if to show what earth must have been before the fall. The sky, the air, the landscape – everything – seemed in such harmony and so perfect that involuntarily I exclaimed, "If God's footstool is so glorious, what will the throne be?"

We journeyed a few miles, then camped for the night. We were all in the best of spirits and seemed to rejoice that we were getting away from civilization, and more and more out into the wilderness. For days, we were still in the vicinity of frontier villages and settlements, but as we journeyed on, they rapidly diminished in number.

After several days travelling, we camped on the western side of the Mississippi near where the thriving town of Clear Water now stands. As some of our carts and travelling equipment had begun to show signs of weakness, we thought it prudent to give everything a thorough overhauling before we pushed out from this point. No place for assistance would be found beyond this location. We had eight tents, fourteen horses, and from fifteen to twenty persons, counting big and little, whites and Indians in our camp. Whenever we camped, we turned our horses loose in the luxuriant prairie grass. The only precaution we took was to "hobble" them, as the work of tying their forefeet together is called. It seemed a little cruel at first, and some of our spirited horses resented it and struggled against it as an infringement on their liberties. But they soon became used to it, and it served the good purpose we had in view: namely, that of keeping them from straying far away from the camp during the night.

A Prairie Scene.

At one place where we were obliged to stop for a few days to repair broken axletrees, I passed through an adventure that will not soon be forgotten. Some friendly settlers came to our camp and gave us the unpleasant information that a number of notorious horse thieves were prowling around. They advised us to keep a sharp lookout on our splendid Canadian horses. We saw an isolated barn about half a mile from the camp that had been put up by a settler who would not require it until harvest. We obtained permission to use it as a place in which to keep our horses during the nights while we were detained in the settlement. Two of our party were detailed each night to act as guards. One evening Dr. Young's son, George, and I had been selected for this duty. We were starting from the camp for our post, when I overheard our old veteran guide, the Rev. George McDougall, say in a bantering sort of way, "Pretty guards they are! Why, some Indian boys could go and steal every horse from them without the slightest trouble."

Stung to the quick by the remark, I replied, "Mr. McDougall, I think I have the best horse in the company; but if you or any of your Indians can steal him out of that barn between sundown and sunrise, you may keep him!"

We tethered the horses in a line and fastened all the doors securely but the large front one. We arranged our seats where we were partially concealed, but where we could see our horses and could command every door with our rifles. In quiet tones we chatted about various things until about one o'clock, when all became hushed and still. The novelty of the situation impressed me, and sitting in the darkness, I could not help contrasting my present position with the one I had occupied a few weeks before. I had been the pastor of a city church in the midst of a blessed revival and surrounded by all the comforts of civilization. Now I was in Minnesota in this barn, sitting on a bundle of prairie grass through the long hours of night with a breech-loading rifle in hand. I was guarding a number of horses from a band of horse thieves.

"Hush! What is that?"

A hand was surely on the door feeling for the wooden latch. We mentally said, "You have made too much noise, Mr. Thief, for your purpose, and you are discovered." Soon the door opened a little. As it was a beautiful starlit night, the form of a tall man was plainly visible in the opening. Covering him with my rifle and about to fire, quick as a flash came the thought, "Better be sure that that man is a horse thief or one intent on evil before you fire, for it is at any time a serious thing to send a soul so suddenly into eternity." So keeping my rifle to my shoulder, I shouted out, "Who's there?"

"Why, it's only your friend Matthew," said our tall friend, as he came stumbling along in the darkness. "Queer if you don't know me by this time."

As the thought came to me of how near I had been to sending him into the other world, a strange feeling of faintness came over me, and flinging my rifle from me, I sank back trembling like a leaf.

Meanwhile the good-natured fellow, knowing little of the risk he had run and not seeing the effect his thoughtless action had produced on me, talked on. He said it was too hot and close over at the tents; he could not sleep there. He thought he would come over and stop with us in the barn.

There was considerable excitement, and some strong words were uttered at the camp next morning at his breach of orders and narrow escape. Instructions had been given to all that none should go near the barn under any circumstance while it was being guarded.

At another place in Minnesota, we came across a party who were restoring their homes and "building up their waste places" recently desolated by the terrible Sioux wars. As they had nearly all suffered by that fearful struggle, they were very bitter in their feelings towards the Indians, completely ignoring the fact that the whites were to blame for that last outbreak in which nine hundred lives were lost and a section of country larger than some of the New England States was laid desolate. It is now an undisputed fact that the greed and dishonesty of the Indian agents of the United States caused that terrible war of 1863. The principal agent had received $600,000 in gold from the government, which belonged to the Indians and was to be paid to Little Crow and the other chiefs and members of the tribe. The agent took advantage of the premium on gold, which in those days was very high, and exchanged the gold for greenbacks. He paid the Indians with these, putting the enormous difference in his own pocket. When the payments began, Little Crow, who knew his rights according to the Treaty, said, "Gold dollars worth more than paper dollars. You pay us gold." The agent refused, and the war followed. This is only one instance out of scores in which the greed and selfishness of a few plunged the country into war, causing the loss of hundreds of lives and millions in property.

In addition to this, these same unprincipled agents with their hired accomplices and subsidized press systematically and incessantly misrepresent and vilify the Indian character in order to hide the enormity of their crimes and divert attention from themselves and their crookedness.

"Stay and be our minister," said some of these settlers to me in one place. "We'll secure for you a good location and will help you get in some crops and do the best we can to make you comfortable."

When they saw we were all against their appeals, they changed their tactics. One exclaimed, "You'll never get through the north Indian country with those fine horses and all that fine truck you have."

"O yes, we will," said Mr. McDougall. "We have a little flag that will carry us in safety through any Indian tribe in America."

They doubted the assertion very much, but we found it to be true with the Sioux. For when a few days later we met them, our Union Jack fluttering from the whip stalk caused them to fling their guns in the grass and come crowding round us with extended hands. They were saying, through those who understood their language, that they were glad to see and shake hands with the subjects of the "Great Mother" across the waters.

In our journey north when we reached their country and saw them coming down upon us, at Mr. McDougall's orders we stowed away our rifles and revolvers inside our wagons and met them as friends, unarmed and fearless. They smoked the pipe of peace with those of our party who could use the weed, and others drank tea with the rest of us. As we were in profound ignorance of their language, and they of ours, some of us did not have much conversation with them beyond what could be carried on by a few signs. But, through Mr. McDougall and our own Indians, they assured us of their friendship.

We pitched our tents, hobbled our horses, and turned them loose as usual. We cooked our evening meals, said our prayers, unrolled our camp beds, and lay down to rest without earthly sentinels or guards around us. Although the campfires of these so-called "treacherous and bloodthirsty" Sioux could be seen in the distance, we knew their sharp eyes were upon us. Yet we lay down, slept in peace, and arose in safety. Nothing was disturbed or stolen.

So much for a clean record of honorable dealing with a people who, while quick to resent when provoked, are mindful of kindnesses received. They are as faithful to their promises and treaty obligations, as are any other races of the world.

We were thirty days making the trip from St. Paul to the Red River settlement. We had to ford a large number of bridgeless streams. Some of them took us three or four days to get our whole party across. Not infrequently, we had some of our wagons stuck in the quicksand or sunk in the quagmires that the combined strength of all the men of our party was required to get them out. Often the ladies of our company, with shoes and stockings off, would be seen bravely wading across wide streams, where now travellers are whirled along at the rate of forty miles an hour in luxurious comfort in parlor cars. Our ladies were a cheerful, brave band of pioneers.

The weather was pleasant, but we had some drenching rainstorms. Then the spirits of some of the party went down, and they wondered whatever possessed them to leave their happy homes for such exile and wretchedness as this. One fearful, tornado-like storm assailed us when we were camped for the night on the western bank of Red River. Tents were instantly blown down. Heavy wagons were driven by it, and for a time confusion reigned supreme. Fortunately nobody was hurt, and most of the things blown away were recovered the next day.

Our Sabbaths were days of quiet rest and delightful communion with God. Together we worshipped Him who dwells not in temples made with hands. Many were the precious communions we had with Him who had been our Comforter and our Refuge under other circumstances, and who, having now called us to this new work and novel life, was sweetly fulfilling in us the blessed promise: Behold, I am with you always, even unto the end of the age (Matthew 28:20).
Chapter 4

Journey to Norway House

After travelling so long together, our party broke up with mutual regrets at Fort Garry in the Red River settlement, which is now the flourishing city of Winnipeg. The Rev. George Young and his family remained to begin the first Methodist Mission in that place. He had many discouragements and difficulties, but his successes have been glorious. Because of him, the Methodist Church now has a prominent position in the Northwest. His station was one calling for rare tact and ability. The Riel Rebellion and the disaffection of the Metis population made his position one of danger and insecurity, but he proved himself equal to every emergency. In addition to the many duties cast upon him in the establishment of the church amidst so many discordant elements, a great many extra cares were imposed upon him by the isolated missionaries in the interior. They looked to him for the purchasing and sending of their much-needed supplies as best he could. His kindly laborious efforts for their comfort can never be forgotten.

The Rev. George McDougall and Peter Campbell with the teachers and other members of the party pushed on with their horses, wagons, and carts. They headed northwest to the great North Saskatchewan River, twelve hundred miles farther into the interior.

During the first part of their journey over the fertile but unbroken prairies, the only inhabitants they met were the roving Indians and Metis, whose wigwams and noisy carts have long since disappeared. These have been replaced by the comfortable habitations of energetic settlers and the swiftly moving trains of the railroads.

From Fort Garry, Mrs. Young and I travelled the rest of our journey by water. We went down the Red River to its mouth and along the whole length of the stormy Lake Winnipeg and beyond to our own far-off northern home. We made the trip in what is called "the Hudson's Bay inland boat." These boats were constructed like large skiffs, only each end is sharp. They have neither deck nor cabin. They are furnished with a mast and a large square sail, both of which are stowed away when the wind is not favorable for sailing. They are manned by six or eight oarsmen and are able to carry about four tons of merchandise. They can stand a rough sea and weather severe gales, as we found out during our years of adventurous trips in them. When there is no favorable wind for sailing, the stalwart boatmen push out their heavy oars. They bend their sturdy backs to the work and keep the most perfect time, often making sixty miles a day. But this toiling at the oar is slavish work, and the favoring gale, even if it develops into a fierce storm, is always preferable to a dead calm. These northern Indians make capital sailors, and in the sudden squalls and fierce gales to which these great lakes are subject, they display much courage and judgment.

Our place in the boat was in the hind part near the steersman, a pure Indian, whose name was Thomas Mamanowatum, familiarly known as "Big Tom," because of his gigantic size. He was one of nature's noblemen, a grand, true man. We shall have more to say about him later. Honored indeed was the missionary who led such a man to Christ.

We journeyed on pleasantly for twenty miles down the Red River to Lower Fort Garry, where we found that we should have to wait for several days before the outfit for the boats would be ready. We were, however, very courteously entertained by the Hudson's Bay officials, who showed us much kindness.

Roving Indians and Metis.

This Lower Fort Garry, or "the Stone Fort," as it is called in the country, is an extensive affair, having a massive stone wall around it and the Company's buildings in the center. It was built in stormy times when rival trading parties existed, and hostile bands were ever on the war path. It is capable of resisting almost any force that could be brought against it, unaided by artillery. We were a little amused and very pleased with the old time and almost courtly etiquette which abounded at this and the other establishments of this flourishing company. In those days the law of precedents was in full force. When the bell rang, no clerk of fourteen years standing would think of entering before one who had been fifteen years in the service or of sitting above him at the table. Such a thing would have brought the severe reproof of the senior officer in charge upon him. Irksome and even frivolous as some of these laws seemed, they served a good purpose and prevented many misunderstandings, which might have occurred.

Another singular custom, which we did not like, was the fact that there were two dining rooms in these establishments, one for the ladies and the other for the gentlemen of the service. It appeared very odd to see the gentlemen with the greatest politeness escort the ladies into the hall, which ran between the two dining rooms, and then solemnly turn to the left, while the ladies all filed off into the room on the right. As the arrangement was so contrary to all our ideas and education on the subject, we presumed to question it; but the only satisfaction we could get was that it was one of their old customs and had worked well. One old crusty bachelor official said, "We do not want the women around us when we are discussing our business matters, which we wish to keep to ourselves. If they were present, all our schemes and plans would soon be known to all, and our trade might be much injured."

Until lately, the adventurous traveller in this vast country, whose courage or curiosity enabled him to brave the hardships or run the risks of exploring these enormous territories, was entirely dependent upon the goodwill and hospitality of the officials of the Hudson's Bay Company. They were uniformly treated with courtesy and hospitably entertained.

Some of these inland posts are very remote, and the residents are isolated for years at a time. These lonely establishments can be found scattered all over the upper half of this great American Continent. They each have a population of five to sixty human beings. If possible, these posts are placed in favorable localities for fish or game but often one to five hundred miles apart. The only purpose for their erection and occupancy is to exchange the products of civilization for the rich and valuable furs which can be obtained here as nowhere else in the world. In many instances, the people only hear from the outside world once or twice in twelve months. Then the arrival of the packet is the great event of the year.

We spent a very pleasant Sabbath at Lower Fort Garry. I preached in the largest dining room to a very attentive congregation, composed of the officials and servants of the company with several visitors and some Metis and Indians who happened to be at the fort at that time.

The next day two boats were ready, and we embarked on our adventurous journey for our far off isolated home beyond the northern end of Lake Winnipeg. The trip down Red River was very pleasant. We passed through the flourishing Indian settlement where the Church of England has a successful Mission among the Indians. We admired their substantial church and comfortable homes. We saw in them and in the farms tangible evidence of the power of Christian Missions to elevate and bless those who come under their ennobling influences. The cozy residence of the Venerable Archdeacon Cowley was pointed out to us, beautifully embowered among the trees. He was a man beloved of all – a lifelong friend of the Indians. He was as an angel of mercy to us in later years when our Nellie died, while Mrs. Young was making an adventurous journey in an open boat on the stormy, treacherous Lake Winnipeg.

This sad event occurred after five years residence among the Crees at Norway House. We had instructions from our missionary authorities to go and open up a new Indian Mission among the Saulteaux. I had orders to remain at Norway House until my successor arrived. One opportunity was offered for Mrs. Young and the children to travel in those days of limited opportunities, so they started several weeks ahead in an open skiff manned by a few Indians, leaving me to follow in a birch canoe. The heat that hot July was so terrible in that open boat with no deck or awning that the beautiful child sickened and died of brain fever. Mrs. Young found herself with her dying child on the banks of the Red River, all alone among her sorrowing Indian boatmen. She was "a stranger in a strange land" with no home and no friends to sympathize with her. Fortunately for her, the Hudson's Bay officials at Lower Fort Garry were made aware of her sorrows and received her into one of their homes before the child died. The Rev. Mr. Cowley also came and prayed for her and sympathized with her on the loss of her child.

As I was far away when Nellie died, Mrs. Young did not know what to do with our precious dead. A temporary grave was made, and the body was laid in it until I could be contacted. Then arrangements could be made for its permanent interment. I wrote at once by an Indian to the Venerable Archdeacon Cowley, asking permission to bury our dead in his graveyard. A brotherly sympathetic letter came promptly back by the canoe. It ended with, "Our graveyards are open before you; in the choicest of our sepulchers bury thy dead."

A few weeks later when I had handed over my Mission to Brother Ruttan, I hurried to the settlement with a few sympathizing friends, mostly Indians. We took the little body from its temporary resting place and buried it in the St. Peter's Church graveyard. The dear archdeacon himself was present and read the beautiful Burial Service of his church. That land has been doubly precious to us since it has become the repository of our darling child.

As we floated down the current or were propelled along by the oars of our Indian boatmen, on that first journey, little did we imagine that this sad episode in our lives would happen in that very spot a few years later. When we were near the end of the Indian Settlement, we saw several Indians on the bank, holding on to a couple of oxen. Our boats were immediately turned in to the shore near them, and to our great astonishment, we found that each boat was to have an addition to its passenger list in the shape of one of these big fellows. Getting these animals shipped was no easy matter, as there was no wharf or gangway. But after a good deal of pulling and pushing, and lifting up of one leg, and then another, the patient brutes were embarked on the frail crafts. They became our companions during the voyage to Norway House. The position assigned to the one in our boat was in front of us, broadside on as the sailors would say. His head often hung over one side of the boat, and his tail over the other side. The only partition between him and us was a single board a few inches wide. Such close proximity to this animal for fourteen days was not very agreeable, but it could not be helped and had to be endured.

At times, during the first few days, the ox made some desperate efforts to break loose. It seemed as though he would either smash our boat to pieces or upset it. But finding his efforts unsuccessful, he gratefully accepted the situation and behaved himself admirably. When storms arose, he quietly lay down and served as a ballast to steady the boat. "Tom," the guide, kept him well supplied with food from the rich nutritious grasses, which grew abundantly along the shore at our different camping places.

Lake Winnipeg is considered one of the stormiest lakes on the American continent. It is about three hundred miles long and varies from eighty to a few miles in width. It is indented with innumerable bays and is dangerous to navigators, because of its many shoals and hidden rocks. Winnipeg, or Wenipak as some Indians pronounce it, means "the sea," and Keche Wenipak means "the ocean."

The trip across Lake Winnipeg was regarded a great hardship, considering the style of the boat and the way we travelled.

Our method of procedure was about as follows: We were aroused very early in the morning by the guide's cry of "Koos koos kwa!" "Wake up!" Everybody was expected to obey promptly, as there was always a good deal of rivalry between the boats as to which could get away first. A hasty breakfast was prepared on the rocks, after which a morning hymn was sung, and an earnest prayer was offered up to Him Who holds the winds and waves under His control.

Then, "All aboard" was the cry, and soon tents, kettles, axes, and all the other things were hurriedly gathered up and placed on board. If the wind was favorable, the mast was put up, the sail hoisted, and we were soon rapidly speeding on our way. If the oars had to be used, there was not half the alacrity displayed by the poor fellows who knew how wearisome their task would be. When we had a favorable wind, we generally dined as well as we could in the boat to save time. The rowers knew how much more pleasant it was to glide along with the favoring breeze than to be obliged to work at the heavy oars. Often during whole nights, we sailed on rather than lose the fair wind, although at considerable risks in that treacherous lake. In this world of uncertainties, if there ever was one route of more uncertainty than another, the palm must be conceded to the voyages on Lake Winnipeg in those Hudson's Bay Company's inland boats. You might make the trip in four days or even a few hours less; and you might be thirty days and a few hours over.

Once in later years, I was detained for six days on a little rocky islet by a fierce northern gale, which at times blew with such force that we could not keep a tent up or even stand upright against its fury. There was not sufficient soil in which to drive a tent pin, so we were drenched by the pitiless sleet and rain, along with our bedding and supplies. Often in these later years, I have heard people, sitting in the comfortable waiting room of a railway station, bitterly complaining because a train was an hour or two late. My memory carried me back to some of those long detentions amid the most disagreeable surroundings, and I have wondered at the trifles that can upset the equanimity of some or cause them to show such fretfulness.

When the weather was fine, the camping on the shore was very enjoyable. Our tent was quickly erected by willing hands; the campfire was kindled and glowed with increasing brightness as the shadows of night fell around us. The evening meal was soon prepared, and an hour or two would sometimes be spent in pleasant conversation with our Native friends, who were most delightful travelling companions. Our days always began and closed with a religious service. All of our Indian companions in the two boats on this first trip were Christians in the best and truest sense of the word. They were the converts of the earlier missionaries of our church. At first they were a little reserved and acted as though they imagined we expected them to be very sedate and dignified. Like some white folks, they imagined the "black coat" and his wife did not believe in laughter or pleasantry. However, we soon relieved their minds of those erroneous ideas, and before we reached Norway House, we were on the best of terms with each other. We only knew a little of their language, but some of them had a good idea of English. Using these as our interpreters, we got along well.

They owned Testaments and hymnbooks, printed in the beautiful syllabic characters, and they used them well. This worshipping with a people who used an unknown tongue to us was at first rather novel, but it attracted and charmed us at once. We were forcibly struck with the reverential manner in which they conducted their devotions. No levity or indifference marred the solemnity of their religious services. They listened attentively while one of them read from the sacred Word and through an interpreter gave the closest attention to what I had to say.

The hymns of praise and adoration that welled up from their musical voices sounded sweet and soothing. Though we did not understand them, their earnest prayers seemed to be real and genuine. They offered up their petitions in pathetic tones. We felt it a great privilege and a source of much blessing when we bowed together at the mercy seat of our great loving Father, to whom all languages of earth are known and before whom all hearts are open.

Our surroundings were very helpful to devout worship. As in the ancient days when the vast multitudes gathered around Him on the seaside and were comforted and cheered by His presence, on these quiet shores of the lake we felt that we were worshipping Him who is always the same. Our environment was delightful and suggestive. With Lake Winnipeg's sunlit waves before us, the blue sky above us, the dark, deep, primeval forest as our background, and the massive granite rocks beneath us, we often felt a nearness to Him. We had access to the Sovereign of the universe. The most High does not dwell in temples made with hands, but who dost cover thyself with light as with a garment, who stretchest out the heavens like a curtain, who dost establish his chambers between the waters, who makes the clouds his chariot, who walks upon the wings of the wind, who makes his angels spirits, his ministers a flaming fire, who laid the foundations of the earth, that it should not be removed by any age (Acts 7:48; Psalm 104:2-5).

Our Sabbaths were days of rest. The faithful missionaries had taught the Christian Indians the fourth commandment, and they kept it well. Although far from their homes and beloved sanctuary, they respected the day. When they camped on Saturday night, all the necessary preparations were made for a quiet, restful Sabbath. They secured all the wood necessary to cook the day's supplies, and the food that required cooking was prepared. Guns were stowed away, and although sometimes ducks or other game would come near, they were not disturbed. Generally, two religious services were held and enjoyed. The Testaments and hymnbooks were used throughout the day, and an atmosphere of Paradise Regained seemed to pervade the place.

An Indian Canoe Brigade.

At first, the Hudson's Bay Company's officials bitterly opposed the observance of the Sabbath by their boatmen and tripmen, but the missionaries were true and firm. Although persecution abounded for a time, eventually right and truth prevailed, and the Christian Indians were left to keep the day without molestation. And, as always in such instances, there was no loss, but rather gain. The Christian Indians who rested the Sabbath day were never behind. On the long trips into the interior or down to York Factory or Hudson Bay, these Indian canoe brigades made better time, had better health, and brought their boats and cargoes in better shape than the unbelieving Metis and Indians who pushed on without any day of rest. Years of studying this question and observing the work accomplished and the effects on men's physical constitution taught me an important truth. Even apart from its moral and religious aspect, reserving one day in seven as a day of rest is for man's highest good.

Thus we journeyed on, meeting with various adventures by the way. One evening, rather than lose the advantage of a good wind, our party resolved to sail on throughout the night. We had no compass or chart, and no moon or fickle Auroras lit up the watery waste. Clouds, dark and heavy, flitted by, obscuring the dim starlight and adding to the risk and danger of our proceeding. Because of the gloom, part of the crew kept watch continually. The bowsman, with a long pole in his hands, sat in the prow of the boat, alert and watchful. For a long time, I sat with the steersman in the stern of our little craft, enjoying this weird way of travelling. Out of the darkness behind us into the vague blackness before us, we plunged. Sometimes through the darkness came the sullen roar and dash of waves against the rocky isles or dangerous shore, reminding us of the risks we were running and the need for the greatest care.

Our camp bed had been spread on some boards in the rear of our little boat, and Mrs. Young, who had enjoyed the exciting voyage, was fast asleep. I remained up with "Big Tom" until after midnight. Then, having exhausted my stock of Indian words in conversation with him and becoming weary, I wrapped a blanket around myself and lay down to rest. Hardly had I reached the land of dreams when I was awakened by being thrown, with wife, bedding, bales, boxes, and some drowsy Indians to one side of the boat. We scrambled up and endeavoured to take in our situation. The darkness was intense, but we could easily make out the fact that our boat was stuck fast. The wind whistled around us. It bore down with such power upon our big sail that it was a wonder it did not snap the mast or ropes. The sail was quickly lowered, and a lantern was lit, but its flickering light showed no land in view.

We had run upon a submerged rock, and we were held fast. Using their big oars as poles, the Indians endeavored to push the boat back into deep water. Finding this impossible, some of them sprang out into the water that threatened to engulf them. With the precarious footing the submerged rock gave them, they pushed and shouted, until a giant wave came to their aid, and the boat was pushed over into the deep water beyond. At considerable risk and thoroughly drenched, the brave fellows scrambled on board. The sail was again hoisted, and away we sped through the gloom and darkness.
Chapter 5

Settling in at Norway House

We reached Norway House on the afternoon of 29 July 1868, and received a very cordial welcome from James Stewart, Esq., the gentleman in charge of this Hudson's Bay post. This is one of the most important establishments of this wealthy fur-trading company. For many years, it was the capital where the officers and other officials from the different districts of this vast country met annually to arrange the various matters in the management of the fur trade. Sir George Simpson, for many years the energetic and despotic governor, came to meet these officials here. He travelled by birch canoe, manned by his matchless crew of Iroquois Indians, all the way from Montreal – a distance of several thousand miles. Immense quantities of furs were collected here from the different trading posts and then shipped to England by way of Hudson's Bay.

The sight of this well-kept establishment and the courtesy and cordial welcome extended to us were very pleasing after our long toilsome voyage up Lake Winnipeg. But we were still two miles and a half from our Indian Mission, so we were anxious to reach the end of our journey. Mr. Stewart, however, insisted on our remaining to tea with him and then took us to the Indian village in his own rowboat, manned by four sturdy Highlanders. Before we reached the shore, sweet sounds of melody fell upon our ears. The Wednesday evening service was being held, and songs of praise were being sung by the Indian congregation. The notes reached us as we neared the shore and landed upon the rocky beach. We welcomed this as a pleasing omen and rejoiced at the grand evidences of the gospel's power to change. Not many years ago, the yells of the conjurer and the whoops of the Indians were the only familiar sounds here. Now the sweet songs of Zion are heard, and God's praises are sung by a people whose lives attest the genuineness of the accomplished work.

Mrs. Stringfellow in the Mission house welcomed us, and we were soon joined by her husband, who had been conducting the religious services in the church. We were very thankful to complete our long and adventurous journey. We had travelled for two months and eighteen days by land and water, and through the good providence of God, we had reached our mission field among the Cree Indians. We were to be permitted to labor here for years.

Mr. and Mrs. Stringfellow remained with us for a few days before they set out on their return trip to the province of Ontario. We took sweet counsel together, and I received a great deal of valuable information concerning the work among these natives. For eleven years, the previous missionary and his wife had toiled and suffered in this northern land. Their efforts brought much success, and we were pleased with the state in which we found everything connected with the Mission.

While we were at family prayers the first evening, one of the most terrific thunderstorms we ever experienced loomed over us. Although built of logs, well mudded and clapboarded, the heavy Mission house shook so much while we were on our knees that several large pictures fell from the walls. One of them tumbled on Brother Stringfellow's head and put a sudden termination to his evening devotions.

Rossville Mission, Norway House was begun by the Rev. James Evans in 1840. It has been one of the most successful Indian Missions in America. Here Mr. Evans invented the syllabic characters, by which an intelligent person can learn to read the Word of God in ten days or two weeks. He invented these characters, each representing a syllable, because he was desirous of some method by which the Indians could read in an easier manner than with the English alphabet. He carved his first type with his pocketknife and obtained the lead for the purpose from the tea chests of the Hudson's Bay Company's post. He made his first ink out of soot from the chimney, and his first paper was birch bark. Excitement was great among the Indians when he had perfected his invention and had begun printing in their own language. The conjurers and other Indians were very alarmed, when they found the "bark of the tree was beginning to talk."

The English Wesleyan Mission Society was impressed with the advantage of this wonderful invention and its usefulness for the blessed work. At great expense, they sent out a printing press with a large quantity of type, which they had specially cast. Abundance of paper and all essentials were furnished. For years portions of the Word of God and many hymns translated into the Cree language were printed. Incalculable good resulted from this.

Other missionary organizations in the country saw the advantage of using these syllabic characters and were not slow to avail themselves of them. While all lovers of missions rejoice at this, regretfully some were anxious to take the credit for the invention, instead of giving it to its rightful owner. The Rev. James Evans did such remarkable work, however, that no improvement has been made for the use of these characters among the Cree Indians.

Other missionaries have introduced these characters among other tribes with additions for the sounds used that are not found among the Crees. They have even been successfully utilized by the Moravians among the Eskimos.

On our arrival at Rossville, the Indians crowded in to see the new missionary and his wife and were very cordial in their greetings. Even some unsaved Indians dressed up in their picturesque costumes, came to see us, and were very friendly.

As quickly as possible, we settled down to our work and tried to grasp its possibilities. We saw many evidences of the accomplishments of our faithful predecessors, but we also realized the greatness of the work yet to be done. For, even though we heard the songs of Zion from our church and the houses of our Christian people, our ears were saluted by the shouts and yells of old Indian conjurers and medicine men. The monotonous sounds of their drums also came to us nightly from almost every point in the compass, from islands and headlands not far away.

Our first Sabbath was naturally a very interesting day. Our curiosity to see our people was doubtless equaled by that of the people to see their new missionary. Unbelievers flocked in with Christians until the church was crowded. We were very pleased with their respectful demeanor in the house of God. There was no laughing or frivolity in the sanctuary. With their moccasined feet and cat-like tread, several hundred Indians did not make one quarter the noise often heard in Christian lands, made by audiences one-tenth the size. We were delighted with their singing. Indian singing has a peculiar plaintive sweetness that has a special attractiveness. Scores of them brought their Bibles to the church. When I announced the lessons for the day, the quickness with which they found the places showed their familiarity with the sacred volume. During prayers, they were old-fashioned Methodist enough to kneel down, while the Sovereign of the universe was being addressed. They sincerely and literally entered into the spirit of the Psalmist when he said, O come, let us worship and bow down: let us kneel before the Lord our maker (Psalm 95:6).

I was fortunate in securing a thoroughly good Indian by the name of Timothy Bear for my interpreter. He was of an emotional nature and rendered good service to the cause of Christ. Sometimes, when interpreting for me the blessed truths of the gospel, his heart would get fired up. He would become so absorbed in the theme that he would beseech and plead with the people to accept this wonderful salvation in the most eloquent way.

As the days rolled by, we went in and out among them and contrasted the lost with the Christian Indian. We saw many evidences that the gospel is still the power of God unto salvation, and whenever accepted in its fullness, it brings not only peace and joy to the heart but also the secondary blessings of civilization. The Christian Indians could easily be recognized by the improved appearance of their homes as well as the marvelous change in their lives and actions.

We soon realized that we had much to learn about Indian customs and habits and modes of thought. For example: The day after Mr. and Mrs. Stringfellow had left us, a poor woman came in and by sign language let Mrs. Young know she was very hungry. A large loaf of bread, a large piece of corned beef, and a dish of vegetables were on the table, left over from our boat supplies. My good wife's sympathies were aroused by the poor woman's story, so she cut off a generous supply of meat and bread and added a large quantity of the vegetables and a quart of tea. Then she seated the woman at the table before the hearty meal. Without any trouble, the guest disposed of everything and to our amazement began pulling up the skirt of her dress until she had formed a large pocket. Reaching over, she seized the meat and put it in this receptacle; the loaf of bread quickly followed; lastly, the dish of vegetables went into the pocket. Then, getting up from her chair, she turned towards us, saying, "Na-nas-koo-moo-wi-nah," which is Cree for thanksgiving. She gracefully backed out of the dining room, carefully holding on to her supplies.

Mrs. Young and I looked in astonishment but said nothing until she had gone out. We could not help laughing at the queer sight, although the food that had disappeared in this unexpected way was to have been our principal support for two or three days, until our supplies should arrive. Afterwards, when expressing our astonishment at what looked like the greediness of this woman, we learned that she had complied with the strict etiquette of her tribe. Their habit when they make a feast for anybody or give them a dinner is to put a large quantity before them. The invited guest is expected to eat all he can and then carry the rest away. This was exactly what the poor woman did. From this experience, we learned to place before them what our limited supplies enabled us to give at the time.

Fat Ducks.

One day a fine looking Indian came in with a couple of fat ducks. As our supplies were low, we were glad to see them; in taking them, I asked him what I should give him for them. His answer was, "O, nothing; they are a present for the missionary and his wife." Of course, I was delighted at the generosity of this entire stranger to us so soon after our arrival in this wild land. The Indian at once made himself at home and kept us busy answering questions and explaining to him everything that excited his curiosity. Mrs. Young had to leave her work to play on the little melodeon for his edification. He remained for dinner and ate one of the ducks, while Mrs. Young and I had the other. He hung around all the afternoon and did ample justice to a supper from our supplies. He tarried with us until it was nearly time for retiring. I gently hinted to him that I thought it was about time he went to see if his wigwam was where he left it.

"Oh," he exclaimed, "I am only waiting."

"Waiting?" I said. "For what are you waiting?"

"I am waiting for the present you are going to give me for the present I gave you."

At once, I took in the situation and went to get him something worth half a dozen times as much as his ducks, and he went off very happy.

When he was gone, my good wife and I sat down, and we said, "Here is lesson number two. Perhaps, after we have been here a while, we shall know something about the Indians."

After that we accepted no presents from them, but insisted on paying a reasonable price for everything we needed which they had to sell.

Our Sunday's work began with the Sunday school at nine o'clock. All the boys and girls attended, and often many adults were present. The children were attentive and respectful, and many were able to repeat large portions of Scripture from memory. Several studied the catechism translated into their language. They sang the hymns sweetly and joined with us in repeating the Lord's Prayer.

The public service followed at half past ten o'clock. The morning service was always in English, although the hymns, lessons, and text would be announced in the two languages. The Hudson's Bay officials who might be at the Fort two miles away and all their employees regularly attended this morning service. Because many of the Indians understood English and our object was to get them all to know more and more about it, this service was largely attended by the people. The great Indian service was held in the afternoon. It was all their own and was very prized by them. At the morning service, they were dignified and reserved; at the afternoon, they sang with an enthusiasm that was delightful. If their hearts prompted them, they were not afraid to come out with a glad "Amen!"

They brought their Bibles to the sanctuary; the rustle of many pages as they rapidly turned to the lessons of the day in the Old or New Testament was sweet to my ears. Sermons were never considered too long. Very quietly and reverently did the people come into the house of God, and they departed with equal respect for the place and for Him whom they had worshipped.

Dr. Taylor, one of our Missionary Secretaries, came for a visit and joined in our worship. At the close of one of these hallowed afternoon services, he said, "Mr. Young, if the good people who help us support missions and missionaries could see what my eyes have beheld today, they would most cheerfully and gladly give us ten thousand dollars a year more for our Indian missions."

Every Sunday evening, I went over to the Fort, by canoe in summer and dog train in winter, and held a service there. A little chapel had been specially fitted for these evening services. Another service was held in the church at the Mission by the Indians themselves. Among them were several who could preach very acceptable sermons, and others who could tell the story of their own conversion with a burning eloquence and beseech others to be reconciled to God.

We were surprised at times by seeing companies of unbelieving Indians stalk into the church during the services, not always acting in a way becoming to the house or day. At first, I was surprised that the Christian Indians put up with these irregularities. I was very astounded one day by the entrance of an old Indian called Tapastanum. Rattling his ornaments and crying, "Ho! Ho!" he trotted into the church and gravely kissed several of the men and women. As the Christian Indians seemed to tolerate the interruption, I felt that I could. At the invitation of Big Tom, he sat down and listened to me. He was grotesquely dressed and had a good-sized looking glass hanging on his breast, kept in its place by a string hung around his neck. To help him listen, he lit his big pipe and smoked through the rest of the service. I spoke to the people afterwards about the conduct of this man, which was so opposite to their quiet, respectful demeanor in the house of God. Their expressive, charitable answer was, "Such were we once, as ignorant as Tapastanum is now. Let us have patience with him, and perhaps he, too, will soon decide to give his heart to God. Let him come; he will get quiet when he gets the light."

The weekday evenings were nearly all filled with services of one kind or another. They were well attended, unless the Indians were at the village, away hunting or fishing, or "tripping" for the Hudson's Bay Company. What pleased us was the fact that in the homes of the people were many family altars. It was delightful to take a quiet walk in the evening through the village and hear the voice of the head of the family reading the precious Word or the sound of prayer and praise. Those were the times when in every professed Christian home in the village there was a family altar.
Chapter 6

Christianity's Effect on Indian Life

We found ourselves in a Christian village surrounded by traditional religion. The contrast between the two classes was very evident.

The Christians were living in comfortable houses, which they built as fast as they could. They were earnestly endeavoring to lift themselves up in the social circle. Their personal appearance was better, and cleanliness was accepted as next to godliness. On the Sabbaths, they were well dressed and arrived with a respectable and devout appearance in the sanctuary. They could win the admiration of all who visited us. The great majority of those who made a profession of faith lived honest, sober, and consistent lives, and thus showed the genuineness of the change wrought in them by the glorious gospel of the Son of God.

One of the most delightful and tangible evidences of the thoroughness and genuineness of the change was seen in the improvement in the family life. Such a thing as genuine home life with mutual love and sympathy existing within the family was unknown in their lost state. The men and even boys considered it a sign of courage and manliness to despise and treat their mothers, wives, or sisters shamefully. Christianity changed all this; we were constant witnesses of the genuineness of the change wrought in the hearts and lives of this people by the preaching of the gospel. We saw how the woman was lifted from her degraded position to her true place in the household.

My heart was often pained at what I saw among some of the wild bands around us. Whether by canoe in summer or dog train in winter, I visited these wild men. I saw the proud, lazy hunter come stalking into the camp with his gun on his shoulder. In loud, commanding tones, he would shout to his poor wife, who was busily engaged in cutting wood, "Get up there, you dog, my old woman. Follow my tracks in the woods and bring in the deer I shot; and hurry, for I want my food!" Although she was hurrying as rapidly as possible, he threw a stick at her, which fortunately she was able to dodge.

On the way out, she seized the long carrying strap, which is a piece of leather several feet in length and wide at the middle where it rests against the forehead. Then she glided away on the trail made by her husband's snowshoes, perhaps for miles to the spot where he shot the deer. Using a great deal of effort and ingenuity, she fastened one end of the strap to the haunches of the deer and the other around its neck. She succeeded at length in getting the animal, which may weigh from a hundred and fifty to two hundred pounds, on her back and supported by the strap across her forehead. Panting with fatigue, she came in with her heavy burden. As she threw it down, she is met with a sharp stern command from the lips of her husband. He had thought it beneath his dignity to carry the deer himself but imagined it to be a sign of his being a great brave to treat his wife like that. The gun was enough for him to carry. Without giving the poor tired woman a moment's rest, he shouted again for her to hurry and be quick; he was hungry and wanted his dinner.

Although almost exhausted, the poor woman knew from the bitter experience of the past that to delay an instant would bring severe punishment. So she quickly seized the scalping knife and deftly skinned the animal and filled a pot with the savory venison. It was soon boiled and placed before his highness. While he and the men and boys whom he may choose to invite to eat with him rapidly devoured the venison, the poor woman had her first moments of rest. She sat down where women, girls, and dogs are congregated. There the women and dogs struggled for the half-picked bones, which the men, with derisive laughter, threw among them!

This was one of the sad aspects of the unbelieving Indians, which I often witnessed as I travelled among those bands who had not accepted the gospel. When these poor women got old and feeble, their condition was very sad and deplorable. When able to toil and slave, they were tolerated as necessary evils. When aged and weak, they were shamefully neglected and often put out of existence.

While visiting a certain band, one of the missionaries preached from those blessed words of the Savior: Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest (Matthew 11:28). In his sermon, he spoke about life's toils and burdens and how all men had to work and labor. The men of the congregation were very angry with him. At an "indignation meeting" which they held, they said, "Let him go to the women with that kind of talk. They have to carry all the heavy burdens and do the hard work. Such stuff as that is not for us men, but for the women." So they were offended by him.

At a small Indian settlement on the northeastern shores of Lake Winnipeg lived a chief by the name of Moo-koo-woo-soo, who deliberately strangled his mother and burnt her body to ashes. When questioned about the horrid deed, he coolly and heartlessly said that she had become too old to snare rabbits or catch fish; he was not going to be bothered with keeping her, so he deliberately put her to death. Such instances could be multiplied many times. Truly, "the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel."

In delightful contrast to these sad sights among the lost natives were the kind ways and happy homes of the converted Indians. Among them, a woman occupied her true position; she was treated lovingly. The aged and infirm who, but for the gospel would have been dealt with as Moo-koo-woo-soo dealt with his mother, had the warmest place in the little home and the daintiest morsel on the table. I have seen the sexton of the church throw open the door of the sanctuary, so two stalwart young men might easily enter, carrying in their arms their invalid mother, who had expressed a desire to come to the house of God. Tenderly they supported her until the service ended, and then they lovingly carried her home again. But for the gospel's blessed influences on their natures, they would have died before doing such a thing for a woman, even though she was their own mother.

Life for the women now was not all slavery. They had their happy hours and knew how to enjoy them. Nothing, however, seemed to delight the women as much as gliding about in their light canoes in the glorious summer time. And sometimes, combining pleasure with profit, these young Indian maidens shot many ducks.

We have seen this change in behavior expressed in a blessed way at the great annual New Year's Feast. Long before they became Christians, the Indians had a custom of having a great feast at the beginning of the New Year. In the old times, the principal food at these feasts was dogs. The eating of these animals was accompanied by many other ceremonies. Instead of abolishing the feast, the missionaries turned it into a religious festival. I carried out the tradition of my worthy predecessors at Norway House, so we had a feast every New Year's Day.

The Crees call this day "Ooche-me-gou Kesigow," which literally means "the kissing day," because on this day men claim the right to kiss every woman they meet. Strange to say, every woman expects to be kissed. I was amused to see thirty or forty Indians, dressed in their finest apparel, come quietly marching into the Mission house and solemnly kiss Mrs. Young on her cheek. When I teased her over this strange phase of unexpected missionary experience, she would laughingly retort, "O, you need not laugh at me. See that crowd of women out there in the yard, expecting you to go out and kiss them!"

Many a duck was shot by these young Indian maidens.

It was surprising how much work kept me shut in my study that day. Or if that did not work, I selected a dear old sweet-faced, white-haired grandma, the mother of the chief, and said, "Now I am going to kiss grandma; and as I kiss her, you must all consider yourselves kissed." This kissing institution is more ancient among them than shaking hands, about which they knew nothing until it was introduced by the whites.

For weeks before New Year's Day, great preparations were made for the feast. A council would be called, and the men would record what they were willing to give towards it. Some who were good deer hunters promised venison. Others promised a certain number of beavers. Perhaps there were those who knew where bears had made their winter dens, and they agreed to go and kill them for the feast. Others who were good fur hunters stated their willingness to exchange some of the furs for flour and tea and sugar at the trading post.

Thus the business went on until enough was promised, including the liberal supplies from the Hudson's Bay Company officials and the missionary to make the affair a great success. An outbuilding of the Mission, called "the fish house," was the place where all these various things were stored. Months were sometimes consumed in collecting the meat. But Jack Frost is a good preservative, and nothing spoiled. A few days before the feast, Mrs. Young would select several of the Indian women to assist her in cooking the various foods. Very clever were these willing helpers. In a short time, a quantity of food would be piled up, sufficient for all even though the Indians have good appetites.

When the great day arrived, the men quickly removed the seats out of the church and put up long tables. Great boilers of tea were made ready, and every preparation was completed for a good time. But, before a mouthful was eaten by any of the eight hundred or thousand persons present, the chief asked me for a pencil and a piece of writing paper. Then, standing on a box or bench, he would shout out, "How many of our people are aged or sick or afflicted and cannot be with us today?" As one name after another was mentioned, he rapidly wrote them down. Then he read over the list and said, "Let us not forget any one."

Somebody shouted out, "There is an old woman ten miles up the river towards the old Fort."

Somebody else said, "Have you the name of that boy who was accidentally shot in the leg?" Their names were both put down.

Then somebody said, "There are two or three left behind in the tent of the unbelievers, while the rest have come to the feast."

"Let us feed those who have come and send something with our kind greetings to the others," was the unanimous response.

When it was certain that none had been overlooked, they asked me for all the old newspapers and packing paper I could give them. Soon loving hands were busily engaged in cutting off large pieces of different kinds of meat and arranging them with the large flat cakes in generous bundles. To these were added little packages of tea and sugar. In this way, large bundles containing an assortment of everything at the feast would be made for all the names on the paper. Then the chief would call the young men who were busily engaged in playing football. He called as many of the fleet runners as there were bundles, gave each his load, and indicated the person to whom he was to give it. Then he would add, "Give them our New Year's greetings and sympathy and tell them we are sorry they cannot be with us today."

These sights were delightful to us. Such things paid us a thousand fold for our hardships and sufferings. Here, before a mouthful was eaten by the healthy and vigorous ones, large generous bundles that would last for days were sent off to the aged, infirm, and wounded ones. In all probability, without the blessed influence of the gospel, these individuals would have been quickly and cruelly put out of existence or allowed to linger on in neglect and wretchedness.

Even the young runners considered it an honor to carry these bundles with the loving messages to the distant homes or wigwams where the afflicted ones lived. It was quite amusing to watch them tighten up their belts and dash off like deer. Some had several miles to go, but what did they care they on this glad day?

As soon as the "Grace before meat" had been sung, they filled the tables and the feast began. Mrs. Young had her own long table. She had invited not only the Hudson's Bay Company's people, but also many of the aged and worthy from among the Indians whom we wished to honor. Sometimes we filled one table with those who had come from distant forest homes, attracted by the reports of the coming great feast. Through their stomachs, we sometimes reached their hearts and won them to Christ.

For hours the feast continued until all had been supplied. None were neglected, and everybody was happy. Then with a glad heart they sang:

"Praise God, from whom all blessings flow."

When all the guests were satisfied, the leftovers were carried off by the needy and divided among them. The men took the tables down, and the women swept the church clean. The seats and pews were replaced, and every arrangement was made for the great annual New Year's meeting. The church was lit up; and when the audience had gathered, a chairman was appointed. After singing and prayer, several of the Indians made speeches.

They mentioned many pleasant and sensible things. Some of the sober minded ones reviewed the past year with all its blessings and mercies and expressed the hope that the New Year would be crowned with blessings. Some of the speeches referred to treaty matters with the government, and others were in reference to their hunting and fishing. Some were bright and witty and received with laughter and applause. Others were of a serious, religious character, and equally welcome. They touched responsive hearts. With pleasure, I noticed that in the speeches, the most frequent word was Na-nas-koomoo-win-ah, which means "thanksgiving," and for that my heart rejoiced. Thus ended, with the Doxology and benediction, these happy days, in which we saw many evidences that the preaching of the gospel had not been in vain.
Chapter 7

Travelling by Canoe

I had received instructions from the Missionary Secretaries to visit Oxford Mission as soon as possible and do all I could for its edification. This Mission had a good measure of success in the past. A church and Mission house had been built at Jackson's Bay, and many of the Indians had been converted. But the village was too far from the Hudson's Bay Company's Post where the Indians traded and naturally gathered. For several years, the work had been left in charge of a Native teacher.

Making all the arrangements I could for the successful continuation of the work in my absence, I left Norway House in a small canoe manned by two Christian Indians, one of whom was my interpreter. I was now to make my first intimate acquaintance with this wonderful little boat. The birch bark canoe is the best boat fitted for the broad lakes, rapid rivers, and winding creeks. It is to the Indian here what the horse is to his brother on the great prairies or what the camel is to those who live and wander in Arabian deserts. The canoe is essential to the natives in this land where there are no other roads than the intricate devious water routes. It is the frailest of all boats, yet it can be loaded down to the water's edge.

Under the skillful guidance of these Indians, who are unquestionably the finest canoe men in the world, it responds to the sweep of their paddles such that it seems almost alive with life and reason. What they can do in it, and with it, appeared perfectly marvelous. Yet when we remember that for about five months of every year some of the hunters almost live in it, this may not seem so very wonderful. It carries them by day, and in it or under it, they often sleep by night. At the many portages that have to be made in this land where the rivers are full of falls and rapids, one man can easily carry it on his head to the smooth water beyond.

We have travelled in it thousands of miles, while going from place to place with the blessed tidings of salvation to these wandering bands scattered over my immense circuit. Down the wild rapids, we have rushed for miles together and then out into great Lake Winnipeg or other lakes, so far from shore that the distant headlands were scarcely visible. Foam-crested waves often seemed about to overwhelm us, and treacherous gales to swamp us. Yet the faithful, well-trained canoe men were always equal to every emergency, and by the accuracy of their judgment and the quickness of their movements, they always appeared to do the right thing at the right moment. As a result, I came to feel as much at home in a canoe as anywhere else. With God's blessing, I was permitted to make many long trips to those who could not be reached in any other way, except by dog trains in winter.

Few good canoe makers exist, so good canoes are always in demand.

Frail and light as this Indian craft may be, a great deal of skill and ingenuity are required in its construction. Great care is needed in taking the bark from the tree. A long incision is first made up and down in the bark of the tree. From this cut, the Indian begins with his keen knife and gradually peels off the whole bark, as high as his incision went, in one large piece or sheet. After he has it off the tree, the greatest care is necessary in handling it, because it will split or crack very easily. Cedar is preferred for the woodwork, and when it can be obtained, it is always used. But in the section of the country where I lived, we were north of the cedar limit. The canoe makers used pieces of the spruce tree, split very thin, as the best substitute for cedar that our country afforded.

Taking the bark from the trees for canoe making.

The sewing of the birch bark pieces and the fastening of the whole to the outer frame is done with the long slender roots of the balsam or larch trees, which are soaked and rubbed until they are as flexible as narrow strips of leather. When the sewing is done, the many narrow limber pieces of spruce are crowded into their places, giving the whole canoe its necessary proportions and strength. Then the seams and weak spots are covered with melted pitch, which the Indians obtain from the spruce and balsam trees.

Great care is taken to make the canoe watertight. To accomplish this, the boat is often swung between trees and filled with water. Wherever the slightest leak is discovered, the canoe is marked, and when emptied, it is carefully sealed.

Canoes vary in style and size, but each tribe has its own patterns. I found it interesting to observe how suited to the character of the lakes and rivers the canoes of each tribe or district were.

The finest and largest canoes were those formerly made by the Lake Superior Indians. Living on the shores of that great inland sea, they required canoes of great size and strength. These "great north canoes," as they were called, could easily carry from a dozen to a score of paddlers with a cargo of a couple of tons. In the old days of the rival fur traders, these great canoes played a very prominent part. Before steam or large sailing vessels had penetrated into those northern lakes, these canoes were used extensively. Loaded with the rich furs of those wild forests, they came down into the Ottawa River and often continued as far as Montreal.

Sir George Simpson, the energetic but despotic and unprincipled governor of the Hudson's Bay Company for many years, used to travel in one of these birch canoes all the way from Montreal up the Ottawa through Lake Nipissing into Georgian Bay and from there into Lake Superior and on to Thunder Bay. With indomitable pluck, he pushed into the interior through the Lake of the Woods, down the tortuous Winnipeg River and into the Lake. Along the whole length of this lake, he travelled annually, in spite of its treacherous storms and annoying head winds. He did this to preside over the Council and attend to the business of the wealthiest fur trading company that ever existed. He watched over it with an eagle eye, and his distinct personality was felt in every department. His famous Iroquois crew are still talked about, and marvelous stories of their endurance and skill are in circulation around many northern campfires.

How rapid are the changes in this world of ours! It seems incredible in these days of mighty steamships on our great waters to think that there are hundreds of people who remember when the annual trips of a great governor were made from Montreal to Winnipeg, in a birch bark canoe manned by Indians.

Of this light Indian craft, Longfellow wrote:

"Give me of your bark, O Birch tree!

Of your yellow bark, O Birch tree!

Growing by the rushing river,

Tall and stately in the valley!

I a light canoe will build me,

Build a swift canoe for sailing. . . .

"Thus the Birch canoe was builded

In the valley, by the river,

In the bosom of the forest;

And the forest's life was in it,

All its mystery and its magic,

All the brightness of the birch tree,

All the toughness of the cedar,

All the larch's supple sinews;

And it floated on the river

Like a yellow leaf in autumn,

Like a yellow water-lily."

We left for Oxford Mission on September 8. The distance was over two hundred miles through the wildest country imaginable. We did not see a single house with the exception of those built by the beavers from the time we left our Mission home until we reached our destination. We paddled through a bewildering variety of picturesque lakes, rivers, and creeks. When no storms or fierce head winds impeded us, we were able to make fifty or sixty miles a day. When night overtook us, we camped on the shore. Sometimes it was very pleasant and romantic. At other times, when storms raged and we were drenched so thoroughly that for days we did not have a dry stitch upon us, it was not quite so agreeable.

We generally began our day's journey early in the morning, if the weather was favorable. We paddled as rapidly as possible, since we did not know when head winds might arise and stop our progress. The Oxford route was a diversified one. We had to paddle across large and small lakes. In some of them, when the wind was favorable, the Indians improvised a sail from one of our blankets. Lashing it to a couple of oars, they lifted it to the favoring wind, and we rapidly sped on our way.

At times we were in broad beautiful rivers and then paddling along in little narrow creeks amid reeds and rushes. We passed over, or as they say in that country "made," nine portages around picturesque falls or rapids. In these portages, one of the Indians carried the canoe on his head. The other made a great load of the bedding and provisions that he carried on his back. My load consisted of the two guns, ammunition, two kettles, the bag containing my changes of clothes, and a package of books for the Indians we were to visit. How the Indians could run so quickly through the portages was a marvel to me. Often the path was only a narrow ledge of rock against the side of the great granite cliff. At other times the path went through quaking bog or treacherous muskeg (sphagnum moss). It seemed to make no difference to these Indians. On they went carrying their heavy loads with that swinging Indian stride which left me far behind. On some of my canoe trips, the portages were several miles long and through regions so wild, I saw nothing to indicate the right direction. I would follow as long as I knew I was going the right way. When I lost the trail, I stopped and patiently waited until one of those faithful men, having carried his load safely to the end, would come back for me. Quickly picking up my load, he would hurry off, and even unencumbered, I struggled to keep up with him.

Oxford Lake is one of the most beautiful and picturesque lakes I ever saw. It is between twenty and thirty miles long and several miles wide. It is studded with islands of every variety. Its waters are almost as transparent as the clear, fresh air above it. When no breath ripples its surface, one can look down into its crystal depths and see the great fish moving about many feet below.

I once brought one of our Missionary Secretaries, the eloquent Rev. Lachlin Taylor, D.D., to visit the Indians who fish the waters and hunt the shores. The trip down had not been one of the most pleasant. The rains had drenched him, and the mosquitoes had plagued him with such persistency that he bemoaned his lot in being found in a country that was cursed with such abominable insects.

One night I heard him muttering between his efforts to get them out of his tent where he declared they were attacking him in battalions:

"They throng the air, and darken heaven,

and curse this Western land."

However, when we reached Oxford Lake, the mosquitoes left us for a time. The sun came out in splendor, and we had some days of rarest beauty. The good doctor regained his spirits and laughed when I teased him on some of his strong expressions about the country. I told him I hoped that as the result of his experience, he and all Missionary Secretaries would have a good deal of sympathy for the missionaries who live in such regions.

We camped for the night on one of the most picturesque points. We had two canoes and four Indians from our Norway House Mission to man them. As the doctor was an enthusiastic fisherman, he decided that we must stop during the forenoon, while he tried his hand. His first haul was a splendid pike over two feet long. Great was his excitement as his success was assured. Eloquence poured from him; we were flooded with it. The Indians looked on in amazement while he talked of the beauties of the lake and islands and of the water and the sky.

"Wait a moment, doctor," I said. "I can add to the wild beauty of the place something that will please your artistic eye."

I requested two fine looking Indians to launch one of the canoes and quietly paddle out to the edge of an island that rose from the deep, clear waters before us. Its top had a number of splendid spruce and balsams, massed together in natural beauty. I directed the men to drop a long fishing line over the side of the canoe. Then, posing them in striking attitudes in harmony with the place, I asked them to keep perfectly still until every ripple made by their canoe had died away.

I confess I was entranced by the loveliness of the sight. The reflections of the canoe and men and of the islands and rocks were as vivid as the actual realities. So clear and transparent was the water that where it met the air, there seemed to be only a narrow thread between the two elements. Not a breath of air stirred, not a ripple moved. It was one of those sights, which seldom comes to us in a lifetime, where everything is in perfect unison. God gives us glimpses of what this world, His footstool, must have been before sin entered.

"Doctor," I said quietly, for my heart was full of the Doxology, "tell me what you think of that vision."

Standing up, with a great rock beneath his feet, in a voice of suppressed emotion he began. He started quietly, but soon he was carried away with his own eloquence:

"I know well the lochs of my own beloved Scotland, for in many of them I have rowed and fished. I have visited all the famed lakes of Ireland and have rowed on those in the Lake counties of England. I have travelled far and often on our great American lakes and have seen Tahoe in all its crystal beauty. I have rowed on the Bosphorus and travelled on the Nile. I have lingered in the gondola on the canals of Venice and have traced Rob Roy's canoe in the Sea of Galilee and on the old historic Jordan. I have seen places of rarest beauty in my wanderings, but the equal of this mine eyes have never gazed upon."

The doctor was an enthusiastic fisherman.

Never after did I see the lake as we saw it that day.

On that lake, we have had to battle against fierce storms where the angry waves seemed determined to engulf us. Once as we sped along from island to island, keeping in the lee as much as possible, we ran upon a sharp rock and punctured our canoe. We paddled desperately to reach the shore. By the time we got there, our canoe was half-full of water and our bedding and food were soaked. We quickly built a fire, melted some pitch, and mended our canoe; then we hurried on.

This lake can give us pictures of wondrous beauty, but I have encountered some of the greatest gales and tempests against which I have ever had to contend, even in this land of storms and blizzards. In winter, it seemed to me that the Frost King held high carnival upon its frozen surface. Both dogs and men suffered terribly on some of those trips. One winter, in spite of all the wraps I could put around me, the cold was so intense every part of my face exposed to the pitiless blast was frozen. My nose, cheeks, eyebrows, and even lips were badly frozen, and for days after I suffered. Cuffy, the best of my Newfoundland dogs, had all of her feet frozen, and even Jack's were sore for many days. My loyal Indian friends also suffered, and we all declared Oxford Lake to be a cold place in winter, and its storms worse than the summer mosquitoes.

The Indians of Oxford Lake were among the finest in all the great Northwest. It was always a joy to meet them, as I did once in summer by canoe trip and then again in winter by dog train. God blessed my visits with them. The old members were cheered and comforted as they heard the gospel and received the sacraments. Some who followed the old ways renounced their old lives, and the cause of religion was more firmly established. The Rev. Mr. Brooking, and later the studious and devoted Rev. Orrin German, blessed that lonely Mission with their service. Then the Rev. Edward Papanekis became the missionary there.

Long ago I had found Edward to be a careless, sinful young man. Once he rushed into the Mission house under the influence of liquor and threatened to strike me. But truth reached his heart, and it was my joy to see him a humble beggar at the Cross. His heart's desire was realized. God led him, and he started faithfully preaching that same blessed gospel to his countrymen at Oxford Mission.

In responding to the many Macedonian cries, my circuit kept enlarging, and I had to journey often. My canoes were sometimes launched in spring, before the great floating ice fields had disappeared. We paddled through tortuous open channels, often exposed to great danger.

On one of these early trips, we came to a place where the moving ice fields stretched out for many miles. Only one narrow channel of open water was before us. Anxious to get on, we dashed into it and rapidly paddled ourselves along. I had two experienced Indians, so I had no fear but expected some novel adventures.

We hoped the wind would widen the channel and let us into open water. But to our disappointment, when we had travelled a mile or so in this narrow space, the ice was quietly but surely closing in upon us. Because it was vast and four to six feet thick, there was power enough in it to crush a good-sized ship; it seemed that our frail birch bark canoe would have little chance of survival.

I thought we could spring on to the floating ice when the crash came. But what would we do then? That was the question. The canoe would be destroyed, and we would be on floating ice far from land.

However, as the Indians kept perfectly cool, I said nothing. I paddled away and watched for the development of events. Nearer and nearer came the ice; soon our channel was not fifty feet wide. Behind us the floes had met, and we could hear the ice grinding and breaking as the enormous masses met from opposite directions. When it was only about twenty feet from either side, the men paddled on, and I kept paddling in unison with them. When the ice was so close that we could touch it on either side with our paddles, one of the Indians quietly said, "Missionary, will you please give me your paddle?" I quickly handed it to him, and he immediately thrust it with his own into the water. He held the ends down so low horizontally under the canoe that the blade end was out of water on the other side of the boat. The other Indian held his paddle in the same position from the other side of the canoe. Almost immediately the ice crowded in upon us. But as the points of the paddles were higher than the ice, they rested upon it for an instant. This was what these cool headed, clever men wanted. They had a fulcrum for their paddles, and they pulled carefully on the handle ends. The canoe slid up as the ice closed in and met with a crash under us. We found ourselves seated in the canoe on the top of the ice. Although only a frail birch bark canoe, it was not the least bit injured.

We quickly sprang out of our canoe and carried it away from where the ice had met and was grinding into pieces by the momentum.

After some exciting work, we reached the shore and waited until the wind and sun cleared away the ice, so we could venture on. I had planned to spend at least a week in each Indian village or encampment, preaching three times a day, and either holding school with the children or beseeching men and women to be reconciled to God. When returning from the visit, we experienced some of the inconveniences of travelling in such frail bark as a birch canoe on such a stormy lake as Winnipeg.

The weather had been very unsettled, so we had cautiously paddled from point to point. We had dinner at what the Indians call Montreal Point and then started for the long crossing to Old Norway House Point, as it was then called. It is a very long, open traverse. As lowering clouds threatened us, we pulled on as rapidly as our three paddles could propel us. When we were a few miles from land, the storm broke. The wind rose rapidly, and we were soon riding over great white-crested billows. My companions were very skillful, and we had no fear; but the most skillful management was necessary to ride the waves, which were rivalling those of the ocean in size. A canoe is a peculiar craft and requires an experienced hand in these great storms.

We were successfully climbing the big waves in quick succession, alert and watchful that no sudden erratic move should catch us off guard and overturn us. Then we met a wave of unusual height and succeeded in climbing up into its foaming crest, but then our little craft shot down its side with the apparent velocity of a sled down a toboggan slide. When we reached the bottom of this trough of the sea, our canoe slapped so violently upon the water that the birch bark on the bottom split from side to side. Of course the water rushed in upon us with uncomfortable rapidity. The more we paddled, the faster the water entered as the exertion strained the boat and opened the crack. Quickly folding up a blanket, I carefully placed it over the long split and kneeled down upon it to keep it in place. The man in the front of the canoe put his paddle down. He took the kettle and bailed as rapidly as he could, while the Indian in the stern and I plied our paddles for dear life. We turned towards the Spider Islands, which were over a mile away, and by vigorous work succeeded in reaching one of them, although our canoe was half-full of water. Then we entered into David's words as for life we struggled, and our little craft was tossed on the cross sea in our efforts to reach a place of safety: They reel to and fro and stagger like a drunken man, and all of their knowledge is of no avail. Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and He delivers them out of their afflictions (Psalm 107:27-28).

We paddled up as far as we could onto a smooth granite rock that rose gradually in the water. We sprang out, and strong hands dragged our little canoe beyond the reach of the waves. We pulled our dripping blankets, soaked food, and other things out. We overturned the canoe and emptied it of water. We saw the large break in the bottom and realized, as we had not before, the danger we had been in and the providential escape, which was ours. So with glad hearts, we said, Oh that men would praise the Lord for His mercy, and for His wonderful works unto the sons of Adam (Psalm 107:31).

We quickly built a fire and melted some pitch, a quantity that was always carried for such emergencies. The Indians covered the long split with a piece of cloth that was saturated in the boiling pitch; then they poured more over it and carefully smoothed it out over the weak place. When it cooled and hardened, the work was done. We ate a little food, launched our frail craft, and pushed on. No more serious accidents troubled us, and we ended this long canoe trip, as we had done many others – thankful. We had experienced blessed opportunities to go to the remote places as heralds of the Cross; we were doubly thankful we were safe at home again.

On one of my canoe trips when I visited unbelieving bands in the remote Nelson River District, I had some singular experiences. I learned some important lessons about the craving of the lost heart after God.

We had been journeying for ten or twelve days when one night we camped on the shore of a lake-like river. While my guides were gathering wood and cooking the supper, I wandered off and ascended a wooded hill, which I had seen in the distance. When I reached the top, I was surprised to find myself in the presence of the most startling evidences of idolatry.

The hill had once been densely covered with trees, but about every third one had been cut down. The stumps, which were four to ten feet high, had been carved into rude representations of the human form. Scattered around were the dog ovens, which were holes dug in the ground and lined with stones. At certain seasons, as part of their religious ceremonies, they roasted some of their favorite dogs; white ones were preferred. The excited crowd then devoured them.

Here and there were the tents of the old conjurers and medicine men. They combined some knowledge of disease and medicine with a great deal of spirit worship and held despotic sway over the people. The power of these old conjurers over the Indians was very great. They were generally lazy old fellows but succeeded nevertheless in getting the best. They held the Indians in such terror of their power that gifts in the shape of fish and game were constantly flowing in upon them. They knew the secret art of concocting some poisons so deadly that a little bit put in the food of a person who had displeased them would cause death almost as quickly as strychnine. They had other poisons, which did not immediately cause death to the unfortunate victims. These affected and disfigured them until death released them; their suffering was intense and their appearance frightful.

Here on this hilltop were all these sad evidences of the lost condition of the people. I wandered around and examined the idols. Most of them held offerings of tobacco, food, red cotton, and other things. My heart was sad at these signs of idolatry, and I was deeply impressed with my need of wisdom and aid from on high. I needed to be able to preach Christ and Him crucified in such a way that they would be constrained to accept Him as their all-sufficient Savior.

While I lingered and mused and prayed, the shadows of the night fell on me, and I was shrouded in gloom. Then the full moon rose up in the east, and as her silvery beams shone through the trees and lit up these grotesque idols, the scene presented a strange weird appearance. My faithful guides became alarmed at my long absence because this country was infested by wild animals. They were searching for me when I returned to the campfire. We ate our evening meal, sang a hymn, and bowed in prayer. Then we wrapped ourselves up in our blankets and lay down on the granite rocks to rest. Although our bed was hard with no roof above us, we slept sweetly, for the day had been one of hard work and strange adventure.

After paddling about forty miles the next day, we reached the Indians of that section of the country and remained several weeks among them. With the exception of the old conjurers, they all received me very cordially. These old conjurers had the same feelings toward me as those who made silver shrines for Diana of Ephesus had toward the first preachers of Christianity in their city. They trembled for their occupation. They knew that if these people became Christians, their occupation would be gone, and they would have to work for their own living like other people, or starve. I visited them as I did the rest of the encampment, but they had enmity in their hearts toward me. I knew nothing of their efforts to injure or destroy me. I understood their threats, but He who had said, Lo, I am with you always mercifully watched over me and shielded me from their evil deeds. My two Indian friends also watched and prayed with a vigilance that seemed untiring. I have very pleasant memories of my faithful Indian comrades on those long journeys. Their loyalty and devotion could not be excelled. Everything that they could do for my safety and happiness was cheerfully done.

We held three religious services every day, and between these services, I taught the people to read in the syllabic characters. One day, in conversing with a fine old Indian, I said to him, "What is your religion? If you have any clear idea of a religion, tell me in what you believe."

His answer was, "We believe in a good Spirit and in a bad spirit."

"Why, then," I said, "do you not worship the good Spirit? I came through your sacred grounds, and I saw where you had cut down some trees. Part you had used as fuel to cook your bear or deer meat; out of the rest you had made an idol, which you worship. How is one part more sacred than the other? Why do you make and worship idols?"

I can never forget his answer or the impressive and almost passionate way in which the old man replied:

"Missionary, the Indian's mind is dark, and he cannot grasp the unseen. He hears the Great Spirit's voice in the thunder and storms. He sees the evidences of His existence all around, but neither he nor his fathers have ever seen the Great Spirit or anyone who has. So he does not know what He looks like. But man is the highest creature that he knows, so he makes his idols like a man and calls it his 'Manito.' We only worship them because we do not know what the Great Spirit looks like; but these we can understand."

Suddenly there flashed into my mind the request of Philip to the Lord Jesus: Show us the Father, and it will suffice us; and the wonderful answer: Have I been such a long time with you, and yet thou hast not known Me, Philip? He that has seen Me has seen the Father; and how sayest thou then, Show us the Father? (John 14:8-9).

I opened my Cree Bible at that wonderful fourteenth chapter of John and preached the two natures of Jesus to them, Divine and human. While emphasizing the redemptive work of the Son of God, I referred to His various offices and purposes of love and compassion, His willingness to meet us and save us from perplexity and doubt, as well as from sin. I spoke about Him as our elder brother, so intimately allied to us, and yet retaining His human form as He pleads for us at the throne of God. I dwelt upon these delightful truths and showed how Christ's love had brought Him to us, so with the eye of faith we could see Him and in Him all of God for which our hearts craved. Whom having not seen, ye love; in whom, at present ye see Him not, yet believing, ye rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory (1 Peter 1:8).

For many days, I needed no other themes. They listened attentively, and the Holy Spirit applied these truths to their hearts and consciences so effectively they gladly received them. A few more visits established them in the truth. They have cut down their idols, filled in the dog ovens, torn away the conjurers' tents, cleared the forest, and banished every vestige of the old life. And now a little church stands at "the Meeting of the Three Rivers," where idols were worshipped amidst horrid orgies; and yells, rattles, and drums of the old conjurers and medicine men were heard for days and nights. In place of this darkness, these same Indians have been transformed by the glorious gospel of the Son of God and are "clothed and in their right mind, sitting at the feet of Jesus."

My visits to Nelson River impressed me with the need for a zealous missionary to go down there and live among the people. In response to such appeals, the Rev. John Semmens, whose heart God had filled with missionary zeal, had come out to assist me at Norway House, but resolved to undertake the work at Nelson River. He was fit for the arduous and responsible task. But no language of mine can describe what he had to suffer. His record is on high. The Master has it all, and He will reward. Rev. Semmens' successes and triumphs were great.

Through his instrumentality and personal efforts, Brother Semmens erected the church at the place where I found the stumps carved into idols. In the last letter I received from that land, he wrote, "The Indians now all profess themselves to be Christians. By their lives and testimonies, scores of them assure us of the blessed consciousness that the Lord Jesus is indeed their own loving Savior. Every conjuring drum has ceased. All vestiges of the old life are gone, we believe forever."

The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad; the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the lily (Isaiah 35:1).

This prophecy has been fulfilled in a grand way and dwarfs all the suffering and hardship endured in beginning this Mission. With a glad heart, I rejoice that unto me, who am less than the least of all saints, is this grace given, that I should preach among the Gentiles the unsearchable riches of Christ (Ephesians 3:8).
Chapter 8

Travel by Dog Train

These wild northlands are so destitute of roads that these tribes have no distinct words to represent land vehicles. In translating such words as wagon or chariot into the Cree language, we had to use a word similar to that for dog sled. No surveyor had yet visited these regions, and there were literally no roads as understood in civilized lands.

The lakes and rivers are so numerous that roads are not necessary to the Indian in the summer time. With his light birch canoe, he can go almost everywhere he desires. If obstructions block his passage, all he has to do is put his little canoe on his head, and a short run will take him across the portage, or around the cataracts or falls, or over the height of land to some other lake or stream where he quickly embarks and continues his journey.

All summer travelling is done along the water routes. Naturally the various trading posts and Indian villages or encampments are located near or on the edges of the lakes or rivers to be most conveniently reached. The summers are so short that we only have about five months of open water which we can depend on in these high latitudes. During the other seven months, the dog sled is the only means of travelling. The country is so rough and wild that no other vehicle could take its place, and no animals could do the work of the dogs.

As the years rolled on, my mission field or circuit enlarged and extended irregularly north and south over five hundred miles with a width in some places of over three hundred miles. In summer, I travelled in a birch canoe and in winter with my dog trains.

At first, it seemed very novel and almost like child's play to be dragged along by dogs. I almost sensed a feeling of rebellion against what seemed such frivolous work.

The dogs generally used are the Eskimo breed, although in many places they have become so mixed as to be almost unrecognizable. The pure Eskimo sled dogs are well built, compact animals, weighing from eighty to a hundred and twenty pounds. They are of various colors and have a close, warm, furry coat of hair. They have sharp pointed ears and very bushy, curly tails. They are also the most notorious thieves. I never could completely break an Eskimo dog of this habit, which seemed ingrained in their very natures. I have purchased young puppies from the natives, fed them well, and faithfully endeavored to bring them up in the way in which they ought to go, but I never could get them to stay there. Steal they would, and did, whenever they had an opportunity.

This serious defect may have been the result of the constant and unremitting neglect with which Indians generally treat their dogs. They are fond of them in a way and unwilling to part with them, except at a good price. Yet, they very seldom feed them unless they are working them. The dogs are generally left to steal their living, and some of them become very clever at it. When the fishing is successful or many deer have been killed, the dogs, like their owners, are fat and flourishing. When food is scarce, the dogs' allowance is the first one cut off. We could always tell at a glance when a band of Indians came to visit our village from their distant hunting grounds, how they had prospered. If they and their dogs were fat and good natured, they'd had abundance of food. If the people looked well, and the dogs were thin and wolfish, we knew they had fared but moderately. If there were no dogs and the people looked gaunt and famine stricken, we knew they'd had hard times and had eaten their poor dogs as a last resort to stay alive.

With his light canoe he can go almost everywhere

Some of the Indians who feed their dogs in winter never think of doing so in summer. So the dogs have to steal, hunt, or starve, and they become adept in one or the other. Everything that is edible, and many things apparently inedible, are devoured by them. They howled with delight when they found such things as old leather moccasins, dog harnesses, whips, fur caps, mitts, and similar things. They greedily devoured all they could and most cunningly buried the rest. Many go off in summertime on long fishing excursions. Once I met a pack of them over a hundred miles from their home. When we first saw them at such a long distance, we mistook them for wolves and began to prepare for battle. The quick eyes of my Indian canoe men soon saw what they were, and we put our guns down and spent a little time watching them. To my great surprise, I discovered they were fishing on their own. This was new to me, so I watched them with much interest.

They were on the shallow, reedy marsh side of the river where the water was from a few inches to a foot in depth. Different varieties of fish can be found in these shallow waters during certain seasons. The principal one is the jackfish, or pike, which are sometimes over three feet long. The dogs see them as they crowd into these shallows with their back fins out of the water. The dogs quietly wade out, often to a distance of many yards, and seize them with such a grip that, in spite of their struggles, they are carried in triumph to the shore and devoured. Sometimes the dogs will remain on these fishing excursions for weeks and return in much better condition than when they left.

During the winter of the first Riel Rebellion when all our supplies had been cut off, my good wife and I got tired of dining twenty one times a week on fish, varied only by a pot of boiled muskrats or a roast hindquarter of a wild cat. To improve our bill of fare, when I went into the Red River Settlement the next summer, I bought a sheep, which I carefully took with me in a little open boat. I succeeded in getting it safely home and put it in a yard that had a heavy stockade fence twelve feet high around it. Somehow, the dogs got in and devoured my sheep.

The next summer, I took a couple of pigs and put them into a little log stable with a two-inch spruce plank door. To my great disgust, one night the dogs ate a hole through the door and devoured my pigs.

These dogs seemed to have a good deal of the wolf in their nature. Many of them never manifested much affection for their masters and were not dependable. Still, I always found that patience and kindness went further than anything in teaching these Eskimo dogs what was required of them and in inducing them to accept the situation. Some of them are naturally lazy, and some of them are incorrigible shirks. Dog driving presents a capital opportunity for the exercise of the cardinal virtue of patience.

As my Mission increased in size and new contacts were made, I needed to be on the move nearly all winter to visit those who longed for the Word of Life. Even so, some bands were so remote I could only visit them twice a year. In summer, I went by canoe and in winter by dog train. After a few wretched experiences with native dogs where I suffered intensely, as much on account of their inferior powers as anything else, I began to think of the many splendid St. Bernard and Newfoundland dogs I had seen in civilized lands that did nothing in return for the care and affection lavished upon them. These thoughts came to me while far from home and were promptly followed by action as soon as that terrible trip was ended, in which every part of my face exposed to the intense cold had been frozen, even to my eyebrows and lips.

Missionary Secretaries were amused with my petition for dogs and had their laughs at what they called "my unique request" and wrote me to that effect. Thanks, however, to the kindness of such men as the Hon. Mr. Sanford of Hamilton, the Hon. Mr. Ferrier of Montreal, and other friends, I had in my possession some splendid dogs before the next season opened. Then the work went on with increasing interest and satisfaction. With splendid, well-trained dogs, I could shorten the time of the three hundred mile trip. Instead of shivering seven or eight nights in a hole dug in the snow, we could reduce the number to four or five.

Those who have experienced the suffering and hardship of camping in the forest with the temperature ranging from thirty to sixty degrees below zero will agree that escaping two or three nights of it meant a good deal.

By years of experience, I found that the St. Bernard and Newfoundland dogs had all the good qualities and none of the defects of the Eskimo dog. With kindness and firmness, they were easily broken in, and a whip was only an ornamental appendage of the driver's picturesque costume. I often had as many as twenty of these splendid dogs in my possession at a time. The largest and best of them was Jack, a noble St. Bernard. He was black as jet and stood over thirty-three inches high at his fore shoulder. When in good working shape, he weighed about a hundred and sixty pounds. He had no equal in all that northern land. Several times he saved my life. No whip ever ruffled his glossy coat; no danger ever deterred him from his work after he, with his marvelous intelligence, once understood what was expected of him. No blizzard, no matter how fickle and changing, could lead him off the desired path, even if the courage of other dogs failed them, and the guides gave up in despair.

The distance we could travel with dogs depended very much on the character of the trail or route. On the frozen surface of Lake Winnipeg, when no blinding gales opposed us and our dogs were good and loads not too heavy, we have made from seventy to ninety miles a day. One winter I accomplished a journey from Fort Garry to Norway House in five and a half days – a distance of nearly four hundred miles. We often did not make more than a third of that distance, when we were struggling through the dense forests where the snow lay deep and the obstructions were many. This country was broken with hills and ravines, and we suffered much more than when we had made longer journeys under more favorable conditions.

The dog sleds are made of two oak or birch boards about twelve feet long, eight or nine inches wide, and from half an inch to an inch thick. These two boards are fastened securely together, edge to edge, by crossbars. Then one of the ends is planed thin and thoroughly steamed or soaked in hot water. Then it can be easily bent or curved up to form what is called the head of the sled. It is planed smooth and fitted with side loops. The traces of the dogs are attached to the front bars, and the load is fastened to the others along the sides. When finished, allowing two or three feet for the curled up head, a good dog sled is nine or ten feet long and from sixteen to eighteen inches wide.

Sometimes these sleds are fitted with canvas sides and a comfortable back. Then they are called carioles. When the dogs were strong enough, the trail was a well-beaten one, or we were travelling on the great frozen lakes, I was able to ride the greater part of the time. Then it was not unpleasant or toilsome work. But many of my winter trails led me through the primeval forests where the snow was very deep, the hills were steep, the fallen trees many, and the standing ones thickly clustered together. On such journeys, there was little riding. I had to strap on my snowshoes and help the faithful Indians tramp down the deep snow in the trail, so the poor dogs could drag the heavily loaded sleds along.

Four dogs constitute a train. They are harnessed in tandem style, as all this vast country north of the fertile prairies is a region of forests. The Eskimo style of giving each dog a separate trace, thus letting them spread out in a fan-like form, would never do in this land of trees and dense under brush.

The harness, which is made of moose skin, is often decorated with ribbons and little musical bells. Strange as it may appear, the dogs were fond of the bells and always seemed to travel better and be in greater spirits when they could dash along in unison with their tinkling. Some dogs could not be more severely punished than by taking the bells off their harness.

The head dog of the train is called "the leader." A great deal of the comfort, success, and safety of the whole party depends on him. A good leader is a valuable animal. Some of them are so intelligent they do not require a guide to run ahead of them, except in the most dense and unbeaten forest trails. I had a long-legged white dog of mixed breed that always seemed to consider a guide a nuisance after he got into his big head what I wanted him to do. Outside of his harness, Old Voyager, as we called him, was a morose, sullen, unsociable brute. He was so hard to approach that generally a rope about sixty feet long with one end fastened around his neck trailed out behind him. When we wanted to catch him, we had to run in the opposite direction, for he was as cunning as a fox and objected to being caught. In a zigzag way, we moved about until he was thrown off his guard, and soon it was possible to come near enough to grab the long rope and haul him in. Once the collar was on his neck, and he had taken his place at the head of the party, he was the unrivaled leader. No matter how many trains might happen to be travelling together, no one thought of taking first place while Old Voyager was at hand.

Lake Winnipeg is indented with deep, wide bays. The headlands are from five to thirty miles apart. When dog travelling on that great lake in winter, the general plan is to travel from headland to headland. When leaving one, where perhaps we had slept or dined, all we had to do was turn Old Voyager's head in the right direction and show him the distant point where we wanted to go. Although it might be many miles away, a surveyor's line could not be much straighter than the trail our sleds would make under his unerring guidance.

I have given these details about this mode of travelling, because little is known about it in the outside world. Doubtless it will soon become a thing of the past, as the Indians are settling down in their reservations, and these long, toilsome journeys will not be essential when each tribe or band has its own resident missionary.

The companions of my long trips were the famed Indian runners of the north. The principal one of our party was called "the guide." We committed to him the responsibility of leading us by the quickest and safest route to the band of Indians we wished to visit with the good news of a Savior's love. His place was in front of the dogs, unless the way happened to lead us for a time over frozen lakes or well-beaten trails, where the dogs were able to go on alone, cheered by the voice of their drivers behind. When the trail was of this description, the guide generally strode along in company with one of the drivers.

As the greater part of my work was in the forest regions, the guide was always at the front on many trips. Marvelously gifted were some of these men. One must bear in mind the fact that there were no roads or vestiges of a path. Often the whole distance we wished to go was through the dense unbroken forest. Some winters, the snow was from two to four feet deep. Often the trees were clustered so closely together that it was difficult to find them standing far enough apart to get our sleds, narrow as they were, between them. In many places the underbrush was so dense that it was laborious work to force our way through it. Yet the guide on his large snowshoes was expected to push through all obstructions and open the way where it was possible for the dog sleds to follow. His chief work was to mark out the trail so the rest of us could travel as rapidly as our loaded sleds or wearied limbs and often-bleeding feet would allow.

Wonderfully clever and active were these guides in this difficult and trying work. It made little difference to them whether the sun shone brightly or clouds obscured the sky. On and on they pushed without hesitancy or delay. Sometimes the sun's rays were reflected with such splendor from the snowy wastes that our eyes became affected by the glare, and it was impossible to travel by sunlight. The black eyes of the Indians seemed very susceptible to this disease, which they call "snow blindness." It is very painful, as I know by sad experience. The sensation is like that of having red hot sand thrown on the eyeballs. Often the faithful dog drivers suffered from it so much that I have known them to groan and almost cry out like children in the camp.

Once, in travelling near Oxford Lake, we came across a couple of Indians who were stone blind from this disease. Fortunately they had been able to reach the woods, make a camp, and get some food ready before total blindness came upon them. We went out of our way to guide them to their friends.

In the months of March and April, the brightness of the sun increased and length of days also increased, making the rays powerful. To guard against the attack of snow blindness, we often travelled during the nighttime and rested in the sheltered camps during the hours of sunshine. On some of our long trips, we have travelled eight nights continuously in this way. We generally left our camp about sundown. At midnight we groped about as well as we could, aided by the light of the stars or the brilliant auroras, and found some dry wood and birch bark. We would make a fire and cook a midnight dinner. Then on we went until the morning light came. At that time we prepared a regular camp, cooked and ate breakfast, and fed the dogs, instead of at night. We said our prayers and wrapped up in our blankets and robes. We slept until the hours of brilliant sunshine were over, then on we went.

It always seemed to me that the work of the guide would be much more difficult at night than during the daytime. They, however, did not think so. With unerring accuracy, they pushed on. It made no difference to them whether the stars shone in all the beauty and brilliancy of the Arctic sky or whether clouds arose and obscured them all. On the guide pushed through tangled underwood or dense gloomy forest, where no other tracks were to be seen than those made by the wild beasts of the forest.

Sometimes the wondrous auroras blazed out, flashing and scintillating with a splendor indescribable. At times the whole heavens seemed aglow with their fickle, inconstant beauty, and then various portions of the sky were illumined in succession by their ever changing bars or columns of colored light. Man's mightiest fireworks display dwarfed into insignificance in the presence of these celestial visions. For hours at a time have I been entranced amid their glories. They were at times so bewildering to me that I have lost all ideas of location and knew not which was north or south.

My experienced guide, like many of the Indians, had a keen appreciation of the beauties of nature. But he was so intent on his duties that these changing auroras were no distraction to his work. This often surprised me. Indians are very susceptible in their natures, and their souls are full of poetry, as many of their expressive and beautiful names indicate. In their lost state, those scintillating bars of colored light were the spirits of their forefathers, rank after rank, rushing out to battle. Yet, I have also had Indians as guides who became intensely interested in these wondrous visions of the night, but I never knew them to lose the trail or become confused as to the proper route.

My memories of different guides and dog drivers are very pleasant. With very few exceptions, they served me loyally and well. Most of them were devoted Christian men. They rejoiced to go with me on these long journeys to their countrymen who were still groping in the darkness but longing for the light. Many of them were capable of giving exhortations or addresses; if not able to do this, like Paul, they could tell the story of their conversion and how they had found the Savior.

My heart warms to those faithful men, my companions in many a storm, my bed-fellows in many a cold wintry camp. Memory brings up times when they risked their lives for me; when food was about exhausted, and the possibilities of obtaining additional supplies were very poor, they quietly put themselves on quarter rations so that their beloved missionary might not starve.

Some of them have finished their course. Up the shining trail, following the unerring Guide, they have gone beyond the auroras and beyond the stars, right to the throne of God.
Chapter 9

Winter Camp

In January 1869, I started on my first winter trip to Nelson River to visit a band of Indians who had never yet seen a missionary or heard the glad tidings of salvation. Their principal gatherings were at the little trading post on the Burntwood River. Their hunting grounds extended so far north that they bordered on those of the Eskimo, but the Indians have no dealings with them. Between these two races, the Indian and the Eskimo, there is no affinity whatever. They differ very materially in appearance, language, customs, and beliefs. Though they will seldom engage in open hostilities, they are very rarely at peace with each other, and generally strive to keep as far apart as possible.

The weather was bitterly cold as the temperature ranged from thirty-five to fifty-five below zero. Our course was due north all the way. The road we made, for there was none ahead of the snow shoe tracks of our guide, was a rugged, unbroken forest path. As the country through which we passed is rich in fur bearing animals, we saw many signs of their presence and occasionally crossed a hunter's trail. We passed over twenty little lakes, averaging from one to thirty miles in diameter. Over these, our dogs drew us very fast, and we could indulge in the luxury of a ride.

But in the portages and wood roads, our progress was very slow. Occasionally we cut out an obstructing log with our axes so our dogs might be able to drag our heavily laden sleds along. Sometimes the trees were so thickly clustered together that it was almost impossible to get our sleds through them. At times we tested our agility by climbing over fallen trees, and then we crawled on our hands and knees under reclining ones. Our faces were often bleeding, and our feet bruised. There were times when the strap of my snowshoes frayed and lacerated my feet such that the blood soaked through the moccasins and webbing of the snowshoes and marked the trail with blood.

We always travelled in single file. At the head, the guide ran or walked as the roads would permit. On these trips, after I understood dog driving, I generally followed next; behind me were three other dog trains, each with an Indian driver.

Sometimes the snow was so deep that the four dog drivers went ahead of the dogs, immediately behind the guide and keeping in line with him to pack down the snow, so the dogs might be able to drag the heavy sleds. We had a reason for such heavy loads. We were not in a country where we could find some hospitable home to welcome us when night fell. Neither were there hotels or houses where we could secure lodgings. We were in one of the most desolate and sparsely inhabited parts of the world, where those who travel long distances see no human beings, except for the rare Indian hunters. Hence, in spite our efforts to only take essentials and make our loads as light as possible, they would be heavy. We had to take our provisions, fish for our dogs, kettles, tin dishes, axes, bedding, guns, extra clothing, and various other things to meet emergencies that might arise.

The heaviest item on our sleds was the fish for the dogs. We fed each dog once a day with two good whitefish, weighing from four to six pounds each. If the daily allowance for each dog averaged five pounds, the fish alone on each sled would weigh one hundred and twenty pounds at the beginning of a weeklong trip. Then the bitter cold and the vigorous exercise gave both the drivers and the missionary good appetites, so their food was also of significant weight.

We generally stopped about half an hour before sundown in order to have time before darkness enshrouded us to prepare our camp. As we journeyed, we had observed that the guide who had been running along in front had been carefully scanning the forest to the right and left for the last half hour or so. At length he stopped and as we came up to him, we said, "Well, Tom, what is the matter?"

His answer was, "Here is a good place for our camp."

"Why do you think so?" we asked.

He replied, "Do you see those balsams? They will furnish us with a bed, and this cluster of dry, dead small trees will give us the wood we need for our fire." So we set to work to prepare for our night's stay in the woods.

After we unharnessed the dogs, they seemed thankful to get their heads out of their collars. We never tied them up, and they never deserted us; neither did they take off for home. Some of the younger ones often organized a rabbit hunt and enjoyed the sport. The older and wiser ones looked around for the coziest and most sheltered spots where they prepared their resting places for the night. They would carefully scrape away the snow until they came to the ground; with teeth and paws, they would make the spot as smooth and even as possible. They would then curl themselves up and patiently wait until they were called to supper. After unharnessing our dogs, our next work was with our axes, and there was a good sharp one for the missionary to cut down some of the green balsams and dry, dead trees. Using our snowshoes as shovels, we scraped away the snow from the place selected for our camp, piling it up as well as we could to the right, left, and in the rear of where we were to sleep. We spread out a layer of the balsam boughs on the ground. In front where the wind would blow the smoke from us, we made a large fire with the small dry trees, which we had cut down.

On this blazing log fire, we put our two kettles, which we had filled with snow. When it melted down, we refilled the kettles, until enough water was secured. In the large kettle, we boiled a good size piece of fat meat, and in the other we made our tea.

On my first trip, I carried a tin basin, a towel, and a cake of soap. At our first campfire, when the snow had been melted in our kettle, I asked the guide to give me a little of the water in my basin. Suspecting the purpose for which I wanted it, he said, "What are you going to do with it?"

"Wash my face and hands," I replied.

Very earnestly he answered, "Please, Missionary, do not do so."

I was longing for a good wash, for I felt like a chimney sweep. We had been travelling for hours through a region of country where great forest fires had raged the previous summer, leaving many of the trunks of the trees charred and black. We had often rubbed against them, and we had to cling to some of the branches as we went dashing down some of the ravines. The result of these weary hours amid charred trunks was very visible, and I rejoiced that an opportunity had arrived when I could wash off the sooty stuff. Great indeed was my surprise to hear this strong protest on the part of my guide against my doing anything of the kind.

"Why should I not wash?" I said, holding up my blackened hands.

"You must not let water touch you out in the open air when it is very cold as it is today," was his answer.

I was very inexperienced then and not willing to lose my wash, which I so much needed; I did not heed the warning. Having a blazing fire before me and a good dry towel, I ventured to wash, and for a minute or two I felt much better. Soon, however, I felt strange prickling sensations on the tops of my hands; then they began to chap and bleed, and they became very sore and did not get well for weeks. The one experiment of washing in the open air with the temperature in the fifties below zero was quite enough. In the following years, I left the soap at home and only carried the towel. When very much in need of a wash, I had to be content with a dry rub with the towel. Mrs. Young used to say that when I returned from some of these trips, I looked like old mahogany. The bath was considered a much-needed luxury.

When travelling in such cold weather, we preferred the fattest meat we could obtain. From personal experience, I can endorse the statements of Arctic explorers about the value of fat or oil and blubber as articles of food and the natural craving of the system for them. Nothing else seemed to supply the same amount of internal heat. As the result of experience, we carried the fattest kind of meat.

As soon as the snow was melted down in the larger of our kettles, sufficient meat for our party was put on and boiled. While it was cooking, we thawed out the frozen fish for our dogs. Due to the frost, they were as hard as stone, and it would have been cruel to give them like that to the noble animals that served us so well. We put a small log in front of the fire, so close that when the fish were placed against it, the intensity of the heat would thaw them out. The hungry dogs were ever sharp enough to know when their supper was being prepared; as it was the only meal of the day for them, they crowded around us and had to be restrained.

Sometimes it required a long time for the fire to thaw the fish sufficiently. In their eagerness and anxiety for food, the dogs would crowd one before the other and get into a fight; then there would be trouble. Two dogs of the same train very seldom fought with each other. Yoke fellows in toil, they were too wise to injure each other in needless conflict. So, when a battle began, the dogs quickly arranged themselves on the sides of their own comrades; soon it was a conflict of train against train.

At first, I thought it cruel not to feed them more frequently, but I found as all experienced dog drivers had told me, that one good meal a day was the best for them. My sympathies for them were great, however, and sometimes I would give them a good breakfast in the morning. That did not turn out to be of any real benefit though. The additional meal made them sluggish and short winded, and they did not seem to thrive so well. Good whitefish was the best food we could give them, and on this diet, they could thrive and work as on no other.

A good number of dog shoes were necessary on these rough trips. Dogs' feet are tender and liable to injury from various causes. On the smooth glare ice, the pads of the feet would sometimes wear so thin that they bled a good deal. Then on the rough roads, there was always the danger of their breaking off a claw or running a sliver through the webbing between the toes. Many of the wise old dogs had become accustomed to these shoes. They knew their value and would suddenly stop the whole train, hold up an injured foot very eloquently, and mutely tell us why they had done so.

The dog shoes are like heavy woolen mitts without the thumbs, made in different sizes. When a foot is injured, the mitt is drawn on and securely tied with a piece of soft deerskin. Then the grateful dog, which perhaps had refused to move before, springs to his work, often giving out his joyous barks of gratitude. Some of the dogs become so fond of these warm woolen shoes that instances are known when they have come into the camp from their cold resting places and refuse to be content until the men put shoes on all of their feet. Then, with every demonstration of gratitude, they have gone back to their holes in the snow.

Once our dogs have been fed, we make our simple arrangements for our own supper. We spread a number of balsam boughs over the spot near the fires from which the snow has been scraped away. We lay our tablecloth on these, which was generally an empty flour bag, cut down the side. We place our tin dishes in order and gather with vigorous appetites. It is fortunate that they are so good, as our homely fare would not be so appealing otherwise. The large piece of fat meat is served up in a tin pan, and our pint cups are filled up with hot tea. If we are fortunate enough to have some bread, which was far from being always the case, we thaw it out and eat it with our meat. Vegetables were unknown on these trips. Our great staple was fat meat, and the fatter the better; morning, noon, and night, and often between times we stopped and ate fat meat. If we did vary the menu, it was by raiding the dogs' supply and cooking ourselves a good kettle of fish.

As we dared not wash our hands or faces, such a thing as washing dishes was unknown. When supper was in progress, Jack Frost kept us busy trying to keep ourselves and provisions warm. I have seen the large piece of meat put back into the pot three times during one meal to warm it up. I have also seen ice gather on the top of the cup of tea that had been boiling vigorously in the kettle a few minutes before.

After supper, we cut wood to be ready for the morning's fire; we repaired every break in clothes or harnesses, so there might be no delay in making a good start. Then the guide, who always had charge of these things, when satisfied that all was arranged, would say, "Missionary, we are ready for prayers."

The Bible and hymnbook were brought out, and the Indians gathered round me; together we offered up our evening devotions. Would that our readers could have seen us! The background is of dense balsam trees, whose great drooping branches, partially covered with snow, sweep the ground. Above us are the bright stars, and sometimes the flashing auroras. In front of us is the blazing fire, and scattered around us, in picturesque confusion, are our dogsleds, snowshoes, harnesses, and the other essentials of our outfit. A few of the dogs generally insisted on remaining up until their masters had retired, and they were now to be seen in various postures around us. With uncovered heads, no matter how intense the cold, Christian Indians listened reverently, while in their own language I read from the precious volume, which they had learned to love so well. Then together we sang a hymn. Frequently it would be the Evening Hymn, the verse of which in their beautiful Cree language is as follows:

"Ne mahmechemou ne muntome

Kahke wastanahmahweyan,

Kah nah way yemin Kechahyah

Ah kwah-nahtahtah-kwahnaoon."

After singing, we bowed in prayer. There is there, as there should be everywhere, a consciousness of our dependence upon the great Helper for protection and support, and so the prayer we sang:

"Keep me, O keep me, King of Kings,

Beneath Thine own Almighty wings."

This was indeed our heart's desire.

Sometimes we were a hundred and fifty miles from the nearest human habitation. We were camping out in the woods in a hole dug in the snow. We had no walls around us but the snow thrown out of the place in which we huddled, with perhaps the addition of some balsam boughs. We had no roof above us but the stars. There, in that place, we were going to lie down and try to sleep during that bitter cold night. The light fire would soon go out. A foot of snow might fall upon us, and its coming would be welcomed, as its warmth would lessen our shivering. Prowling grey wolves might come near us, but the terrible Frost King was more to be feared then they.

Does anybody who knows the efficacy of prayer wonder that, as we draw near to God by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, we crave the assurance of His favor and smile, and that He, who never slumbers or sleeps, will be our Guardian and our Friend?

After prayers, we soon retired to rest. The guide's familiar words used to be, "Now, Missionary, I will make your bed." This was his work, and he was adept at it. He first spread out a layer of evergreen boughs, and then he laid a large buffalo robe, and upon this a heavy blanket. Then, placing my pillow so my head would be farthest away from the fire, he would say to me, "Now, if you will get into bed, I will cover you up and tuck you in."

Such a thing as disrobing in a wintry camp is unknown, unless a person's underclothing had become very damp by perspiration from running all day, and it is not safe to sleep in that condition.

Some travellers sleep in a fur bag, in which they manage to insert themselves, and have it tightened around their necks. Then a large fur hood over the usual headgear completes their sleeping apparel. I used to wrap myself up in a heavy overcoat over my usual apparel and then put on long buffalo skin boots, fur mitts, cap, cape, and big scarves, and considered myself rigged up for retiring. When thus wrapped, I would have some difficulty in getting into the bed, although it was only on the ground. When in position, the guide would throw another heavy blanket and fur robe over me. Then very skillfully and almost motherly, he would begin at my feet and tuck me in. Rapidly and deftly did he proceed with his work, and almost before I was aware of what he was doing, he had reached my head. He covered my head completely up with the heavy robe, which he seemed to be crowding down under my back and shoulders.

The first time he packed me in this way, I was only able to stand it for a minute or two, as I thought I should be smothered. So I suddenly threw up my arms and sent the whole upper covering off in a hurry.

"Do you wish to smother me, man?" I said. "I cannot live with my head covered up like that!"

Without any annoyance at my having quickly undone his work, he replied very kindly, "I know it must be hard work for you white people to sleep with your heads completely covered up, but you will have to do it here, or you will freeze to death. You must be very careful, for this seems to be a very cold night indeed." Then he called my attention to the distant thunder-like sounds we had been hearing during the evening. He told me that was the ice, from four to six feet thick on the great lake, cracking in the bitter cold. "Look at the smoke," he added. "See how it keeps very near the ground. It does that in the bitter cold nights."

From the trees around us, we heard an occasional sharp pistol-like report, loud enough to make a nervous person fancy that lurking enemies were firing at us.

The observant Indians say these loud reports are burstings in the trees caused by the freezing of the sap.

Admiring his cleverness and kindness, I told him that I had been taught that every person requires so many cubic feet of fresh air; and cold or no cold, how did he think I could get my share with my head covered up as he desired? "You must do with less out here," he said, as he proceeded to cover me up again, and I tried to arrange myself so that I could at least have a small portion of air. Kindly and patiently he humored me, and when he had finished tucking me in, he said, "Now, Missionary, good night; but don't stir. If you do, you may disarrange your coverings while you sleep, and you may freeze to death without waking up."

"Don't stir!" What a command, I thought, to give a tired traveller whose bones ache from his long snowshoe tramping in the woods, whose nerves and muscles are unstrung, and who, like others when thus fatigued, has found it helpful to his rest and comfort to turn occasionally and stretch his limbs!

In this frame of mind and under this order, which I felt must be obeyed for fear of the dire results that might follow, I managed to fall asleep, for I was very weary. After a while, I woke up to a state of semi-consciousness and found myself tugging and pulling at what I thought in my dreamy condition was the end of an axe handle. The vague impression on my mind was that some careless Indian had left his axe just behind my head, and in the night, the handle had fallen across my face, and I now had hold of the end of it. Fortunate for me, I very quickly woke completely up and found that what I had imagined to be the end of an axe handle was my own nose – and a badly frozen one it was. Both of my ears were about in the same condition.

With the guide's last orders in my ears, I think I must have gone to sleep all right, but I suppose from the unusual smothering sensation, I must have unconsciously pushed the robes from my face and uncovered my head and my hand. Then I gradually returned to consciousness with the above results. However, after a few nights of this severe kind of discipline, I became as able to sleep with my head covered up as an Indian.

When a foot or eighteen inches of snow fell upon us, we rejoiced, for it added to our comfort and caused us to sleep better. Under this additional covering, we generally rested a couple of hours longer than usual, often to make up for the loss of sleep of the previous nights, when we had found it impossible or had considered it dangerous to go to sleep.

The hardest work and the most disagreeable is getting up from such a bed in such a place. In spite of the intense cold, we are in a kind of a clammy perspiration because of the many wraps and coverings about us. As we throw off these outer garments and spring up in our camp, Jack Frost instantly assails us in a way that makes us shiver. Often some are almost compelled to cry out in bitter anguish.

Fortunately, we always prepare the wood the night before, so as quickly as possible, we build a great roaring fire. We prepare our breakfast of strong tea and fat meat and eat with all speed.

Sometimes the morning outlook was gloomy indeed, and our position was not an enviable one. On one of my trips of a hundred and eighty miles, in order to save expense, I only took one companion with me. He was a young Indian lad of about sixteen years of age. We each had our own train of dogs, and as Old Voyager was leader, we guided him by voice alone, and he did not disappoint us.

One morning, when we sprang up from our wintry camp bed, we found that several inches of snow had fallen upon us during the night. As soon as possible, we arranged our wood and endeavoured to kindle our fire. We had been late the previous evening in reaching this camping place, so we had to grope around in the increasing darkness for our wood. It was of inferior quality, but as we had succeeded in cooking our suppers with part of it, we had not anticipated any trouble with the rest. The snow, which had fallen, had not improved it. As we lit match after match, we were at first disgusted, and then alarmed, at finding the poor stuff persistently refused to ignite.

Of course, we had to take our hands out of our big fur mitts when trying to light the matches. Before we had succeeded to start the fire, our hands began to chill, and soon they were so powerless we were not able to hold a match in our fingers. Very naturally, we became alarmed, but we persevered as long as possible. I remember taking one of the matches between my teeth and holding up an axe before me. I tried to jerk my head quick enough to light it, but the experiment was not a success.

Suddenly we realized we were not far from perishing if we could not make a fire. I quickly turned to my young comrade and saw by the look in his face; he also grasped the situation and was terrified at the outlook.

"Alec," I said, "this is a serious thing for us."

"Yes, Missionary," said he. "I am afraid we die here. If we can make no fire and have no breakfast, I am afraid we will freeze to death."

Here the black bears are numerous.

"Not so bad as that yet, Alec," I said. "God is our refuge and help. He has given us other ways by which we can get warm. As quickly as possible get your snowshoes on and up with your hood and on with your mitts; I will do likewise; now see if you can catch me."

In much less time than I have taken to describe it, we rigged up for rapid snowshoe running and were off. Away I rushed through the woods as rapidly as I could on my snowshoes. The lad followed me, and thus we ran, chasing and catching each other alternately as though we were a couple of boisterous school boys instead of a missionary and his Indian companion, striving to save themselves from freezing to death.

After about half an hour of this most vigorous exercise, we felt the warmth coming back to our bodies. Then the hot blood began working its way to our benumbed hands, and by and by we could bend our fingers again. When we felt the comfortable glow of warmth over our whole bodies, we rushed back to the camp and gathered birch bark which we found hanging from the trees. This bark is very flammable, and we soon had a good fire and then our hot breakfast. At our morning devotions which followed there was a good deal of thanksgiving, and the grateful spirit continued in our hearts as we packed up our loads, harnessed up our dogs, and sped on our way. It was a very narrow escape. The King of Terrors looked us both in the face that cold morning, and very nearly chilled us into death by the icy fingers of the Frost King.

As the hours of daylight in the winter months in these high latitudes are so few, we generally roused ourselves up several hours before daylight. Often my kindhearted men endeavored to get up first and have a rousing fire made and breakfast cooked before I would awake. This, however, did not occur very often, as such a bed was not conducive to sleep; so, generally, after about four or five hours in such a state of suffocation, I was thankful to get up the instant I heard anyone stirring. I would rather freeze to death than be suffocated.

There were times when I was the first to get up and kindle the fire and cook the breakfast before I called my faithful wearied companions. Long accustomed to such hardships, they could sleep on soundly, but for me it was an absolute impossibility. When thus aroused, some of my men would look up at the stars and say "Assam weputch," i.e., "Very early." All I had to do was to look gravely at my watch, and this satisfied them that it was all right. The breakfast was quickly eaten, our prayers were said, our sleds loaded, dogs captured and harnessed (with the Eskimo ones this was not always an easy task), and we were ready to start.

Before starting, we generally threw the evergreen brush from our beds on the fire, and by its ruddy, cheerful light began our day's journey. When we made from twenty-five to forty miles before sunrise, the Indians began to think the stars were right after all, and the missionary's watch very fast. However, they were just as willing to get going as I was, so they did not find fault with the way I endeavored to hurry our party along. I paid them extra whenever the record time of a trip was broken, and we could lessen the number of nights in those open-air camps in the snow.

We were six days in making our first winter trip to Nelson River. In later years, we reduced it to four days. The trail is through one of the finest fur producing regions of the northwest. Here the wandering Indian hunters make their living by trapping animals such as the black and silver foxes, as well as the more common varieties of that animal. In this area are otter, mink, marten, beaver, ermine, bear, wolf, and many other kinds of the fur bearing animals. The black bear are also very numerous. On one canoe trip one summer, we saw no fewer than seven of them. We shot one of them and lived on it for several days.

The adventurous fur traders come to purchase these valuable skins, and great fortunes have been made in the business. Men are willing to come and put up with the hardships and privations of the country to make money and get rich. What a disgrace to us if we are afraid to follow in these hunters' trail for their soul's sake, and if need be, show them the way with the glad story of the Savior's love!
Chapter 10

Nelson River Indians – What Took So Long?

It was at my second visit to Nelson River that the work really commenced. Through some unforeseen difficulty at the first visit, many of the natives were away. Hunting is at best a precarious mode of obtaining a livelihood. The movements of the herds of caribou, which many of these Indians subsist on for the greater part of the year, are very erratic. It is often difficult to arrange for a place of meeting where food can be obtained in sufficient abundance while the religious services are being held.

I used to get very discouraged after having travelled for several days, either by canoe in summer or dog trains in winter, to reach a place, which had been arranged for meeting, and find very few present. The deer and other animals on which they had expected to live had gone in another direction, and the Indians had been obliged to follow them.

Everything, however, favored us on our second visit. We found over fifty families camped at the place of meeting and full of curiosity to see the missionary. They had all sorts of strange notions in their minds. When Mr. Rundle of the English Wesleyan Church first went among some of the tribes of the great Saskatchewan country with his Bible, preaching the wonderful gospel truths, the people were excited to know where this strange man had come from. So a great council was summoned, and the conjurers were ordered to find out all about it. After a great deal of drumming and dreaming and conjuring, they gravely reported that this strange man with his wonderful Book had been wrapped up in an envelope and had come down from the Great Spirit on a rainbow!

The Nelson River Indians welcomed me very cordially and were much more demonstrative in their greetings than were any of the other tribes I had visited, although I had my share of strange welcomes. Here the custom of handshaking was little known, but the more ancient one of kissing prevailed. My amazement was great when I found myself surrounded by two hundred and fifty or three hundred Indians, men, women, and children, whose faces seemed in blissful ignorance of soap and water, but all waiting to kiss me. I felt unable to stand the ordeal, so I managed to put them off with a shake of the hand and a kind word or two.

At eight o'clock the next morning, we called the Indians together for the first public religious service which most of them had ever attended. They were intensely interested. The Christian Indians from Norway House aided me in the opening services, and being sweet singers, added much to the interest. We sang several hymns, read a couple lessons from the Bible, and engaged in prayer. About nine o'clock, I read as my text those sublime words: For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him should not perish, but have eternal life (John 3:16).

They listened with the most enrapt attention, while I talked to them for four hours of some of the truths of this glorious verse. They had never heard a sermon before and were ignorant of the simplest truths of our blessed Christianity. I had to make everything plain and clear as I went along. I could not take anything for granted with that audience. I had to take them back to the creation and fall. Then I spoke of God's love in providence and grace; I spoke of His greatest act of love, the gift of His only begotten beloved Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, who died that we might live. I dwelt on the benefits, which come to us from the personal acceptance of the Savior. I tried hard to show how we, who had wandered so far away, were invited back to actual adoption into God's great family as a conscious reality. I spoke of the universality and impartiality of God's love, of His willingness to receive all, to fill our hearts with joy and peace, to comfort us all through life, to sustain us in death, and then to take us to everlasting life in a world of light and glory.

The ever-blessed Spirit most graciously applied the truth, as I tried in the simplest and plainest way to bring it down to their comprehension. The attention they gave showed that my words were being understood. Their bright eyes glistened and at times filled with tears. As I closed, the long pent-up silence gave place to loud exclamations of delight.

Then we translated into their language and sang part of the good old hymn:

"O for a thousand tongues to sing

My great Redeemer's praise,

The glories of my God and King,

The triumphs of His grace!"

Again we bowed in prayer, and at my request, they repeated after me all the petitions in short easy sentences that we offered up to Him who is the hearer and answerer of prayer. A spirit of awe and solemnity seemed to rest upon us. It was the first time the great majority had ever attempted to pray in the Name of Jesus. I felt a sweet assurance that those simple petitions from the hearts and lips of those poor people were not despised by Him whose great heart of love beats so true to all.

After prayer, I requested them to seat themselves on the ground, as I wished to hear from them about these great truths, which I had come to tell them. I wanted to know what their wishes and determinations were about becoming Christians. When I had finished, every eye turned towards the principal chief. These Indians, like the other tribes, have their unwritten laws of precedence. He rose up from his place among his people and came near my right. He made one of the most thrilling addresses I ever heard. Years have passed since that hour, and still the memory of that tall, straight, impassioned Indian is as vivid as ever. His actions were many, but all were graceful. His voice was particularly fine and full of passion, for he spoke from his heart. With my interpreter to aid me, I later wrote it down:

"Missionary, I have long lost faith in our old way of worship." Then pointing down to the outer edge of the audience where some old conjurers and medicine men were seated, he said, "They know I have not cared for our old religion. I have neglected it. And I will tell you, Missionary, why I have not believed in our old religion for a long time. I hear God in the thunder, in the tempest, and in the storm. I see His power in the lightning that shivers the tree into kindling wood. I see His goodness in giving us the moose, caribou, beaver, and the bear. I see His lovingkindness in giving us, when the south winds blow, the ducks and geese; and when the snow and ice melt away and our lakes and rivers are open again, I see how He fills them with fish. I have watched these things for years, and I see how during every moon of the year He gives us something; and so He has arranged it; if we are only industrious and careful, we can always have something to eat. So thinking about these things, which I had observed, I made up my mind years ago, that this Great Spirit, so kind and so watchful and so loving, did not care for the beating of the conjurer's drum or the shaking of the rattle of the medicine man. So I have had no religion for years."

Then turning towards me and looking me in the face, he said, in tones that thrilled me, "Missionary, what you have said today fills my heart up and satisfies all its longings. It is just what I have been expecting to hear about the Great Spirit. I am so glad you have come with this wonderful story. Stay as long as you can; and when you have to go away, do not forget us but come again as soon as you can."

Loud expressions of approval greeted these words of the chief. When he had finished, I said, "I want to hear from others, and I want your own views on these important things."

Many responded to my request, and with the exception of an old conjurer or two who feared for their occupation, all spoke in the same strain as the head chief. The last to speak was an old man with grizzly hair and wild, excited movements. He was a queer, savage-looking man who came from the rear of the company to the front with strange springy movements. His hair was braided and reached his knees. Threading his way through the audience, he came up close to me, and pushing his fingers into his hair as far as its braided condition would allow, he exclaimed in a tone full of earnestness, "Missionary, once my hair was as black as a crow's wing; now it is getting white. Grey hairs here and grandchildren in the wigwam tell me that I am getting to be an old man. Yet I never before heard such things as you have told us today. I am so glad I did not die before I heard this wonderful story. But I am getting old. Grey hairs here and grandchildren yonder tell the story. Stay as long as you can, Missionary; tell us much of these things. When you have to go away, come back soon, for I have grandchildren, and I have grey hairs and may not live many winters more. Do come back soon."

He turned as though he would go back to his place and sit down, but he only went a step or two before he turned around and faced me and said, "Missionary, may I say more?"

"Talk on," I said, "I am here now to listen."

"You said just now, 'Notawenan' (Our Father)."

"Yes," I said, "I did say, 'Our Father'."

"That is very new and sweet to us," he said, "We never thought of the Great Spirit as Father. We heard Him in the thunder and saw Him in the lightning and tempest and blizzard, and we were afraid. So, when you tell us of the Great Spirit as Father – that is very beautiful to us."

Hesitating a moment, he stood there – a wild, picturesque Indian, yet my heart had strangely gone out in loving interest and sympathy to him.

Lifting up his eyes to mine, again he said, "May I say more?"

"Yes," I answered, "say on."

"You say, 'Notawenan' (Our Father). He is your Father?"

"Yes, He is my Father."

Then he said, while his eyes and voice yearned for the answer, "Does it mean He is my Father, poor Indian's Father?"

"Yes, O yes!" I exclaimed. "He is your Father too."

"Your Father, missionary's Father, and Indian's Father, too?" he repeated.

"Yes, that is true," I answered.

"Then we are brothers?" he almost shouted out.

"Yes, we are brothers," I replied. The excitement in the audience had become extraordinary. When our conversation with the old man had reached this point with such an unexpected yet dramatic manner, he had clearly brought out not only the Fatherhood of God, but also the oneness of the human family. The people could hardly restrain their expressions of delight.

The old man, however, had not yet finished. Quietly restraining the most demonstrative ones, he again turned to me and said, "May I say more?"

"Yes, say on; say all that is in your heart."

Never can I forget his answer.

"Well, I do not want to be rude, but it does seem to me that you, my white brother, have been a long time in coming with that great Book and its wonderful story to tell it to your Indian brothers in the woods."

This thrilled me, and I found it very hard to answer. This is the question of millions of weary, longing, waiting souls. They are dissatisfied with their false religions and craving that soul rest, which can only be found in the hearty acceptance of the glorious gospel of the Son of God. I tried to apologize for the slow progress of the Redeemer's kingdom and the apathy of those who acknowledge the brotherhood of humanity but often forget they are their brother's keeper.

We closed the service for a brief period, and as soon as a hurried dinner had been eaten, we all assembled again for the afternoon service. This second service lasted for five hours. After singing and prayer, I read the beautiful story of the Ethiopian eunuch and the baptismal service. I endeavored to explain what we meant by becoming Christians. I stated that I was willing to baptize all who would renounce the old way with its polygamy, conjuring, gambling, and other vices and begin to worship the true God. Polygamy was the greatest stumblingblock among them, as some of them had three or four wives. Drunkenness is little known, perhaps because of the great difficulty of importing liquor into a region so remote from civilization.

After I had spent a long time teaching the doctrines of the blessed Book and had answered many questions, I invited all who were willing to comply with these conditions and desired baptism to come to the front of the audience, where I was standing.

About forty men and women responded, came forward, and seated themselves at my feet. Some were trembling, others were weeping; all seemed moved. Then I read the beautiful Scripture lessons in connection with the baptismal service for children and dwelt upon the love of Jesus for children and His willingness to receive them. I invited the parents to consecrate their children to God, even if they themselves were still undecided. We had a solemn and impressive time.

All desired new names, and for the great majority I had to make the selection. While baptizing them, I selected Christian names as additions to their generally poetic and expressive Indian names. My constant prayer was that they might "see His face and His name" be written "in their foreheads."

Some still opposed these truths. Satan would not be easily dispossessed or driven out. Old conjurers and medicine men, faithful followers of the enemy, quickly began their opposition. Their selfish natures were aroused. They were shrewd enough to see that if I succeeded, as I was likely to do, they would soon be without an occupation like Demetrius, the shrine maker of Diana. So at this afternoon gathering, they were there to oppose. But they were in such a helpless minority that they could only storm and threaten. One savage old conjurer rushed up to me as I was about to baptize his wife, who had come for this sign and seal of her acceptance of Christ. Before I had perceived his purpose or had power to stop him, he seized her and shook her roughly. Looking at me with his impotent wrath, he said in an insulting manner, "Call her Atim (dog)."

"No," I said, looking kindly at the poor trembling woman. "I will do nothing of the kind; but I will give her the sweetest name ever borne by woman, for it was the name of the mother of Jesus."

So I baptized her, "Mary."

We spent several days giving lessons in the syllabic characters between the religious services, as we endeavoured to hold three each day. Sometimes we assembled all the people together and taught them these characters by marking on the side of a rock with a burnt stick. At other times, we went from tent to tent, gave them lessons, and had religious conversation and prayer.

On one of these rounds of wigwam visitations, I met Pe-pe-qua-na-pua, or Sandy Harte, whose life and conversion story has been widely circulated. Several acquired such a good knowledge of these characters that they were able to read in the blessed Book after a few weeks.

I gave them several dozen copies of the New Testament, hymnbooks, and catechisms in their own language.

Their anxiety for religious instruction was so great that many of them remained for three days after they had eaten all of their provisions. When I first heard this, I could hardly believe it, but found out by personal investigation that it was the fact. With tears in their eyes, they bade me farewell. They said their children were famishing, and they had to start for their fishing and hunting grounds. But they added, "What we have heard from you will make us glad and thankful all the time."

With my faithful travelling companions, I made a trip out from Nelson River to another small band about thirty miles away. We spent the Sabbath in a miserable wigwam where the snow and sleet dashed in upon us, making us shiver. Still, as the poor people were anxious to hear the gospel, we soon forgot our physical discomforts in the joy of preaching this great salvation. Nineteen of them accepted Christ as their Savior and were baptized. We held a meeting to hear them tell what they desired from this blessed religion. We heard many interesting things but record only one here:

A fine looking man said, "What has fully decided me to endeavor to be a good Christian all my days is this. The missionary has told us many reasons, all sufficient to decide us; but the one that came very near to my heart was that all the little children who have died have been taken to that better land. There they are with the loving Savior in heaven. My little ones have passed away, leaving my heart sore and bleeding. I yearn after them; I long to meet them again. So I want to live that when I die, Jesus will permit me to embrace them and never be separated from them again."

At another camp on this trip, we found a young girl, about twelve years of age, dying of tuberculosis. I talked to her about Jesus and heaven, and I prayed with her several times. When the closing scene drew near, she said to her sorrowing mother, "I am glad the praying man has told me such words of comfort. I have lost that dread of death that I had. I believe that dear Jesus will take me to that better land; but, mother, when you come, will you look for me until you find me? For I do wish to see you again."

Is it any wonder that I became deeply attached to these Nelson River Indians? I visited them twice a year. By pen and voice, I pleaded for them until my heart's desire was obtained, and a beloved brother volunteered to go and live among them. I write with joy about him.
Chapter 11

Rev. John Semmens and the Nelson River Indians

One cold wintry morning we were gladdened by the arrival of a dear brother and colleague in the work, the Rev. John Semmens. He had left a comfortable charge in Ontario and had come to help me in the blessed work. Early in his missionary work among the Indians, Brother Semmens had to taste some of the dangers in such a life. He came to us at Norway House in the depth of the winter and suffered much from the intense cold and blizzards. One night, while he was on his way, he was trying to rest in the camp in the woods. A fierce storm blew down a large tree, which fell very close to him. Providentially no one was hurt.

He soon became very popular among the Indians, for whom he gave many years of successful, self-denying labor. His presence with us in our home was a great joy. None but those who have been deprived of the pleasure of the society and fellowship of kindred spirits can realize what a blessing this sweet spirited and devoted young brother was in our home. We had one great objective before us – doing the greatest possible good to the Indians among whom we were called to serve. Fortunately, seeing "eye to eye" as to the methods of our work, we spent some months and different years in harmony doing what we could.

Brother Semmens' name will always be associated with the Nelson River Mission, as he was the first missionary to go and live in that region of the country and among those wandering aborigines, who had received me with such expressions of joy. Mr. Semmens' suffered many hardships. The wandering life of the Indians made his work slow and at times discouraging. He had not learned their language yet and could not always get an interpreter. However, as the love of Christ was the constraining motive, he persevered, and great indeed was his success among them.

We exchanged our black clothes for our leather suits.

We will not include here the thrilling tales of his work, for we hope he will write his own record. Like the early disciples sent out by the Master in pairs, we often went together on long and difficult exploring tours. At many a campfire and in many a wigwam we talked and pleaded with the wandering Indians. We begged them to be reconciled to God. We tramped hundreds of miles together, until our limbs were cramped and our feet were bleeding. Then, in the cold camp after supper and prayers, we crowded in close together under the same robes and tried to sleep. Will either of us ever forget the trip in to District Meeting at Winnipeg, where we got separated from the rest of our party on the great Lake, but managed to reach the comfortable home and cordial welcome of our beloved Chairman, the Rev. George Young? We had escaped the terrible blizzard in which so many suffered.

The return trip was equally exciting and perilous. We left Winnipeg on the Saturday afternoon with our heavily loaded dog sleds. At Mr. Sifton's near Selkirk, we were cordially welcomed and remained in quiet rest and joyous worship during the Sabbath day. When the clock struck the hour of midnight, we exchanged our black clothes for our leather suits. We harnessed up our dogs, and after eating a midnight meal, we bade our host and hostess farewell and pushed out under the stars on our long journey to the far North. Mr. Semmens' journey would not be finished until he was six or seven hundred miles nearer the North Pole.

Mr. Sifton told me in later years that they could only sit there and weep as they thought of our starting in the bitter cold and gloom of that midnight hour on such a journey. Missionary work took on additional interest to them from that time. Their love for those who endured the hardships to share the knowledge of His Name only grew greater.

Before the sun rose, we were near the Willow Islands and had our breakfast there. Because it was getting late in the winter season, the reflection of the brilliant rays of the sun on the dazzlingly white snowy waste of Lake Winnipeg gave us both a touch of snow blindness. Still, we only stopped when it was necessary and rapidly hurried on. When about twenty miles from Beren's River, night came upon us, but I could not bear the idea of having to sleep in a miserable camp when home was so near. At this time, I was in charge of the new work among the Saulteaux. So I said to Brother Semmens and two well-disciplined dog drivers, "Courage, men, a little longer; let us not stop here in the bitter cold when our homes are so near."

The Indians responded with a will and rejoiced that we were to go on. But my beloved Brother Semmens was completely tired out, and my heart was filled with sorrow as I saw how utterly exhausted he was. Throwing himself down on the cold, icy surface of the lake, he said, "Throw me out a blanket and a piece of pemmican and leave me here. I cannot go a step farther. The rest of you have wives and children to lure you on to your homes; I have none. I can go no farther. My feet are bleeding from the straps of my snowshoes. I will stay here. Never mind me."

Thus the dear fellow talked, for he was exhausted and discouraged. I did not feel much better, but I tried to put a bold face on the matter, and I said, "No, indeed, we will not leave you here. We are going on, and we are going to take you with us. A good supper under a roof and a warm bed are to be yours before morning comes."

One of my dogs had broken her collarbone during this trip. Muff was a magnificent St. Bernard, a gift from Mrs. Andrew Allen of Montreal. Usually when an accident happens to one of the dogs, we killed it at once and pushed on with the diminished train. However, Muff was a valuable dog and there was a possibility of her recovering. I decided to carry her home, although we were a long distance out. I had arranged my sled so she could ride on it, and she had become quite reconciled to her place. But that meant a good deal of hard running for me. Before the accident occurred, I could ride a great part of the time in spite of over six hundred pounds in the sled. However, as Jack was one of the train, I was still able to ride when the ice was good. Now with one dog less in the train, and that one adding weight on the sled, it meant the end of my riding for that trip.

Very quickly I decided how to help my dear companion. With our axes, my companions and I chopped a hole in the solidly packed snow and ice near the shore of the lake. We spread a buffalo robe in this and placed the injured dog on it. Then around her, we packed the greater part of the load from the dog sled and covered it all as well as we could with the large deerskin sleigh wrapper. We made a large number of tracks around her as additional precaution. Giving the dog orders to guard the supplies from prowling wild animals, we left Muff there with her goods.

Then we drove the dogs over to the spot where Mr. Semmens lay, and wrapping him in robes and putting a little pillow under his head, we tied him on the sled and started on the last stage of our journey. We were so weary that we made slow progress, and it was after midnight before we reached the welcome Mission house.

Mr. Semmens had fortunately slept most of the way. After a warm bath, a good supper, and a long, sweet, dreamless sleep that lasted until nearly noon of the next day, his spirits were wonderfully refreshed. As he came downstairs and greeted us, his first words were, "O Egerton, I am so glad you did not leave me there to perish on the ice!"

Still in his prime with a noble wife and precious children around him, he stayed in that land doing good service for the Master. We still expect to hear good tidings from him. In physical strength, mental equipment, and thorough consecration to his work, he is the peer of any who labor there.

The Centenarian

One of the first Indians to attract our attention at Norway House was a venerable looking old man of more than usual height. His appearance was quite patriarchal. His welcome had been most cordial, and his words seemed to us like a loving benediction. He called us his children and welcomed us to our home and work in the name of the Lord Jesus.

As he was very aged and travelled a long distance from his home to the Sunday morning service, we invited him on the first Sunday after our arrival at the Mission to dine with us. He was very grateful and said this would enable him to remain for the afternoon native service, which he dearly prized. He was not only a blessed Christian but a natural gentleman. We were so drawn to him that we invited him to dine with us and then rest each Sabbath between the services.

Like all the old Indians, his age was unknown, but it must have been over a century, as men above fifty said he was called an old man when they were boys. The fact that his name had been on the Hudson's Bay Company's book for eighty years as a skilful hunter makes it quite safe to class him as a centenarian.

His testimony to the blessedness of the gospel was very clear and delightful. He knew whom he had believed and rejoiced in the blessed assurance that he would have grace given to keep him to the end. He was one of the first converts of the early missionaries and had remained true and steadfast. He had been a successful Class Leader for many years and faithfully attended to his duties. If any of his members were not at the meeting, he knew the reason before the next evening, if they were within five or six miles of his home.

As he lived a couple of years after we reached the Mission, we became well acquainted and found it a blessing to talk to him of spiritual things. I had convincing evidence one day of the thoroughness with which he had renounced his old way of life and its sinful practices. We had been talking on various subjects, and the matter of different kinds of beliefs came up. As he had a very retentive memory, and I had been told that he was the best authority on old Indian religions and ways, I took a notebook and pencil out of my pocket and said, "Mismis (Grandfather), I want you to tell me some things about your old conjurings and religions. I may want to write a book some time and put some of these things in it."

The dear old man's face became clouded, and he shook his head and remained silent.

I repeated my request, saying that from his great age he must have much to talk about. For his answer, he sat down in his chair, and putting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands and seemed lost in a kind of reverie.

I waited for a few minutes, for all was hushed and still. His family had heard my question, and they had become intensely interested. The silence became almost painful, so I said in a cheery strain, "Come, Grandfather, I am waiting to write down what you have to say."

Suddenly he sprang up in a way that startled us all, and stretching out his hand like an orator, he began:

"Missionary! The old wicked life is like a nightmare, like a bad dream, like a terrible sickness that made us cry out with pain. I am trying to banish it, to forget it, to wipe it out of my memory. Please do not ask me to talk about it or to bring it up. I could not sleep; I would be miserable."

Of course, I put away my book and pencil and did not trouble the dear old man anymore; he seemed loath to talk about his old belief.

The next Sunday after this interview, we had a Fellowship Meeting in the church. One of the first to speak was this venerable grandfather. He said, "The missionary wanted me to talk to him about my old religion. I could not do it. It was my enemy. It only made me miserable. The more I followed it, the more unhappy I was. So I have cast it out of my life and from my heart. Would that I could wash it out of my memory!" Then he added, "But perhaps the memory of it helps to make me love my Savior better, as I can remember from what He has saved me. I was so far from him, and so dark and sinful. He reached down His strong arm and lifted me out of the dark place and put me into the light. O, I am so thankful Jesus saved me, and I love to talk about it."

And he did talk about it, and our hearts rejoiced with him.

It could be truthfully said of him, "What he once loved he now hates, and does it so thoroughly that he does not even wish to talk about it."

While writing these pleasant memories, perhaps I cannot do better than to record the remarkable closing scenes of the life of this venerable old man, the patriarch of the village. His family was a large one. He had several sons. They were worthy, excellent men. We shall mention interesting things about some of them.

It was my joy to lead the youngest, Edward, into the sweet assurance that his sins were all forgiven. In July 1889, he was ordained in Winnipeg to the office and work of the Christian ministry.

Martin, another son, was one of my most loved and trusted guides and my companion for thousands of miles in a birch canoe by summer and dog trains by winter. We have looked death in the face together many times, but I never knew him to flinch or play a coward's part. Supplies might fail; storms and head winds delay us; starvation stare us in the face. Even this missionary himself began to question the wisdom of taking these journeys where the chances were largely against our return. But Martin or one of the others would share a quotation from the sacred Word or the cheering hymn with their musical voices, which said,

"Give to the winds thy fears;

Hope, and be undismayed:

God hears thy sighs, and counts thy tears,

God shall lift up thy head.

"Through waves and clouds and storms

He gently clears thy way:

Wait thou His time, so shall this night

Soon end in joyous day."

We have looked death in the face together many times.

Very precious and very real were many of the blessed promises and their fulfillment to us. In those times of peril and danger, when death seemed to be so near, we were so helpless but dependent upon the Almighty arm.

Another son of this old saint was Samuel, the courageous guide and modest, unassuming Christian. He was the one who guided his well-loaded brigade up the mighty Saskatchewan River to the rescue of the whites there. Having safely and grandly done his work, "holding on to God," he went up the shining way so triumphantly that there lingered behind on his once pallid face some radiance of the glory like that into which he had entered. After seeing it, some were smitten with a longing to have it, and then and there, they gave themselves to God. We shall hear more of him later.

One day when the venerable father met his class, he told his members that his work was nearly done. Very soon he expected to pass over to the better land. Although he had been well for months, he had a premonition that the end of his life was near. Very lovingly and faithfully, he talked to them and exhorted them to be faithful to the end.

The next day he sent for me and requested me to appoint one of his sons as leader of his class, if I thought him worthy of the place.

I said, "We do not want to lose you. Your class members all love you. Why resign your position?"

A strange look in his face told me that he had set his heart on joining another company, and it seemed as though he was only postponing his departure until his little affairs on earth were set in order.

"I am going very soon now, and I want to have everything settled before I go; I shall be so glad to see my son William leader of my class, if you think it best."

As William was an excellent man, the appointment was made, much to the aged father's delight.

The next day he had assembled all the old members who had renounced their old ways and become Christians at the same time he did over thirty years before. There were enough of them to fill his house, and all came who possibly could. They sang and prayed together, and then he stood up before them and addressed them in loving and affectionate words.

I sat there and looked upon the scene for about an hour. He was reviewing the past and talking of God's goodness in bringing them out of darkness and conferring so many blessings upon them, I thought of Joshua's memorable gathering of the elder people at Shechem to hear his dying charge. At his request, I administered the sacrament of the Lord's Supper. It was a most impressive time. The One whose dying we celebrated seemed blessedly near in Spirit.

Then at his request, we spent another hour in singing his favorite hymns and in prayer. He entered with Great Spirit into the devotions, and many said afterwards, "Heaven seemed very near."

I shook hands with him and said, "Good bye," and returned to my home. With the exception of a little weariness from the exciting services, I saw no change in him. His voice was just as cheery, his eye as bright, his grip as firm as usual, and I saw no reason he should not live a good while yet.

About an hour later while talking the matter over with Mrs. Young and relating to her some of the interesting events of the memorable services with our dear old friend, there was a sudden call for me by an Indian. He rushed in without any ceremony and exclaimed, "Come quickly; Grandfather is dead!" I hurriedly returned with him and found that the aged patriarch had indeed passed away.

They told me that after I had left them, he continued to speak loving words of counsel and advice to them for a time. Then, as had been his habit, he lay down on his bed and drew his blanket around him as though prepared for rest. They knew he must be weary. They kept very still, so as not to disturb him. Not hearing him breathe, one of them touched him and found that he had fallen into that sleep that knows no waking, for God had taken him.

It was a remarkable death. The great difficulty among us seemed to be to realize the presence of death at all. He suffered from no disease and never complained of pain. His mind was unclouded until the last moment. In his humble position, he had done his work and done it well. Now, with all the confidence of a loving child resting in the arms of a mother, he laid his head down on the bosom of his Lord.

With rejoicing rather than weeping, we laid all that was mortal of William Papanekis in the little graveyard. We missed him very much, for his presence was like the sunshine, and his prayers were benedictions upon us all.
Chapter 12

Rev. James Evans and the Cree Alphabet

Without any question, the Rev. James Evans was the grandest and most successful of all our Indian missionaries. It can be said of him most emphatically that while others have done well, he excelled them all.

James Evans excelled in burning zeal, heroic efforts, and frequent journeys. He had tact that never failed in many trying hour; his successes were most marvelous; his vitality and liveliness never succumbed to discouragement. He had a faith that never faltered and a zeal for the spread of our blessed Christianity that never weakened. James Evans stands among us without a peer.

If full accounts of his long journeys in the wilds of the great Northwest could be written, they would equal in thrilling interest anything known in modern missionary annals. There is hardly an Indian Mission today in the whole of the vast Northwest, whether belonging to the Church of England, Roman Catholic, or Methodist Church, that James Evans did not begin. The reason the Methodist Church does not hold them all is that the apathetic church did not respond to his thrilling appeals and send men to hold the fields as fast as they were opened up by him.

Enduring footprints of James Evans may still be seen from the northern shores of Lake Superior to the ultima Thule (farthest northern point) that lies beyond the waters of Athabasca and Slave Lakes where the aurora borealis holds high carnival. Evidence of his work lies from the beautiful prairies of the Bow and Saskatchewan Rivers to the muskegs and sterile regions of Hudson Bay and from the fair and fertile domains of Red and Assiniboine Rivers to the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. At many a campfire and in many a lonely wigwam, old Indians linger while their eyes brighten and tongues wax eloquent as they recall that man whose deeds live on and whose converts from the old ways are still counted by scores. Many a weary hour has been charmed away, as I listened to Papanekis the elder, Henry Budd, or some other old Indian guide, dog driver, or canoe man. They recounted the thrilling adventures, narrow escapes, wonderful deliverances, and some of the tragic events through which they passed in company with the "Nistum Ayumeaookemou," the "first missionary."

The dog drivers loved to talk about Mr. Evans' wonderful train of half dogs and half wolves, with which he travelled for years. With great enthusiasm, they would talk of their marvelous speed and endurance and of their fierceness and sagacity. They told how, when the nights in the wintry camps were unusually cold, fifty or sixty degrees below zero, these fierce animals would crowd into the camp. Lying on their backs, they would hold up both their fore and hind feet and thus mutely beg for someone to have compassion upon them and put on the warm woolen dog shoes.

His canoe trips often took many weeks and extended for thousands of miles. No river seemed too rapid and no lake too stormy to deter him in his untiring zeal to find the Indian in his solitudes and preach to him the blessed gospel. Always on the lookout for improvements to aid him in more rapid transit through the country, Mr. Evans constructed a canoe out of sheet tin. The Indians called it the "Island of light," because of its reflecting the sun's rays as it glided along, propelled by the strong paddles in the hands of the well-trained crew. They carried solder and a soldering iron with them in this novel craft. When they had the misfortune to run upon a rock, they went ashore and quickly repaired the injured place.

No river seemed too rapid, and no lake too stormy.

Mr. Evans had been a minister and missionary in the Canadian Methodist Church for years. With the Rev. William Case, he had been successfully employed among the Indians in the province of Ontario. When the English Wesleyan Society decided to begin work among the neglected tribes in the Hudson's Bay Territories, the Rev. James Evans was the man appointed the leader of the devoted band. To reach Norway House, which was to be his first principal Mission, his household effects had to be shipped from Toronto to England, and then re-shipped to York Factory on the Hudson Bay. From this place, they had to be taken by boats to Norway House in the interior, a distance of five hundred miles. Seventy times they had to be lifted out of these inland boats and carried along the portages and around falls and cataracts before they reached their destination.

Mr. Evans himself went by boat from Toronto. The trip from Thunder Bay in Lake Superior to Norway House was accomplished in a birch bark canoe. Hundreds of Indians listened to his burning messages. Great good was done by him and his faithful companions in arms, among them the heroic Mr. Barnley and Mr. Rundle of the English Wesleyan Church.

The great work of Mr. Evans' life, with which his name will always be associated, was undoubtedly the invention and perfecting of the Cree syllabic characters. He was first led to this invention when he and others had difficulty in teaching the Indians to read. They are hunters, so they often move, like the animals they seek. Today their tents might be pitched where there is good fishing, and perhaps in two weeks they will be far away in the deep forests where caribou roam or on the banks of streams where the beavers build their wonderful dams and curious homes. The main thought in this master missionary's mind was, "Can I possibly devise a plan by which these wandering people can learn to read more easily?"

The principle of the characters that he adopted is phonetic. There are no silent letters. Each character represents a syllable; hence, no spelling is required. As soon as the alphabet is mastered, the Indian student, a man or woman of eighty or a child of six years, can begin at the first chapter of Genesis and read. Reading is slow at first, but in a few days surprising ease and accuracy is experienced.

Mr. Evans had many difficulties in perfecting this invention and putting it in practical use, even after he had the concept clear and distinct in his own mind. He was hundreds of miles away from civilization. He had very little to work with. Yet with him, there was no such word as failure. After he obtained the thin sheets of lead that were around the tea chests of the fur traders, he melted them down into little bars and cut his first types from them. His ink was made out of the soot of the chimneys, and his first paper was birch bark. After a good deal of effort and the exercise of much ingenuity, he made a press. Then the work began.

Great indeed was the amazement and delight of the Indians. The fact that the bark could "talk" was a most wonderful thing to them. Portions of the gospels were printed first and then some of the beautiful hymns. The story of this invention reached the Wesleyan Home Society. Generous help was provided. A good supply of these types was cast in London. A good press and all the essential requisites, including a large quantity of paper, was sent to that Mission. For years that Mission was the point from which considerable portions of the Word of God were scattered among the wandering tribes, conferring unnumbered blessings upon them. In later years, the noble British and Foreign Bible Society took charge of the work. Thanks to their generosity, the Indians had the blessed Word scattered among them, and thousands could read its glorious truths.

All the churches having missions in that great land availed themselves, more or less, of Mr. Evans' invention. To suit other tribes speaking different languages, the characters were modified or had additions to them to correspond with sounds in those languages, which were not in the Cree. Even in Greenland, the Moravian missionaries used Evans' syllabic characters with great success among the Eskimo.

When Lord Dufferin was Governor General of the Dominion of Canada, he heard that a couple of missionaries from the Indian tribes were in Ottawa. Since he resided there, he sent a courteous request for us to call upon him. With two or three friends, Mr. Crosby, our successful and energetic missionary from British Columbia, and I obeyed the summons.

The interview was a very pleasant and profitable one. Lord Dufferin questioned Mr. Crosby about British Columbia and his work and was pleased to hear of his great success. Then he engaged me in a bright and earnest conversation in reference to the Indians of the Northwest Territories. His Excellency expressed his concern for the welfare and happiness of the aboriginal tribes of forest men and made some inquiries in reference to missionary work among them. He seemed pleased with the answers I was able to give. In mentioning the help I had in my work, I showed him my Cree Testament printed in Evans' syllabic characters and explained the invention to him. At once, his curiosity was piqued, and jumping up, he hurried off for pen and ink. He requested me to write out the whole alphabet for him; then, with that glee and vivacity for which his lordship was noted, he appointed me his teacher and commenced at once to master them.

Because of their simplicity and wonderful adaptation for their purpose, in a short time Lord Dufferin realized he could read a portion of the Lord's Prayer. He was quite excited, and getting up from his chair and holding the Testament in his hand, exclaimed, "Why, Mr. Young, what a blessing to humanity the man was who invented that alphabet!"

Then he added, "I profess to be a kind of a literary man myself and try to keep current in my reading of what is going on, but I never heard of this before. The fact is: The nation has given many a man a title, a pension, and a resting place and monument in Westminster Abbey, who never did half so much for his fellow creatures."

Then he asked, "Who did you say was the author or inventor of these characters?"

"The Rev. James Evans," I replied.

"Well, why is it I never heard of him before, I wonder?"

My reply was, "My lord, perhaps the reason you never heard of him before was because he was a humble, modest Methodist preacher."

Mr. Evans had been anxious that the Indian converts should understand all the duties and responsibilities of their new life. He was a fearless man and boldly declared unto them the whole counsel of God. Knowing the blighting, destroying influences of the "fire water" upon the Indian race, he made the church a total abstinence society. And, he set the example with his own life. Then, as regards the keeping of the Sabbath, he took his stand on the Word of God and preached the absolute necessity of the one day of rest in seven. In later years, we saw the good results of the scriptural lessons, which he and his worthy successors taught in reference to the holy day.

The trials that Mr. Evans had to bear were many and severe. Some of the persecutions were mysterious. Because of his unwavering loyalty to truth and his conscientious and fearless teaching of all the commandments of God's Word, some in high authority, who were supposed to be friends, turned against him and became his unprincipled foes. The trouble seemed to begin when Mr. Evans taught the Indians to Remember the Sabbath day to sanctify it. At his request, when hunting, fishing or tripping in the months of open water, they rested on the Lord's Day. Shortsighted employers often opposed this day-of-rest teaching. When they could not stop it, they assailed the missionary in a way that must have caused a jubilee in hell. Most of the principal actors are now in the presence of the Judge of all the earth. He who allowed the name of this devoted servant of His to be shamefully clouded has cleared the fog away. Like the silver refined by the furnace, so has it been in this case.

But persecutions, even these bitter assaults upon his character, could not turn him from the intense activity in his life work. James Evans travelled like an apostle Paul or like a Coke or Asbury in the early years of this century (1800s). When we say he travelled thousands of miles each year on semi-continental journeys, we must remember that these trips were not achieved by coach or railroad, or with horse and carriage, or in the saddle or sailing vessel, but by canoe and dog train. We are thankful few of our readers will ever know how much hardship and suffering that entailed. A few of us know something of these things, and the fellowship of his suffering knits our hearts in loving memory to him who excelled. The fragrance of his name and unselfish devotion to his work met us almost everywhere, although years had passed since James Evans entered into his rest. "He being dead yet speaks." To write about him and his work is a labor of love. Would that the pen of some ready writer give us a biography of this missionary with his versatility of gifts and such marvelous success in his work!

In addition to what has been written, I will only give account of the sad event of his life – the accidental shooting of his interpreter, Joseph Hasselton, and consequences.

Word reached Mr. Evans one year that the priests were attempting to reach into the Athabasca and Mackenzie River country to gain a foothold among some very interesting Indians. Mr. Evans had visited that locality and found them anxious for the truth. Desirous that they should not be led away from the simplicity of the gospel, he felt that the best plan was for him to hurry by light canoe and get into that country among the Indians before the priests arrived.

They had gone the usual route up the Saskatchewan and from there over the height of land. Then they travelled by boat down the streams from those regions towards the Arctic Ocean.

Mr. Evans' plan was to take what is called "the back route" and go partly down the Nelson River. Then, turning westward through an almost endless succession of lakes and rivers and portages, they would arrive before the other parties, even though the long journey would take several weeks of severest toil. Mr. Evans left with his beloved interpreter, who was one of the most remarkable Indians of his day, a man who could talk most Indian languages spoken by the natives of the land. This interpreter was also a devoted Christian, full of zeal and enthusiasm for the work. Another reliable native, from whom I received my information as to what occurred, also accompanied them. The long journey began. For several days, they made good progress and rejoiced at the prospect of success. Very early one morning while they were paddling along on the great Nelson River, Hasselton, who was in the front of the canoe, said, "I see some ducks in those reeds near the shore. Hand me the gun."

In these small canoes, the guns are generally kept in the stern with the muzzles pointing back to prevent accidents. The man who was in the stern quickly picked up the gun and foolishly drew back the hammer. With the muzzle pointing forward, he passed the gun to Mr. Evans, who did not turn his head, because he was looking for the ducks. As Mr. Evans took the gun, he let the trigger, which had no guard around it, strike against the thwart of the canoe. Instantly it went off, and the contents were discharged into the head of the poor man in front. He turned his dying eyes upon Mr. Evans and then fell over, a corpse. It was an awful accident and doubly painful because of the unfortunate surroundings. Here the two survivors were – two hundred miles from any habitation. They could not take the body back with them. For days they would meet no one to whom they could tell their story. They went ashore. When their first paroxysm of grief was over, they had to dig a grave in the wilderness and bury their dead.

They turned their faces homeward for a very sorrowful journey. Great was the grief at the village, and greater still the consternation when it was discovered what Mr. Evans had resolved to do. His interpreter was the only Christian among his relatives. The rest of them still lived by the old ways. Life for life was their motto, and their deeds of cruelty and bloodshed in seeking that revenge which occupied a large place in their hearts were numerous. They lived several hundred miles away, and Mr. Evans resolved to go and surrender himself to them, tell them what he had done, and take all the consequences. Many friends, knowing how quick those people were to act when aroused by the news of the death of a relative, urged him to send a mediator. His friends knew that often before these natives heard all the details of the circumstance, they would strike the fatal blow. He turned a deaf ear to this suggestion and made up his mind to go. He left instructions about the work, if he should never return, and said good-bye to his stricken family, who never expected to see him alive again.

He started off on his strange and perilous journey. Reaching the distant village, he walked into the tent of the parents of his interpreter and told them that his heart was broken and why. Angry words were uttered, and tomahawks and guns were freely handled, while he described the tragic scene. Feeling so utterly miserable that he cared little whether they killed him or let him live, he sat down on the ground in their midst and awaited for their decision. Some of the hotheaded ones were for killing him at once; but wiser counsels prevailed, and they decided he must be adopted into the family from which he had shot the son. He was to be all to them, as far as possible, that their son had been. This had been a good deal. Becoming a Christian had made the son kind and loving, so all that he could spare of his wages from interpreting for Mr. Evans had been faithfully sent to his parents. Mr. Evans assumed as his Indian name that of this family, and they found him to be a good son.

When he left to return to his Mission, they kissed him and acted towards him with as much affection as such people can show. Mr. Evans sent them many gifts and cared for them as long as he lived.

But while this difficulty subsided, the memory of it never faded from Mr. Evans. He was never the same man. Yet he did not allow it to deter him from persevering in his work. Indeed, it seemed as though he tried to bury his sorrow in continuous work and labor so abundant, that few of the Indians could equal him "in journeys often."

To aid the further completion of his labors and excite greater interest in the well-being of the Indians of British North America, Mr. Evans went to England to speak about his work and its needs. His story of marvelous incidents and varied experiences in this land of which so little was known, produced a deep impression. Great crowds came out to hear him and insisted on his continuing his wonderful description of travelling by canoe and dog train and the long desire that filled the hearts of the Indians for the gospel.

On November 23, 1846, after speaking at Keelby in Lincolnshire, he returned with his wife, who was a devoted helpmate for such a work, to the home of the gentleman and lady with whom they were visiting. While chatting on various subjects, Mrs. Evans turned to her husband, who was comfortably seated in a large armchair and said, "My dear, I have had such a strange presentiment that we shall never see Norway House and those faithful Indians again."

He turned to her and said, with something of his old enthusiasm, "Why should that thought trouble you, my dear? Heaven is just as near from England as from America."

The two ladies said, "Good night!" and retired, leaving Mr. Evans and the gentleman of the house to chat together a little longer. Shortly after, the gentleman said something to Mr. Evans, and receiving no answer, he turned from the fire and looked at him. At first he thought he had fallen asleep but only for an instant. Springing up and going to him, he found that the immortal spirit had quietly and gently flitted away. There had not been the slightest sob or cry. The noble Indian missionary was dead. The eloquent tongue was hushed forever. Hundreds of anxious, weeping Indians in those northern wilds would long and wait for his return, but they waited in vain. He had been conveyed by angel bands to that innumerable company of redeemed, blood-washed saints around the throne of God. This throne had received many happy converted Indians who had come to God and finished their course with joy. They had entered through the gates into the city before him and were there to welcome him.

Since then, hundreds of his spiritual children have had the "abundant entrance ministered unto" them, and they have joined him in that rapidly increasing throng. And although many years have passed since he preached his last sermon, many old men and women still linger at campfires and in wigwams as they remember him. Their eyes glisten and become dimmed with tears as they recall his work with them. But while they weep, they also rejoice that they accepted the salvation, which resulted from his preaching. It is still their solace and their joy. Clinging to it and its great Author, they shall by and by meet their missionary and loved ones who have finished their course and gained the eternal shores.

On the next page are the syllabic characters as invented by Mr. Evans; and after that, we give the Lord's Prayer in Cree.

Cree Syllabic Alphabet.

The Lord's Prayer.

Perhaps the following explanation will help the student who may have a wish to master this wonderful invention:

In the alphabet the first line of characters, the equilateral triangle in four positions, reads as follows: a, e, oo, ah.

The addition of the little dot, as seen in the second line, adds to any character after which it is placed the sound of w. So this second line read wa, we, woo, wah.

The following lines read thus: pa, pe, poo, pah; ta, te, too, tah; ka, ke, koo, kah; cha, che, choo, chah; ma, mee, moo, mah; na, ne, noo, nah; sa, se, soo, sah; ya, ye, yoo, yah.

With a little patience, the Lord's Prayer can be read even without a teacher.

I have gone to an Indian band far in the northern wilderness, and after they have become willing to receive the truth, I have commenced to teach them to read the Word of God. Our resources were very limited, for we were hundreds of miles from the nearest schoolhouse. But from the campfire where we had cooked our bear's meat or beaver, I would take a burnt stick and use it to make these syllabic characters on the side of a rock. I patiently repeated them over and over with my school of often three generations of Indians together, until they had some understanding of them. Then I would give them the copies of the Bible I had brought, and we would begin at the first verse of Genesis. To see the looks of joy and delight on their faces as they were able to read that wonderful verse paid for the hardships of the trip a thousand fold.
Chapter 13

Sowing and Reaping

While in our everyday missionary life, there were dark hours and times when our faith was severely tried, there was also much to encourage us to persevere in the blessed work among these Cree Indians.

An incident that occurred brought to our minds the following couplet:

"Whate'er may die and be forgot,

Work done for God, it dieth not."

One pleasant day in June, I was sitting in my study at Norway House, absorbed in my work, when I was startled by a loud "Ahem!" behind me. I quickly sprang up, turned around, and discovered that the man who had interrupted me in my thoughts was a big, stalwart Indian. He had come into the room in that catlike way in which nearly all of the Indians move. Their moccasined feet make no sound, so it is quite possible for even scores of them to come into the house unheard. Then, as Indians have a great dislike to knocking, they generally omit it altogether, and unceremoniously enter, as this man had done, as quietly as possible.

My first glance at him told me that he was an entire stranger, although I had become acquainted with some hundreds of the natives. I shook hands with him and said a few commonplace things to him, to which I thought he paid little heed.

I pointed to a chair and asked him to be seated, but instead of doing so, he came up close to me and said with great earnestness: "Missionary, will you help me to be a Christian?"

Surprised and pleased by this abrupt question, I replied, "Certainly I will. That is my business here."

"Will you help my wife and children also to become Christians?" he added with equal emphasis.

"Of course I will," I answered again. "It was for such work that my good wife and I came from our far away home to live in this land."

Naturally I had already become interested in this big, bronzed Indian, so I said to him, "Tell me who you are and where you come from."

I made him sit down before me, and he told me the following remarkable story. I wish I could put into the narrative his passion and his dramatic action. He did not keep his seat very long after he began talking but moved around, and at times he became very excited. He said:

"Many years ago, when I was a little boy, I was kindly cared for by the first missionary, Mr. Evans. I was a poor orphan. My father and mother had died, leaving no one to care for me; so the good missionary took me to his own house and was very kind to me. 'Tis true I had some relatives, but they were not Christians, and so there was not much love in their hearts towards a poor orphan boy. So Mr. Evans took me to his house and was very kind to me. He gave me clothes, food, and a home. He taught me to read the new letters he had made for our people and told me much about the Great Spirit and His Son Jesus. He taught me and other children to pray to God, and he often talked to us about Him, and how kind and good He was. He kept me with him two or three years, and I was very well off indeed in having such a home and such a friend, if I had only known it.

"One summer, among the many Indians who came to trade their furs at the Company's store was one family who lived very far away. They seemed to take a liking to me and would often talk to me. They had no little boy, they said, in their wigwam, and they told me a lot of foolish stuff about how much happier I would be, if I lived with them, than I was here, where I had to obey the white man. Like the foolish child that I was, I listened to this nonsense, and one night, when they had got everything ready to start, I slipped quietly out of the house and joined them. We paddled hard most of the night, for we felt that we had done wrong and did not know but we should be followed.

"After travelling many days, we reached their hunting grounds and wigwams. I did not find it as pleasant as they had told me it would be. Often they were very cruel to me, and sometimes we did not have much to eat. But I dared not run away, for there was no place I could go, except to other wicked Indians. They would only make things worse. They were all very bad Indians and very much afraid of the medicine men. All the worship they did was to the bad spirit. They were afraid of him, so they worshipped him, so he might not do them much harm. I became as bad as any of them. I tried to forget all that the good missionary had told me. I tried to wipe all his teachings and prayers from my memory. All he had told me about the Good Spirit and His Son, I tried to forget.

"I grew up to be a man. I had become a wicked unbeliever; but I was a good hunter, and one of the men sold me one of his daughters to be my wife. We have quite a family. Because I had seen, when I was a little boy, how Christian Indian men treat the women better than the other Indians treat theirs, I treated my wife and children well. I was never cruel to them. I love my wife and children.

"Last winter, you remember, the snow was very deep. I had taken my family, gone out into the region of deer and other animals, and made my hunting lodge for the winter. We set our traps for the fur bearing animals. We took many of the smaller animals that have furs, but the larger ones that are good for food were very few. We had a hard time, as food was very scarce. I could not find any deer to shoot, and we had come far from the great lakes and rivers, so we had no fish.

"At length it seemed as though we must starve. I tried hard to get something, but I seemed to fail every time. Sometimes, when I did manage to get within range of the moose or caribou, I fired my gun, which is only a flintlock. It would only flash the powder in the pan, so the charge would not go off. The noise, however, had frightened the animal and he rushed away before I could get ready to fire again.

"At length it got so bad with us that I became completely discouraged, and I said, 'I will only try once more. If I do not succeed in shooting a deer, I will shoot myself.' So I took up my gun and hurried into the forest away from my half-starved family. I cautiously tramped along on my snowshoes all the first day and did not see even a track. I made a little camp and lay down cold and hungry. I hunted all the next day and only got a rabbit. I ate it in the little camp I made the second night in the snow.

"On the third day, I hunted until about noon. Then feeling very weak and hungry, I got so discouraged that I said, as I sat down on a log covered with snow, 'I will die here. I am weak with hunger; I can go no further.' I was cross and angry, and I said, as I talked to myself, 'No use trying anymore.' Then I loaded my gun with a heavy charge of powder and two bullets and drew back the hammer. My plan was to put the muzzle of the gun against the side of my head and press on the trigger with my big toe, which you know moves easily in the moccasin.

"Just as I was getting ready to kill myself, something seemed to speak to me, 'William!' I pushed the gun away, for I was frightened. I looked all around, but could not see anybody. Then I found that the voice was in me, and it began to talk to me out of my heart. As I listened, it seemed to say, 'William, do you not remember what the missionary told you long ago about the Great Spirit? He said He was kind and forgiving, and even if we did wander far away from Him, if we became sorry and would come back, He would forgive. Do you not remember, William, he said that if we ever got into great trouble, the Great Spirit was the best friend to go to for help? You are in great trouble, William. Don't you think you had better come back to Him?'

"But I trembled and hesitated, for I was ashamed to come. I thought over my life, how I had run away from the kind missionary who had taken me, a poor orphan boy, into his home and fed and clothed me and taught me so much about the true way. Then I remembered how I had tried to wipe out from my memory all I had learned about the Great Spirit and His Son and the good Book. I had denied to these people that I knew anything about the white man's religion. I had been very bad, and had gone far away. How could I come back? Still all the answer I got was, 'You had better come back.'

"There I sat and trembled, and I felt I was too mean to come back. But all the answer I got was, 'It is meaner to stay away if what the missionary said is true.' While I was hesitating what to do and trembling in the cold, I seemed to hear my wife and children in the wigwam far away crying for food. This decided me. I turned around and kneeled down in the snow by the log and began to pray. I hardly know what I said, but I do remember I asked the Great Spirit to forgive this poor Indian who had gone so far away from Him and had been so wicked and had tried to wipe Him out of his memory. I told Him I was sorry and wanted to do better. There in the snow I promised that if He would forgive and help me in my trouble and give something for my wife and children to eat, I would go find the missionary as soon as the snow and ice left the rivers and lakes and ask him to help me to be a Christian.

"While I prayed, I felt better. I seemed to feel in my heart that help was coming. I got up from my knees. It seemed as though that prayer had strengthened me like food. I forgot I was cold and hungry. I took up my gun with a glad heart, and away I started. I had not gone far before a large caribou came dashing along. I fired and killed him. I was very glad. I quickly skinned him, and I soon made a fire and cooked some of the meat. Then I pulled a small tree down, fastened part of the meat into the top of it, and let it swing up again to keep it from the wolves and wolverines. Then I took the rest on my back and hurried home to my hungry wife and children. Soon after, I went back for the rest of the caribou and found it all right.

"Since that hour, we have always had something. I have hunted hard and have had success. None of us have been hungry. The Great Spirit has been all that the missionary said He would be to us. He has cared for us and given us all that we have needed.

"I have not forgotten my promise made while kneeling in the snow beside the log in the woods. The snow has gone, and the ice has left the lakes and rivers. I have launched my canoe and come with my wife and children to ask you to help us to be Christians."

We were very pleased to hear such a wonderful experience, which was leading him back to God, and we told him so. When we learned that all this time he had been talking, his wife and children were patiently sitting in the canoe outside at the shore, we hurried out with him and brought them into the Mission house.

Mrs. Young and one or two others, attracted by William's earnest words, had come into my study and had heard most of his story and were deeply interested. Out of our scant supplies, we gave the whole family a good hearty meal, and we both did what we could by words and actions to make them feel that we were their friends and would do all we could to help them to be Christians. We were delighted to find that since that memorable day at the snow-covered log, William had been diligent in teaching his family all that he could remember of the blessed truths of the gospel. They had gladly received it and were eager for more.

I called together some of the leaders of the village and told them the story of this family and what William had said about his early life. A few of the older people remembered the circumstance of his adoption by Mr. Evans after the death of his parents. Happy Christians themselves and anxious that others should enjoy the same blessedness, they rejoiced at William's return and his heart's desire. So they gave the exile a place among themselves and some needed help. Thorough and genuine were the changes wrought in the hearts of that family by Divine grace, and they have remained firm and true. In their house was a family altar, and they were never absent from the church services, unless far off in distant hunting grounds.

Various were the arguments, which the Good Spirit gave us to use in persuading men and women to be reconciled to God. Here is a beautiful illustration:

Where Are Our Children?

On the banks of a wild river about sixty miles from Beaver Lake, I visited a band of Indians, who seemed determined to resist every appeal or entreaty I could make to induce them to listen to my words. They were so dead and indifferent that I was quite disheartened. The journey to reach them had taken about eight days from home through the dreary wilderness, where we had not met a single human being. My two faithful canoe men and I had suffered much from the condition of the route and the absence of game. More than once we had been forced to wrap ourselves in our blankets without supper, lie down upon the granite rocks, and try to sleep. The rain had fallen upon us so persistently that for days the water had been dripping from us, and we had longed for the sunshine that we might get dry again.

We had met with some strange adventures, and I had another opportunity for observing the intelligence and shrewdness of my men. They were quick to arrive at right conclusions from very little data. Many think of the Indians as savages and uncivilized, yet in some respects they are highly educated and gifted with a quickness of perception not excelled by any other people in the world. We had the following illustration of it on this trip.

As most of the Indians had gone away in the brigades to York Factory to carry down the furs and freight up the goods for the next winter's trade, I could not find any canoe men who were acquainted with the route to the band, which I wished to visit. The best I could do was to secure the services of a man as a guide who had only been as far as Beaver Lake. He was willing to go and run the risk of finding the Indian band, although he had never gone so far beyond the most northern point. As I could do no better, I hired him and another Indian, and away we went.

We had several days of hard work, for the portages around the falls and rapids were numerous. Several times we had to wade through muskegs up to our knees for miles, carrying our load on our heads or backs. At last we reached Beaver Lake. Here we camped for the night and talked over our future movements. We had come two hundred and forty miles through these northern wilds and still had about sixty miles to go before we expected to see human beings, but we were all absolutely ignorant of the direction to go.

We spent the night on the shore of the lake and slept comfortably on the smooth rocks. Early the next morning, we began to look for signs to guide us on our way. There were several high hills in the vicinity, and we decided that we should each ascend one of these to see if the curling smoke from some distant Indian campfire or other signs of human beings could be observed.

Seizing my rifle, I started to ascend the high hill, which had been assigned me, while the Indians went off in other directions. This hill was perhaps half a mile from our campfire, and I was soon at its foot, ready to push my way up through the tangled underbrush that grew so densely on its sides. To my surprise, I suddenly came upon a creek of rare crystal beauty with many impressions of hooves, large and small, on its banks as though a herd of cattle had there been drinking. Thoughtlessly, for I seemed to have forgotten where we were, I concluded that the herd of cattle and their owner must be near.

I hurried back to the camp, signaled to the men to return, and told them what I had seen. There was an amused look on their faces, but they were very polite and courteous men, so they accompanied me to the creek. With a good deal of pride, I pointed out the footprints of cattle and stated that I thought they and their owners could not be far off. They listened to me patiently and then made me feel extremely foolish by uttering the word Moose. I had mistaken the footprints of a herd of moose for a drove of cattle, much to their quiet amusement.

We looked around for a time, but getting no clue, we embarked in our canoe and started to explore the different streams that flowed into or out of this picturesque lake. After several hours of unsuccessful work, we entered into the mouth of a fine river and began paddling up, keeping close to one of its sandy shores. Suddenly one of the Indians sprang up in the canoe and began examining some small tracks on the shore. A few hasty words were uttered by the men, and then we landed.

They closely inspected these little footprints and then exclaimed, "We have got it now, Missionary. We can take you soon to the Indians!"

"What have you discovered?" I said, "I see nothing to tell me where the Indians are."

"We see it very plain," was the reply. "You sent word that you were coming to meet them this moon. They have been scattered hunting, but are gathering at the place appointed, and a canoe-load of them went up this river yesterday. The dog ran along the shore, and these are his tracks."

I examined these impressions in the sand and said, "The country is full of wild animals; these may be the tracks of a wolf, wolverine, or some other beast."

They only laughed at me and said, "We can see a great difference between these tracks and those made by the wild animals."

Our canoe was soon afloat again, and using our paddles vigorously, we sped rapidly along the river. With no other clue than those little footprints in the sand, the men confidently pushed along. After paddling for about twenty miles, we came to the campfire, still smoldering, where the Indians had slept the night before. We cooked our dinner and then hurried on, still guided by the little tracks along the shore. Towards evening, we reached the encampment, just as my canoe men had intimated we should.

The welcome we received was not very cordial. The Indians were soured and saddened by having lost many of their number, principally children, from scarlet fever. This was the first time it had entered their country, undoubtedly brought into their land by some fur traders the year before. With the exception of an old conjurer or two, no one openly opposed me, but the sullen apathy of the people made it very discouraging work to try to preach or teach. However, we did the best we could and were resolved that having come so far and suffered so many hardships to reach them, we would faithfully deliver the message. We could then leave the results to Him who had permitted us to be the first to have visited that land to tell the story of redeeming love.

One cold, rainy day a large number of us crowded into the largest wigwam for a talk about the truths in the great Book. My two faithful Christian companions aided me all they could by giving personal testimony to the blessedness of this great salvation. But all seemed in vain. The people sat and smoked in sullen indifference. When questioned as to their wishes and determinations, all I could get from them was, "As our fathers lived and died, so will we."

Tired out and sad of heart, I sat down in quiet communion with the Blessed Spirit and breathed up a prayer for guidance and help in this hour of sore perplexity. The needed assistance came so consciously that I almost exulted in the assurance of coming victory. Springing up, I shouted out, "I know where all your children are, who are not among the living! I know, yes, I do know most certainly where all the children are, whom death has taken in his cold grasp from among us, the children of the good and of the bad, of the whites and of the Indians. I know where all the children are."

Great indeed was the excitement among them. Some of them had their faces shrouded in their blankets as they sat like upright mummies in the crowded wigwam. But when I uttered these words, they quickly uncovered their faces and manifested the most intense interest. Seeing that I finally had their attention, I went on with my words: "Yes, I know where all the children are. They have gone from your campfires and wigwams. The hammocks are empty, and the little bows and arrows lie idle. Many of your hearts are sad, as you mourn for those little ones whose voices you hear not, and who come not at your call. I am so glad that the Great Spirit gives me authority to tell you that you may meet your children again and be happy with them forever. But you must listen to His words, which I bring to you from His great Book, and give Him your hearts and love and serve Him. There is only one way to that beautiful land, where Jesus, the Son of the Great Spirit, has gone, and into which He takes all the children who have died. Now that you have heard His message and seen His Book, you too must come this way, if you would be happy and enter in there."

While I was thus speaking, a big, stalwart man from the other side of the tent sprang up and rushed towards me. Beating on his breast, he said, "Missionary, my heart is empty, and I mourn much, for none of my children are left among the living. My wigwam is very lonely. I long to see my children again and to clasp them in my arms. Tell me, Missionary, what must I do to please the Great Spirit that I may get to that beautiful land and meet my children again?" Then he sank at my feet upon the ground, his eyes filled with tears. He was quickly joined by others, who were broken down with grief and anxious now for religious instruction.

To the blessed Book we went, and after reading what Jesus had said about little children and giving them some glimpses of His great love for them, we told them "the old, old story," as simply and lovingly as we could. There was no more scoffing or indifference. Every word was heard and pondered over, and from that hour, a blessed work began, which resulted in the great majority of them deciding to give their hearts to God, and they have been true to their vows.
Chapter 14

Dangerous Journey to Sandy Bar

In December 1877, I made a journey to the Indians living at Sandy Bar, or White Mud, as some call it, which is over a hundred miles south of Beren's River, where we then resided. We made the usual preparations for our journey: We loaded our sleds with supplies for ourselves; we packed fish for our dogs; we made all the cooking arrangements necessary for a month's absence from home.

These people were poor, so to further the gospel we chose to be like Paul. We endeavored to keep from being a burden among those who had not fully accepted salvation. My good wife cooked a generous supply of meat and buns, made as rich with fat as possible. We were fortunate to have supplies sufficient for this. It was not always so. At this very Mission, all we had one morning for breakfast was a hindquarter of a wild cat!

We completed our preparations and were ready to start at one o'clock in the morning. To our great regret, a fierce storm arose. We were obliged to wait until the day dawned, before we could harness our dogs and venture out. When we had gone about twenty miles, the storm swept with such power over the great Lake Winnipeg and drove the recently fallen snow before it. The stinging, blinding effect forced us to give up the struggle and run into the forest and camp.

We cleared away the snow from a space about eight feet square. At one side of this, we built up our fire. Over the rest of the cleared space, we spread some evergreen boughs on which we placed our beds. We unharnessed our dogs and thawed some frozen fish for them. As this was one of my short trips, I only had two dog trains and two Indians with me. We melted snow in our kettles, made tea, and cooked some meat. This, with the bread, constituted our meals. About sundown, we had prayers, and since we had been up most of the previous night, we wrapped ourselves in our robes and blankets and went to sleep to the lullaby of the howling tempest.

About ten o'clock that night, I woke up and, uncovering my head, found that the storm had ceased. I sprang up and kindled the fire, but my fingers ached and my body shivered before I succeeded in getting it to blaze brightly. I filled the teakettle with snow, and while the snow was melting, I called my two travelling companions and a couple of young natives who had joined us with their dog trains. The Indians can tell with marvelous accuracy the hour of the night by the position of the Great Bear in the heavens. This is their night clock. I saw their puzzled looks, as they gazed at the stars. I knew they wanted to tell me I had made a great mistake if I thought it was near morning. But I did not give them the opportunity and only hurried up the breakfast. After prayers, we harnessed our dogs, tied up our loads of bedding, food, kettles, and other things, and threw the boughs we had used for bedding on the fire. By the light which it afforded us, we made our way through the forest gloom to the frozen lake.

Taking the lead with my splendid dogs, we travelled at such a rate that before the sun rose to cheer us, over forty miles of Winnipeg's icy expanse lay between us and the snowy bed where we had sought shelter and slept during the raging storm. After stopping at God's Head, where a few Indians under the eccentric chief Thickfoot lived, we travelled on, crossing the lake to what is called Bull's Head, where we camped for the night.

The face of the cliff was so steep here that we could not get our heavy loads up into the forest, so we were obliged to make our fire and bed in the snowdrift at the base of the cliff. It was a poor place indeed. Snow from the constant drifting in from the lake was very deep. There was no shelter or screen from the fierce cold wind, which changed during the night and blew upon us. We tried to build the fire up, but due to our peculiar position, we could not change it. In the woods at our camps, we build the fire where the smoke will be driven from us. If the wind changes, we change our fires. Here at the base of this cliff, we could do nothing of the kind. The result was that we were either shivering in the bitter cold or blinded by the smoke.

While in this uncomfortable situation, we tried to arrange our camp beds on the snow, for we could not get any balsam boughs here to put under us. Then we were joined by several strange Indians, who came down the lake and saw our campfire. They had a number of thin, wild, wolfish, half-starved Eskimo dogs with them. They made a great fuss over me, which meant I had to give them some tea and food. I treated them kindly, but I feared for our supplies, dog harness, and the other things for which the terrible Eskimo dogs have such an appetite. I politely informed them that I thought they would be more comfortable if they travelled on a little farther. This hint was met with loud protests. They said they could not think of denying themselves the pleasure of stopping one night in the camp of the missionary, whom they had heard was the great friend of the Indian.

Of course, I could not go back on my record or resist such diplomacy; but I saw trouble ahead, and I was not disappointed. In order to save something, I gave all the fish I had to their wolfish dogs, which was sufficient for my eight dogs for several days. These the Eskimo dogs speedily devoured. I made the men bring the dog harness into the camp, and to save the straps and lashings, they built a little barricade against the wind with the sleds.

In addition to the food supplies for the trip, I had a bag of meat and another of buns for my use when I should reach the village, where I was going to preach and to teach. I gathered a pile of clubs, which I cut from the driftwood on the shore. We also used that for our fire. Then, I put the bag of meat, which was frozen hard, under my pillow. I gave the bag of buns to one of my companions with orders to guard it carefully. Then I lay down and tried to go to sleep. It was a vain effort for a long time.

No sooner were we down than the dogs swarmed in on us. They fought for the honor of cleaning our meat kettle and then began seeking for more. They walked over us, and soon, by their gathering around my head, I knew they had scented the meat. Up I sprang, and vigorously using my clubs, a number of which I sent among them, I soon drove them out into the darkness of the lake. Then I got under my robes but not to sleep. In less than ten minutes, there was an encore. This was repeated several times. Finally, my supply of clubs gave out. My only consolation was that the dogs had received so many of them they acted as though they were ready to cry quits and behave themselves. As it looked as though they were settling down to rest, I gladly did the same. Vain hope, indeed! I went to sleep very quickly, for I was weary, but I woke up in the morning to find that there was not an ounce of meat left in the bag under my head, or a single bun left in the bag, which the Indian had orders to guard.

Our condition the next morning was not a very pleasant one. The outlook was somewhat gloomy. Our camp was in an exposed snowdrift. We had no roof over us. The fire was a poor one, as the driftwood with which it was made was wretched stuff. It gave out more smoke than heat and persisted in going the wrong way, often filling our eyes with blinding tears. Our generous supply of meat that we needed in this cold climate, and our highly prized, rich buns were devoured by the dogs, which sat around us in the snow and watched our movements with the most innocent looks imaginable. Fortunately one of the Indians had put a few plain biscuits in a small bag that he was taking to a friend as a gift. He brought these out, and we ate them with our tea and sugar. After the light breakfast we knelt down in the snow and prayed, and then hurried off. That was all we had until we were sixty miles further south. No time for grumbling, we prepared ourselves for the race against the march of hunger, which from bitter experience we knew would rapidly gain upon us after a few hours.

My gallant dogs responded to my call upon them so nobly that before that short wintry December day had fled away, and the lake was shrouded in darkness, we saw the flying sparks from the tops of the little cabins of the friendly Indians. We had conquered the race, although not without some narrow escapes and scars.

While crossing a long traverse of at least twenty-five miles, my largest dog, Jack, went through a crack in the ice up to his collar. These ice cracks are dangerous things. The ice, which may be several feet thick, often bursts open with a loud report. This makes a fissure, which may be from a few inches to several feet wide. The water rushes up this fissure until it is level with the top. Of course, as the cold is so intense, it soon freezes over, but it is very dangerous for travellers who come along soon after the fissure had been made. I have seen the guide get in more than once and have had some very narrow escapes myself. On this occasion, I was riding on the sled. The two foremost dogs of the train got across the thinly frozen ice, but Jack, who was third, broke through into the cold water below. The lead dogs kept pulling ahead, and the sled dog did his work admirably, so we saved the noble St. Bernard from drowning and soon got him out. The cold was so intense that in a few minutes his glossy black coat was covered with a coat of icy mail. He seemed to know the danger he was in. The instant I got the sled across the ice crack, he started off direct for the distant forest at such a rate that he seemed to drag the other dogs as well as myself most of the time. We were about twelve miles from the shore, but in a little more than an hour, we reached the land. There was abundance of dry wood, so we were able to kindle a good fire. I placed my ice-covered dog on a buffalo skin in front of the fire. He turned himself around when necessary, and before the other sled arrived, Jack was himself again. As two of the Indians behind us had fallen into this same fissure, we were delayed for some time in getting them dry again.

We melted snow and boiled water in our kettle and had some more tea; then on we hurried. The people met us with a very warm welcome. The greater part of them were Indians I had met in other years. Many were from Norway House. Attracted by the stories of its valuable fisheries and productive soil, they had come to this place. So rapidly had the Mission at Norway House increased that the supply of fish and game was beginning to fail. Hence, a large number emigrated to this and other places.

They had come here late in the summer, so the little houses they had built were small and cold. To make matters worse, the fisheries had not proved to be what had been represented. They crowded round me as I drove into their village and told me of their "hungering often" and other hardships. Some sleds were ready to start for Manitoba, so I hurried into one of the little homes to pencil a note to my Chairman, the Rev. George Young. However, I found it to be almost impossible to write, as four fingers of my right hand were frozen. These and a frozen nose reminded me for several days of that sixty-mile run on short rations.

In addition to the Christian Indians, I found quite a number of others who had been attracted to this place. I spent eight days among them. They had about a dozen little houses, in addition to a large number of wigwams. For their food, they were depending on their rabbit snares and their nets for fish, which were obtained in limited quantities. As my food had been stolen from me by the dogs, I had nothing but what they gave me; but of their best they supplied me most cheerfully. I breakfasted, dined, and supped on rabbit or fish and fared well.

As was my custom, I preached three times a day and taught school between the services. I organized a class of thirty-five members, ten of whom made a decision for Christ and resolved henceforth to be His loyal followers. It was a great joy to be reaping as the result of the seed sown amid the discouragements of earlier years. I was very fortunate in securing a good leader, or spiritual overseer, for this little flock in the wilderness. Benjamin Cameron was his name. He'd had a strange career. He had been a cannibal in his day, but Divine Grace had gone down into the depths of sin into which he had sunk and had lifted him out and put his feet upon the Rock. His lips were filled with singing and his heart with praise. He was emphatically "a good man and full of the Holy Ghost."

The hours I spent with the children were very pleasant and profitable. I was pleased to hear the older children read so well and especially delighted with their knowledge of the catechism in both Cree and English. I distributed a fresh supply of books, which I had brought them, and I gave some warm, comfortable garments to the needy ones, sent by loving friends from Montreal.

If the dear friends, who had been led to send these comfortable garments, could have seen how much misery was relieved and happiness conferred, they would have been amply rewarded for their gifts.

In connection with one of the Sunday services, I administered the sacraments of the Lord's Supper. We had a most solemn and impressive yet delightful time. The loving Savior seemed very near, and fresh vows and covenants were entered into by all, promising to be true to Him.

I spent Christmas among them. One of them had succeeded in getting some mink in his traps and traded the skins for some flour and plums from some passing "free traders." In honor of my visit, they made a plum pudding. It haunts me yet, so I will not here describe it.

As beautiful weather favored us on our return, we took the straight route home and arrived there in two days. We rejoiced that the trip had been a great success in spiritual things.

One day an Indian came into my house and threw down a fine leg of venison upon the table. Because we were hurting for food, I was very pleased and said to him, "What shall I give you for this meat?"

"Nothing," he replied; "it belongs to you."

"You must be mistaken," I said. "I never had any dealings with you."

"But I had with you," he answered. "And so this meat is yours."

Being unacquainted with the man, I asked him to tell me who he was and why he said this meat belonged to me.

He said, "Did you not go to Nelson River with dogs and Indians about two moons ago?"

"Yes," I replied, "I did."

"Well, I was out hunting deer, but I did not have much luck. The snow was deep, the deer were very shy, and I had no success. One day when very hungry, for I had only taken a little dried rabbit meat with me from my wigwam, I came across your trail. I found where your Indians had made a cache. A big bundle of provisions and other things had been tied up in a blanket, and a small tree had been bent down by your men and the bundle fastened on the top and let spring up again to keep it from the wolves. I saw your bundle hanging there, and as I was very hungry, I thought, 'Now if the kind-hearted missionary only knew the poor Indian hunter was here looking at his bundle of food, he would say, "Help yourself." That was what I did. I bent the tree down and found the large piece of pemmican. I cut a piece off big enough to make a good dinner. Then I tied up the bundle again and let it swing up as you had it. And now I have brought you this venison in place of what I took."

I was pleased with his honesty and had another example of the Indian quickness to read much where the white man sees nothing.

The reason we had made the cache, which the Indian had discovered, was that we had taken a large quantity of pemmican for our food; we did not want to burden the poor people we were going to see. Then we had been caught in a terrible storm, and as the snow was very deep, making the travelling difficult. We were obliged to lighten our loads as soon as possible. So we left a portion, as the Indian had described, on the way.

When we returned to the cache and my men pulled it down and opened the bundle, one of them quickly cried out, "Somebody has been at our cache."

"Nonsense," I replied, "nobody would disturb it. And there were no tracks around when we reached here tonight."

Looking at the largest piece of pemmican, the Indians had said, "Missionary, somebody has taken down our bundle and cut off a piece just here. That there are no tracks is because there have been so many snowstorms lately. All tracks made a few days ago are covered up."

As I knew they were so much smarter along these lines of education than white men, I did not argue any more with them. The old hunter with the venison was the proof of the cleverness of my men, but also an honorable act on his part. I invited the old man to dinner, and I asked him how he knew it was the missionary's party that had passed that way. He quickly replied, "By your tracks in the snow. Indians' toes turn in when they walk; white men's toes turn out."
Chapter 15

Testimonies

Our love feasts and sacramental services were always well attended, if the Indians were within the range of possibility to be present. To come in from their distant hunting grounds sixty miles away on Saturday to enjoy the services of the Lord's house on His own day was not unusual. Then on Monday morning, we saw them strap on their snowshoes and start off to their lonely hunting camps in the distant forests with glad hearts and renewed zeal.

They were able to express themselves clearly and often quite eloquently. When their hearts were full of the love of God and they were rejoicing in the blessed assurance of the Divine favor, they were willing to speak about it.

"What they have felt and seen

With confidence they tell."

Here are some of their testimonies. These are the living words of men and women who were once the slaves of sin and Satan. But the blessed Spirit shone on their hearts, and they responded to His pleading voice. Now, happy in the consciousness that they are the children of God, they love to talk about what wonderful things have been done for them and wrought in them. Timothy Bear said:

"It is such a joy to me that I can tell you of great things done for me. Great is the joy I have in my heart today. I rest in the consciousness that He is my own heavenly Father, and I feel it good to be here in the Lord's house with those that love Him. The good Spirit gives me to see how good and kind my heavenly Father is; and I can say that the greatest anxiety of my heart and life is to serve God better and better as I grow older. To do this I have found I must have Divine help. But He is my helper for everything, so I need not fail. I am encouraged that I shall love God more and more, and with that, I want to love His cause and people and those who have not yet become His people, that they may soon do so, more and more. Let us who feel that Jesus saved us pray more earnestly than ever for the conversion of the unsaved and may God help us to live our religion, that the lost around us may see in our lives what a wonderful thing it is."

Timothy's burning words produced a deep impression, and someone began to sing:

"Ayume-oo-we-nah,"

"The praying Spirit breathe."

Half a dozen were on their feet when the verses were sung, but Thomas Walker spoke first. He said:

"When I first heard the gospel long winters ago, as brought to us by Mr. Evans, I was soon convinced that I was a sinner and needed forgiveness. I found I could not of myself get rid of my sins, so I believed in Christ and found that He had power to forgive. I was very wretched before I was forgiven. I was afraid I should be lost forever. I mourned and wept before God because of my sins. In the woods alone, I cried in my troubles and was in deep distress. But I heard of the love and power and willingness to save of this Jesus of the great Book, so I exercised a living faith in Him. As I believed, God's voice was heard, saying, 'My son, I have forgiven your sins. I have blotted them out. Go in peace.' I am sure I was not mistaken. I felt filled with peace and joy. I felt that I, Thomas Walker, was cleansed from my many sins and clothed with the garments of salvation. That was a blessed day when the Spirit of God shone into my heart and drove out the darkness. Since then, my way in Him has been like the sunlight on the waters. The more waves, the more sunshine. I am happy in His love today. I am confident that, because He aids me, I am growing in grace.

"I rejoice at being spared to come to another celebration of the Lord's Supper. In view of partaking of the symbols of the dying, loving Jesus, I feel that my soul is feeding on Christ, the true Bread of Life."

Earnest yet suppressed words of praise and adoration quietly dropped from many lips as Thomas ended. Then dear old Henry Budd succeeded in getting a hearing. Henry was Mr. Evans' marvelous dog driver over twenty-five years before the date of this blessed love feast. He had many wonderful adventures and some narrow escapes. Once, when running ahead on a treacherous river, where the current was very rapid in places and consequently the ice was thin, he broke through into the current underneath. He quickly caught hold of the edge of the ice, but it was so weak it would not hold him up. His only comrade could not get near him as the ice was so bad, and had to run about a mile for a rope. When he returned, so intense was the cold that both of Henry's hands, which had been clinging to the ice, were frozen. He was unable to close them on the rope. George shouted to him to open his mouth; then George threw the rope, lasso-like, so skillfully that the poor half-frozen man seized it in his teeth. George dragged him out and rushed him to the nearest wigwam. He was literally saved by the "skin of his teeth."

Thus, Henry Budd had much praise for God. He spoke on this occasion as follows:

"I rejoice in God my Savior, who has done such wonderful things for me. I feel very happy. I am His child. He is my reconciling Father. How can I help being happy?

"When I first began to get my poor blind eyes opened, there came to me a desire to seek God and obtain salvation for my soul. I was troubled on account of my sins. My many transgressions rose up before me like a cloud. I was ignorant, so my mind was full of doubts and fears. Yet with all my doubts, there was the anxious desire to be saved. But the victory came at last. I was enabled to hear enough about the Almighty Friend, and as I had confidence in His power and love and believed in Him, I was at last enabled to rejoice in the knowledge of sins forgiven through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. From those sad doubts and fears, I am now happily delivered. I feel I love God, and that God loves me. I am growing in grace and in the knowledge of God my Savior. My hopes are brightening all the time. I am getting old, but not unhappy, for I am cheered with the blessed assurance of one day meeting in my Father's house in heaven with many who are safely there and many more who will soon enter. That this may be a blessed certainty, I desire to be faithful unto the end, that no man take my crown."

When Henry sat down, before another one could be heard, the large congregation was singing:

"Pe teh-na-mah-me cha-te yak

Ke che ne-ka-mo-yak."

"O for a thousand tongues to sing

My great Redeemer's praise."

The next to get the floor was one of the sweetest, purest Christians it was ever my lot to become acquainted with in any land. His name was William Memotas. He was a very happy Christian. As he was a lay preacher and a class leader, I was often in his circle. Along with many others, I can say that William was never heard to utter an unkind word about anyone since the day of his conversion. Neither did he do anything that could give the enemies of the Lord Jesus an opportunity to scoff at his profession of loving the Lord with all his heart. He was never a very strong man physically while we knew him, so he was unable to go on the long tripping or hunting expeditions with his more vigorous comrades. He suffered much from inward pain but was ever bright and hopeful. When he stood up to add his testimony, the sick, pallid face caused a wave of sympathy to pass over the audience, but his cheery words quickly lifted the cloud. We seemed to look through the open door into the celestial city into which he was so soon to enter. His obituary, which I wrote at the time of his death, is added at the close of this chapter. He said:

"For many years I have now been walking in this way and proving this great salvation. It is a blessed way, and it is getting more delightful all the time. Every day on it is a day's walk nearer Jesus. It is not like the trails in our country, sometimes rocks but more often muskegs and quaking bogs; it is the solid rock all the time, and on it we may always be sure of our footing. It leads us up to Him who is the Rock of Ages.

"I am not now a strong man, as you know I once was. This poor weak body is like the old wigwam. It is breaking up. As each storm tears fresh rents in the old wigwam, so each attack of disease seems to tear me and bring me nearer the time when what is immortal of me shall slip away from the worn body into the everlasting brightness of that land where the happy people never say, 'I am sick.' I am happy in the service of this Jesus, and I will serve Him as long as He lends me health. But I do want to go home. I cannot do much more here. Our missionary, Mr. Young, said to me, 'William, don't talk so much about leaving us. How can we spare you?' I thank him for his love and friendship, but I have another Friend that I long for in my heart. That is Jesus, my Savior, my Redeemer. I am praying for patience, but by and by, I shall be with Him, with Him forevermore. There I shall have no pain, and I will praise my Jesus forevermore. So, while waiting, I ask God to be with me here and to let me serve Him in some way every day."

With suppressed emotion, for many eyes were full of tears, the people sang,

"Tapwa meyoo ootaskewuk,

Ispemik ayahchik."

"There is a land of pure delight,

Where saints immortal reign."

William was a sweet singer and joined heartily with the rest in singing several verses of that grand old hymn. We had a presentiment that the end was not far off, as we looked into his radiant face and heard his clear scriptural testimony and his longings for rest and heaven. We did not imagine that this was to be the last love feast in which our dear brother was to be with us. Before another similar service was held, William Memotas had gone sweeping through the gates, washed in the blood of the Lamb.

James Cochrane, a class leader, said,

"I have great reason to bless God for the privileges and mercies I have had from Him. I am so glad to be with you today in His house. I try to arrange all my hunting and journeys so I can be present at all of these love feasts and sacraments. Since I decided, many years ago, to give up the old way and become a Christian, I have never missed one of these meetings, though sometimes I have had to take several days and travel hundreds of miles to get here. I only had to travel sixty miles on my snowshoes to be here today. It has paid me well to come. I rejoice that God has enabled me to be faithful all these years since I started in His service. When I first began, I had a great many doubts and fears. The way seemed very long ahead of me. I felt so weak and so prone to sin. It seemed impossible that such a weak, unworthy creature as I could stand true and faithful. But trusting in God and constantly endeavoring to exercise a living faith in Christ, I have been kept to this day, and I can say I realize a daily growth in grace. I ask God to give me His Holy Spirit to help me to follow Christ's example and to keep all of God's commandments. May I, too, prove faithful."

Mary Cook, a very old woman, who has had to endure persecution for Christ's sake, spoke next. She said:

"I am very glad to be here once more. I have many unbelieving relatives who have no feeling of friendship towards me, because I am a follower of Jesus. But He is my Friend, so it is all right. I have been very sick and thought that God was going to take me home to heaven. That thought made me very happy in my sickness. My poor little room often seemed light with the presence of my Lord. I love to dwell with God's people. It is my chief joy. I refused to go and live with my relatives in the woods, even though I should be better off, because I love the house of God, and because I so love to worship with God's people."

Mary Oig said:

"I feel very happy down in my heart today. My heart is filled with His love. I know I love Him and His people; and His service is a great delight to me. Once, like many others, I was in the great darkness, wandering in sin. But God sought me by His Holy Spirit and convinced me of my lost condition. He showed me Himself as my only hope and enabled me to rejoice in His pardoning mercy through faith in the atonement. May God keep me faithful, that with you I may join around the Throne above."

Thomas Mamanowatum, generally known as "Big Tom" because of his almost gigantic size, was the next to speak. He was one of the best of men. I used him to help me a good deal and always found him one of the worthiest and truest assistants. His people all loved and trusted him. He was perhaps the most influential Indian in the village. Tom said:

"I, too, desire to express my gratitude to God for His great blessing and mercy to me. I am like David, who said, 'Come, all ye who fear the Lord, and I will tell you what He hath done for my soul.' He has taken me out of the pit of sin and set me on the rock. So I rejoice, for I have felt and tasted of His love. When I think of what He has done for me and then think of what I have been, I feel that I am not worthy even to stand up in such a place as this. But He is worthy, and so I must praise Him. I have a comfortable assurance that He, my good Father, is contented with me. But it is only because the grace of God is sufficient to keep me. I am growing in grace, and I desire more than ever to glorify God in all I think, or speak, or do. I have been helping our missionary at Beren's River in the good work among the people there. I often felt happy while endeavoring to point my heathen brethren to Jesus Christ, who takes away the sins of the world. My first consecration was of myself, when converted to Christ. My second was of my family to Him. My third is of my class. I am often very happy while trying to lead them in the way to heaven. Today I renew my vows of consecration. I offer the sacrifice of thanksgiving, for He is my God and my portion forever. As He is the Source of Love and Light and Safety, I want to be continually drawing nearer to Him."

Very appropriate was the hymn, which was sung next:

"Ke-se-wog-ne-man-toom Ke-nah-te-tin."

"Nearer, my God, to Thee."

After three verses of this beautiful hymn were sung, we had a large number of short testimonies. Some of the people beautifully expressed themselves by quoting passages from their Indian Bibles. For example, one said, The joy of the Lord is my strength. Another: The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. Another: Beloved, now we are the sons of God, and it is not yet made manifest what we shall be: but we know that, if He shall appear, we shall be like Him; for we shall see Him as He is.

Thus two hours delightfully passed. Perhaps fifty or sixty gave their testimonies or quoted passages of Scripture. The speaking was similar to a gathering among white people, as these examples would indicate. They were faithfully translated by two of our best interpreters and then compared. And yet many of the beautiful Indian images are lost in the translation into English.

The best of all must be left out. The Divine power, the holy emotions, the shining faces, the atmosphere of heaven, cannot be put down on paper. Many of my readers know what I mean as I write, for they have been in those hallowed gatherings where "they that feared the Lord spoke often one to another."

Then followed the sacrament of the Lord's Supper. To the Christian Indians this service was the most solemn and impressive in the Church. Our custom was to hold four Communion services during the year. In addition, we sometimes gave a dying devoted member this sacrament, if so desired. There were a few other very important occasions, when we celebrated the dying of the Lord Jesus in this way. For example, when several scores of our people were going off on a dangerous trip in a plague infected district with very poor prospects of all returning home.

William Memotas

William Memotas was converted from the darkness of spirit worship to the light of the gospel soon after the introduction of the glad tidings of salvation among the Cree Indians by that most useful and godly man, the Rev. James Evans. William's conversion was so clear and positive that he never had any doubts about it. His progress in the divine life was marked and intelligent, and soon he became a useful and acceptable worker in the church. He was a class leader and lay preacher of great power and acceptability.

He was preeminently a happy Christian. His face seemed full of sunshine. A genial sweetness about him caused his very presence to act as a charm. His coming into our Mission home was like the sunshine, in which even our little ones basked with great delight. He was an everyday Christian. Although I was often in his company and thrown into contact with him on some occasions, severely testing him, I never heard an improper word from him. Nor did I hear of his going contrary to his Christian profession during the thirty years that he had professed to follow the Lord Jesus.

His greatest aim in life seemed to be to get to heaven. Next to that, he strove to induce others to follow in the same course.

When some of the Indians were getting excited about their lands and the treaties which were to be made with the government, William wrote to a friend and said, "I care for none of these things; they will all come right. My only desire is to love Jesus more and more, so as to see Him by and by."

He was a useful Christian. Possessing a good knowledge of the roots and herbs of his native forests and having had some instruction in reference to some of the simpler medicines of the white man, he was often called our "village doctor." Although seldom remunerated for his services, he was always ready to listen to the calls of the afflicted. With heaven's blessing, he was instrumental in accomplishing some marvelous cures. He believed in using a good deal of prayer with his medicine. His skill in dressing and curing gunshot wounds could not be excelled.

Yet, while doing all he could to cure others, his own health was very poor for several years. He suffered from violent headaches that caused intense pain. Yet he was never heard murmuring or complaining. When we tried to sympathize with him, he would say, "Never mind, by and by I shall get home, and when I see Jesus, I shall have no more pain." About nine days before his departure, he caught a severe cold that settled upon his lungs, which seemed to have been diseased for a long time. From the beginning, he had a premonition that his sickness was "unto death," and never did a weary worker welcome his bed of rest with greater delight than William did the grave. The prospect of getting to heaven seemed to so fully absorb his thoughts that he appeared dead to everything earthly. In life, he had been a most loving and affectionate husband and father, but with a strong belief in God's promises of protection and care over the widow and fatherless, he resigned his family into the Lord's hands and seemed almost to banish them from his thoughts.

His long continued ill health had incapacitated him for work, so he was very poor. When his severe illness began, he ate nothing but fish. We supplied him with what we could to alleviate his sorrows and poverty. One day when my beloved Brother Semmens and I had visited him, we had prayer and a blessed talk with him. As we were leaving after giving him some tangible evidences of our love, Brother Semmens said, "Now, Brother William, can we do anything else for you? Do you want anything more?"

The poor sick man turned his radiant face towards us and said, "O no, I want nothing now, but more of Christ."

He often conversed with us about his glorious prospects and the joy and happiness he felt as the pearly gates of the golden city seemed to be opening before him. If only we could portray the scene or describe the happy, shining face of the dying man, lying there on a bed of blankets and rabbit skins in his little dwelling, but here are some of his dying words:

He said, "While my body is getting weaker, my faith is getting stronger, and I am happy in Jesus' love. I am very glad that I responded to Mr. Evans' invitations and gave my heart to Him who has saved me and kept me so happy in His love. I am blessed that I was permitted to do some little work for Jesus. He used to help me when I tried to talk about His love and recommend Him to others. I found joy in my own soul when working for Him. I am happier now than ever before. I am resting in His love."

This happy man would talk on as long as his strength permitted. It was always a blessing to visit him, as he wonderfully encouraged and strengthened us in our work. One day as we came from one of these blessed visits, Brother Semmens burst out in almost ecstatic delight:

"O may I triumph so When all my warfare's past!"

When we administered to William the symbols of the broken body and spilt blood of the Redeemer, he exclaimed, "My precious Savior! I shall soon see Him. That will be joy forevermore."

Once when conversing with him, I happened to say, "I hope you will not leave us. We want you to remain with us. We need you to help us to preach. We need you in the Sunday School and in the Prayer Meetings. Your sixty class members are full of sorrow at your sickness. They think they cannot spare you. Do not be in a hurry to leave us, William. We want your presence, your example, and your prayers."

He listened while I talked, and then he looked up at me so chidingly like a weary, homesick child and exclaimed in a voice that showed earth had lost all its charms, "Why do you wish to detain me? You know I want to go home."

Shortly after, his heart's desire was his actual possession. Triumphantly he went home. While we felt that our Mission was the loser by his departure, we knew it was better for him. He was worthy to ascend to heaven and join the glorious company of the white robed throng around the throne of God.

Nothing grounds us better in this blessed gospel or stimulates us to labor amid hardship and suffering than the consistent lives and triumphant deaths of the Indian converts.

Many of them are unaware of the non-essentials of our religion yet possess a vivid knowledge of their state and of the Savior's love for them by the Spirit's influence. They cling to their Savior with a faith so strong and abiding that the blessed assurance of His favor abides with them as a conscious reality through life. When the end draws near, His presence sustains them; they enter the valley of the shadow of death with delight.

The missions among the Indians of North America have not been failures. The thousands were converted from different tribes. The many true and steadfast ones who now stand before the throne of God tell us that the harvest has been abundant. Although many workers wept as they went with the seed, the fruit of their labors has more than compensated for the tears and toils of the sowers.
Chapter 16

Changing the Indian Lifestyle

Our duties were diversified among these Indians. Some were associated with ministerial or pastoral work, but others served to improve the living conditions of the Indians. Following closely on the acceptance of the gospel came the desire for temporal progress and development. Christianity must always precede an improved civilization. To reverse this order of proceedings has always resulted in humiliating failure among the North American Indians.

Sir Francis Bond Head, one of the early governors of Canada, took a great interest in the Indians. He endeavoured to improve them and worked for their advancement. He gathered a large number of them at one of their settlements and held a great council with them. Oxen were killed, and flour, tea, and tobacco were provided in large quantities. The Indians feasted and smoked and listened attentively to this great man who represented the Queen. He had supplied them with food for the great feast, which made him worthy of all attention.

The governor told them that his object in coming to see them and feasting with them was to show his kindness to them and interest in their welfare. Then with much emphasis, he told them how the game was disappearing and the fish would soon not be so plentiful. Unless they settled down and cultivated the soil, they would suffer from hunger and perhaps starve to death. They promised to begin this new way of life. As they were feeling very comfortable while feasting on his bounties, they were agreeable to everything he desired. Very much delighted at their submissiveness, he said he would send them axes to clear more of their land and oxen and plows to prepare it for seed. When all was ready, he would send them seed grain. They rejoiced at these words, and with stately ceremony the council broke up.

In a few days, the plows, oxen, and axes were delivered. This was pleasant springtime, but instead of going to work and plowing up the land that was cleared in their village and getting more ready, they held a council among themselves. These were their conclusions: "These axes are bright and shine like glass. If we use them to cut down trees, they will lose their fine appearance. Let us keep them as ornaments. These oxen now are fat and good. If we fasten them to these heavy plows and make them drag them through the ground, they will soon get poor and not fit for food. Let us make a great feast." So they killed the oxen and invited all of the surrounding Indians to join them, and as long as a piece of meat was left, the pots were kept boiling.

Thus ended, just as many other efforts of the same kind have ended, this effort to civilize the Indians before Christianizing them.

We found that the genuineness of the Indian's acceptance of the gospel was proportional to his desire to improve his temporal circumstances. Of course, there were some places where the Indians could not cultivate the land. We were four hundred miles north of the fertile prairies of the great western part of the Dominion of Canada, where perhaps a hundred million people will yet find happy times. From these wondrously fertile regions, the Nelson River Indians were at least six hundred miles north. These men and those at Oxford Mission and nearly all in those high latitudes must live as hunters and fishermen. But where there was land to cultivate, the Indians had their gardens and little fields.

I carried four potatoes with me when I came. I did not get them in the ground until the sixth of August. Yet in the short season, I succeeded in raising a few little potatoes. These I carefully packed in cotton wool and kept safe from the frost. The next year I got a pail full from them. The yield the third year was six bushels, and the fourth year one hundred and twenty-five bushels. Before I left, the Indians were raising thousands of bushels from those four potatoes. They'd had some before I came, but they had run out because of neglecting them.

One summer I brought a good Scotch iron beam plow in a little open boat from Red River. The next winter when I came in to the District Meeting, I bought a bag of wheat containing two and a half bushels. I also brought thirty-two iron, harrow teeth. I dragged these things with many others, including quite an assortment of garden seeds, on my dog trains all the way to Norway House. I harnessed eight dogs to my plow and plowed up my little fields. After making a harrow, I harrowed in my wheat with the dogs. The first year I had thirty bushels of beautiful wheat. I cut this with a sickle and thrashed it with a flail. Mrs. Young sewed several sheets together, and one day when there was a steady gentle breeze blowing, we winnowed the chaff from the wheat in the wind. There were no mills within hundreds of miles of us, so we merely cracked the wheat in a hand coffee mill and used some of it for porridge. We gave the rest to the Indians, who made use of it in their soups.

Thus we labored with them and for them. We were encouraged as the years rolled on at seeing how resolved they were to improve their temporal circumstances, which at the best were not to be envied.

The principal article of food was fish. The nets were in the water from the time the ice disappeared in May until it returned in October. They often cut holes in the ice and placed nets under it for this staple article of food.

The great fall fisheries were times of activity and anxiety, as the winter's supply of food depended on the numbers caught. So steady and severe was the frost at Norway House and all the Missions north of it that the fish caught in October and the early part of November kept frozen solid until April. The principal fish was the whitefish, although many other varieties flourished.

Some came in their small canoes.

Each Indian family endeavored to secure from three to five thousand fish each fall for the winter's supply. For my own family use and for my numerous dogs, which were required for my long winter trips to Mission appointments, I tried to secure not less than ten thousand fish. It was fortunate that those lakes and rivers teemed with splendid varieties of fish. If it were not so, the Indians could not have existed. But providentially,

"The teeming sea supplies

The food the barren soil denies."

Deer of several varieties and other animals were also abundant and furnished nutritious food. But all food thus obtained was insignificant in comparison with the fish, which the Indians were able to obtain except in the severest weather.

As with the natives, so it was with the missionaries: The principal article of food upon their tables was fish. During the first Riel Rebellion when all communication with the interior was cut off and supplies could not be sent to us from Red River, my good wife and I lived on fish twenty-one times a week for nearly six months. Of course there were times when we had a cooked rabbit on the table in addition to the fish. At times we may have had a piece of venison or bear meat. However, the great standby was the fish.

Where is Our Missionary

Every summer hundreds of Indians from other places visited us. Some came in their small canoes, and others came with the brigades, which travelled vast distances with their loads of rich furs, which were sent to York Factory on the Hudson Bay to be shipped to England. Sometimes the Indians remained several weeks between the trading post and the Mission. We had frequent conversations with these wandering men about the Great Spirit and the Great Book.

Some were full of mischief and at times full of rum. These came to annoy and disturb us. One summer a band of Athabasca Indians attacked our Mission house. We were in a state of siege for three days and nights. All the able-bodied Indian men were away as trip men at the time, and the few at the Mission village were powerless to help. Our lives were in jeopardy, as they came very near to burning down the premises.

Shortly after these Athabasca Indians had left, I saw a large boatload of men coming across the lake toward our village. Imagining them to be some of these same disturbers, I rallied all the old men I could and went down to the shore to keep them from landing. I was surprised to find that they were a band of earnest seekers after the Great Light, who had come a long distance to see and talk with me. Gladly I led them to the Mission house and endeavored to preach Jesus to them until midnight. They had come a distance of over three hundred miles. In their wandering in that far off district, they had met some of the Christian Indians from Norway House. These Christians always carried their Bibles with them and had read to these wanderers and prayed with them. Under the good Spirit's influence, they implanted longing desires for the great salvation in their hearts. They were hungering and thirsting after salvation. Before they left for their homes, they were all baptized. Their request to me on leaving was the same as that of many others: "Do come and visit us in our own land and tell us and our families more of these blessed truths."

From God's Lake, which is sixty miles from Oxford Lake, a deputation of eleven Indians came to see me. They had travelled the whole distance of two hundred and sixty miles to hear the gospel and receive a supply of Bibles, hymnbooks, and catechisms from me. One of them had been baptized and taught years ago by the Rev. R. Brooking. His life and teaching had made the others eager for this blessed way, so he brought these hungry sheep in the wilderness that long distance that they might have the truth explained to them more perfectly and be baptized. As it had been with the others who came from a different direction, so it was with these. Their earnest, often repeated entreaty was "Come and visit us and ours in our far away homes."

A few weeks later another boat load of men came to talk with me. They seated themselves on the grass in front of the Mission house and acted as though they expected me to begin the conversation. I soon found out that they were Saulteaux and had come from Beren's River about a hundred and fifty miles away. After a few words about their health and families, an old man who seemed to be the spokesman of the party said, "Well, 'Ayume-aookemou' ("praying master," the missionary's name) do you remember your words of three summers ago?"

"What were my words of three summers ago?" I asked.

"Why," he replied, "your words were that you would write to the Keche-ayumeaookemou (the great praying master, the missionary secretary) for a missionary for us."

When I had first passed through their country, with tears in their eyes they had begged for a missionary. I had been moved by their appeals. I wrote to the Mission house about them and for them, but all in vain. None had come to labor among them.

To answer this old man, I translated a copy of my letter, which had been published and in which I had strongly requested a missionary for them. They all listened attentively to the end, and then the old man sprang up and said, "We all thank you for sending that word, but where is the missionary?" I was at a loss for an answer. I felt that this hungering soul was asking the most important question that could be heard by the Christian Church, to whom God committed the great work of the world's evangelization.

"Where is the missionary?" The question convicted me, and I went down before it like the reed before the storm. I could only weep and say, "Lord, have mercy upon me and on the apathetic Christian Church."

That was the hardest question a human being ever asked me. To tell him of a scarcity of men or a lack of money to carry the glad tidings of salvation to him and his people would only have filled his mind with doubts. They would question the genuineness of the religion enjoyed by a people so numerous and rich as he knew the whites were. So I tried to give them some idea of the world's population and the vast number yet unconverted to Christianity. I told him the churches were at work in many places and among many nations, but that many years would pass before all the world would be supplied with missionaries.

"How many winters will pass before that time comes?" he asked.

"A great many, I fear," was my answer.

He put his hands through his long hair, once as black as a raven's wing but now becoming silvered, and replied: "These white hairs show that I have lived many winters and am getting old. My countrymen at Red River on the south of us and here at Norway House on the north of us have missionaries, churches, and schools; we have none. I do not wish to die until we have a church and a school."

The story of this old man's appeal woke the good people up in the churches, and something was soon done for these Indians. I visited them twice a year by canoe and dog train, and I found them anxious for religious instruction and progress.

At first I sent Timothy Bear, my faithful interpreter, to live among them. He worked faithfully and did good service. He was not a strong man physically and could not stand much exposure. He took my large leather tent to live in, which was made of the prepared skins of the buffalo. One night a great tornado swept over the country, and Timothy's tent was carried away. Then the drenching rains fell upon him and his family. Timothy developed a severe cold, and when word reached me several weeks later at Norway House, he was hopelessly ill, but still endeavoring to do his duties.

I was so anxious to go and comfort him that I started out with my dog trains soon after the winter set in. Too soon. That trip nearly proved to be my last. The greater part of that journey was on Lake Winnipeg. Often the ice forms on the northern end first but is broken up by the fierce winds from the southern end. Because that end is three hundred miles farther south, it remains open several days longer. I had two Indians with me. One was an old experienced man named William Cochran; the other was a splendid specimen of physical manhood named Felix.

When we reached Lake Winnipeg, from the appearance of the ice, we determined it must have formed three times and then broke up by the storms. The broken masses were piled in picturesque ridges along the shore or frozen together in vast fields extending for many miles. We travelled for two days over these rough ice fields where great pieces of ice from five to twenty feet high were thrown at every angle and then refrozen. Both men and dogs suffered a great deal from falls and bruises. Our feet were bruised and bleeding. About daybreak on our third day, we pushed out from our camp in the woods where we had spent the night. When we had travelled a considerable distance from the shore, Felix was delighted to find smooth ice. He was guiding at the time. He put his skates on and bounded off. Soon the dogs followed. They were as delighted as he that the rough ice was behind them, and now they could move with speed and comfort.

Too soon I was congratulating myself on the fact of reaching good ice and had the prospect of soon reaching my sick Indian brother. A cry of terror came from William, the experienced Indian who was driving our provision sled behind mine.

"This ice is bad, and we are sinking," he shouted.

Thinking the best way for me was to stop, I checked my dogs and at once began to sink.

"Keep moving, but make for the shore," William cried from behind.

I shouted to my splendid, well-trained dogs, and they at once responded to the command given and bounded towards the shore. Fortunately the ice was strong enough to hold the dogs up, but under the sled, it bent and cracked and in some places broke through.

We were very grateful when we got back to the rough, strong ice near the shore. In quiet tones we spoke a few words of congratulation to each other and lifted up our hearts in gratitude to our great Preserver. Then we hurried on. If we had broken through, we could have received no earthly aid, as there was not even a wigwam within a day's journey of us.

That night at the campfire, I overheard William saying to Felix, "I am ashamed of ourselves for not having taken better care of our missionary."

We found Timothy very sick indeed. We ministered to his comfort and allowed him to have rest and quiet. His success was substantial, and the old Saulteaux rejoiced that they would not be neglected. He had made such diligent progress in his own spiritual things that I baptized him and his household.

Sometimes our supplies ran very short, and we endured hunger and suffering. During the first Riel Rebellion when we were cut off from the outside world, we were entirely dependent upon our nets and guns for a long time.

At the breakfast table, we had nothing to eat but the hindquarter of a wild cat. It was very tough and tasteless. But while we were trying to make our breakfast from it, Mrs. Young said, "My dear, unless you shoot something for dinner, I am afraid there will be none."

So I took down my rifle, tied on my snowshoes, and started off looking for game. Our artist has tried to tell a story in the three following pictures.

Nothing but the hindquarter of a wild cat for breakfast. Off looking for game.

Six hundred yards is a long shot, but wild cat is poor food;   
we will try for something better.

Come, share with me our savory venison.
Chapter 17

Smallpox

We were shocked during the early spring to hear that the terrible disease, smallpox, had broken out among the Indians on the great plains of the Saskatchewan.

It seemed that some white traders coming up from the State of Montana brought it into the country. Once it got started, it spread with amazing rapidity and fatality. To make matters worse, one of the Indian tribes was at war with another and secretly carried some of the infected clothing into the territory of those with whom they were at war. They left it where it could be easily found and carried off. In this way, the disease was communicated to this second tribe, and thousands of them died from it.

Every possible precaution against the spread of this terrible destroyer was taken by the missionaries, Messers. McDougall and Campbell, and the Christian people. But in spite of all their efforts, it continued cutting down both whites and Indians. To save some of his people, Mr. McDougall convinced the Indians of his Victoria Mission to leave their homes and scatter themselves over the great prairies. He hoped they would escape the contagion by being isolated. Rendered desperate under the terrible scourge and powerless to check it, the other Indians resolved to wreak their vengeance upon the defenseless whites. So they sent a band of warriors to destroy every white person in the country. The first place they reached where any palefaces dwelt was the Victoria Mission on the Saskatchewan River. They did not openly attack. Instead, they left the most of their warriors in ambush in the long grass, while a few of them sauntered into the Mission house. To their surprise, they found that the smallpox had entered, and some of the residents of the home had died. Quickly and quietly they glided away and told their comrades what they had seen. They held a hasty consultation and decided that the missionary could not have been the one who had control of the disease. If he had, he would not have allowed it to kill his own. They decided it must have been the fur-traders. So they started for the trading post. Here they pursued the same tactics and found to their surprise that a Mr. Clarke, the gentleman in charge of that place, had fallen a victim. Another hasty council made them think that they had been mistaken, so they quickly returned to their own country without injuring anyone.

But the missionary and his family were surrounded by perils. The Indians were excited and unsettled, and their old conjurers were ready to incite them to deeds of violence. The restraining power of God alone saved them from massacre. Once a missionary's wife and some family members were at work in the garden, while eleven Blackfeet hid in the long grass not a hundred yards from them. These Indians had come to murder and pillage the place, but they acknowledged later that they were strangely restrained from firing. At another time, some of the fierce warriors of this same tribe crawled through a field of barley and watched the movements of a family. They noiselessly retired and did no harm to anyone. To hear the ping of a bullet as it passed in close proximity to the head was no rare event in the lives of several of the early missionaries among the Indians.

While the smallpox was raging in the great Saskatchewan country, strenuous efforts were made to prevent its spreading to other districts. Manitoba had been formed into a province and was filling up with white settlers. The old name, Fort Garry, had been changed to Winnipeg, and this place was rapidly growing into a prosperous town. For years, long trains of Red River carts had carried the supplies needed in the far off Saskatchewan country from Fort Garry. These carts were made without a single piece of iron in them. The Metis or Indian drivers never oiled or greased them, so they could be heard as far as seen, even on the level prairies. Each cart was drawn by one ox whose driver usually walked. It was supposed to carry from eight to twelve hundred pounds of supplies and the food and outfit of the driver. This freighting by carts on the prairies is the counterpart of transporting goods by open boats or canoes in the northern rivers. The arrival of the brigade of carts with the supplies and the news from the outside world was the great event of the year in the early times of those lonely prairie settlements.

But stern measures had to be adopted in this year of the smallpox plague. The governor of the province of Manitoba prohibited any trade or communication with the infected district. Not a single cart or traveller was permitted to go on the trail. This meant extended suffering and hardship for the isolated missionaries, traders, and other whites who had gone into that remote interior country for the purpose of settlement or adventure.

As it was, in many places the lonely missionaries only heard from the outside world twice a year. The mail carrier was very welcome, whether he came by canoe or dog train.

Although plenty of buffalo still roamed the plains, the ammunition was about exhausted, as well as all other supplies, including medicines. Much was needed. Some interested parties vainly urged the governor to relent and allow some supplies to be sent in. But, conscious of the risk of spreading the pestilence over his province, he remained firm, though he knew others would suffer.

Dog train with mail.

"What can be done to aid those unfortunate ones? In addition to their sorrows and troubles due to the ravages of smallpox, they are now to be exposed to pinching famine and want." Sympathizing friends were asking each other that question. As a last resort, they decided to appeal to the Norway House Christian Indians and ask them to form a brigade of boats to take the supplies up the mighty Saskatchewan River where they could be reached by those needing them.

Mr. Stewart, the highest official of the Hudson's Bay Company, came to me, the missionary. We talked the matter over and considered the risks that the unvaccinated Indians would run in going on such a perilous journey. They would have to go hundreds of miles through the disease-stricken land where hundreds had died. But it seemed essential that something must be done. The Indians might escape infection if they acted wisely. We decided to call them together to see what they would do in this emergency.

When the church bell was rung, the people assembled in their Council house, wondering what the matter was. I described the sad circumstances to them and presented the request – that one hundred and sixty of them should take twenty boats loaded with supplies and go up the Saskatchewan to save these white people from starving. I said to the converted Indians, "I know your race on this continent has not always been fairly treated; but never mind that. Here is a grand opportunity for you to do a glorious act and show to the world and to the good Lord whose children you are by making sacrifices and running risks when duty calls, as well as the whites."

We told them that they might all escape if they kept in the middle of the great river all the time and never went ashore. They would be provided with abundance of food, so they would not need to go ashore to hunt. Then we asked, "Are you willing to run the risk and avail yourselves of this chance to do a glorious act?" Turning to one of the most trusted guides in the country, one of my best class leaders, I said: "Samuel Papanekis, you are to be the guide and leader of this party." He was a son of the old centenarian and brother of the Rev. Edward Papanekis, now our missionary at Oxford House Mission.

He seemed a little startled by the responsibility of the position and after a moment's thought quietly said, "Will you give us a little time to talk it over?" So we left them to discuss the matter among themselves.

Rev. Edward Papanekis and family.

When they sent us word that they had their answer ready, we returned, and he said, "Missionary, we have talked it over and have decided to take the supplies to our suffering white brothers and their families. But will you let us have one more Sunday at the church, and will you give us the sacrament of the Lord's Supper, before we start upon the dangerous journey?"

"Yes," I said, "it will take several days to get your loads and boats ready, so we will have another blessed day of rest and hallowed worship together."

It was a memorable Sabbath. Every man, woman, and child who could come to church seemed to be there. Some of the women wept as they thought of the risks their husbands, brothers, or sons were taking. Others of them seemed to catch the spirit of the men and felt proud that those they loved were willing to undertake so brave and noble a work.

At the close of the morning service, we had the sacrament of the Lord's Supper. It was solemn and impressive. As they came forward and partook of the symbols of their dear Lord's dying love, the recollection of His self-sacrifice and disinterested kindness seemed to come vividly before us all. A kind of exultant joy that they were counted worthy to run some risks for the sake of doing good was in many hearts.

No foolish boastfulness or desire to seek sympathy characterized their utterances at the afternoon service, when we met again in a testimony or fellowship meeting. Some made no reference at all to the work before them; others asked for our prayers for them. Some who were well taught in the Word of God thought they ought to rejoice when there were chances for getting into this spirit and being partakers of Christ's sufferings. As companions in tribulation with such a Friend, they might rejoice that His glory should be revealed as He has taught us: If so be that we suffer with Him that we may be also glorified together with him (Romans 8:17).

Two or three days later, they started on their long, dangerous journey. They had twenty boats loaded with supplies, each manned by eight Indians and all under the guidance of Samuel Papanekis, whom they were expected to obey. They went up the Pine River that passes by Norway House until they entered into Lake Winnipeg. From there they skirted around the shore of this great lake until they reached the mouth of the Saskatchewan River. Up this great river, they had to row their boats against the current for many hundreds of miles. That summer was an exceedingly hot one, yet for weeks these gallant fellows tugged away at their heavy oars. They anchored their boats in mid-stream for a few short hours of rest during the night, and at the first blush of morning, they continued their journey. Sometimes they saw wild beasts walking on the shores or quenching their thirst in the river. The hunting instincts of the younger Indian boatmen were so strong that they begged to be allowed to fire; but Samuel, ever on the alert and seeing the danger, always refused.

When the Sabbaths came, they anchored their boats as close together as possible near the middle of the river on some shoal or shallow spot, such as abound in this great river of shifting sand bars. Here they spent their quiet, restful days, having prayers and a couple of religious services each Sunday.

Before they reached the place where they were to deliver their precious cargoes, the river passed through many miles of the plague stricken country. They could see the deserted wigwams, in which all the inhabitants had fallen victim to the terrible destroyer or had fled away, panic-stricken.

That summer seemed very long, and our concern was great. We often prayed for these noble men, from whom we did not hear a single word during the whole time of their absence. After being away for about ten weeks, they came back amid a doxology of thanksgiving and gratitude. All of them were happy and in vigorous health with the exception of the guide. The strain and anxiety upon him had been too much, and he was never the same man after. The others said, "Samuel seemed to be everywhere and watch every movement with almost sleepless vigilance." Realizing how great the responsibilities were upon him, he determined that if untiring devotion to his work would enable him to rescue those suffering white men and then return with his large brigade uncontaminated by the disease, it should be done.

He succeeded, but at the price of his own life, for he only came home to linger a while and then to die. His indomitable will power kept him up until he saw the last boat safely moored in our quiet harbor and witnessed the loving greetings between his stalwart crews and their happy families. He joined with us all in the blessed thanksgiving service in our overflowing sanctuary, where with glad hearts we sang together:

"And are we yet alive,

And see each other's face?

Glory and praise to Jesus give

For His redeeming grace:

Preserved by power Divine

To full salvation here,

Again in Jesus' praise we join,

And in His sight appear."

Then he began to droop and wither, and in spite of all that the kind Hudson's Bay officials, who were very attached to him, or we could do for him, he seemed almost visibly to slip away from us.

By and by the end drew near. On that beautiful day, he had some difficulty breathing. He requested a wigwam be prepared. He was wrapped up, gently lifted out of his house, and placed upon a bed of balsam boughs covered with robes. He seemed grateful for the change and appeared a little relaxed for a time. We talked of Jesus and heaven and the abundant entrance and the exceeding great and precious promises. Then he dropped off in a quiet slumber.

When he awoke, he had a consciousness that the time of his departure had come, and he laid himself out to die. Bending over him, I said, "Samuel, this is death that has come for you! Tell me how it is with you." His hearing had partly left him, so he did not understand me. Speaking more loudly I said, "Samuel, my brother, you are in the valley of the shadow of death; how is it with you?"

His eyes brightened, and his look told me he had understood my question. He lifted up his thin, emaciated arm. Then, seeming to clasp something, he said, "Missionary, I am holding on to God; He is my all of joy and hope and happiness." Then the arm fell limp, and my triumphant Indian brother was in the better land.

Samuel's widow and children moved away from his house in the village shortly after his death. They lived with several other families up the river beyond the Fort, several miles from the village. We had visited them and gave them aid until the time of their move. For a while, I had not seen them, except at the services, so I did not know how they were doing. When the cold winter set in, I arranged with my good Brother Semmens to take our dog trains and make pastoral visits among all the Indian families on the outskirts. I wanted to know how they were prospering, temporally and spiritually. It was always a great joy to them when we visited. Our inquiries about their fishing and hunting and other simple affairs showed that we were interested in these things and rejoiced with them when they could tell of success. We also sympathized with them when they had met with loss or disaster. Then they listened reverently when we read from the blessed Word and prayed with them in their humble homes.

One bitterly cold day towards evening, we drove to a poor little house. We knocked at the door. In answer to a cheery "Astum," the Cree word for "Come in," we entered the little abode. Our hearts sank within us at the evidences of the poverty of the residents. The little building was made of poplar logs, and the cracks were filled with moss and clay. The floor was of the native earth, but there was no furniture in the house, not a table, chair, or bedstead. In one corner of the room was an earthen fireplace, and huddled around the poor fire sat a widow with a large family of children, one of whom was incapacitated.

Fishing through the ice.

We said a few kind words to greet the family. Then, looking around on the destitute home, I said sorrowfully, "Nancy, you seem to be very poor; you don't seem to have anything to make you happy and comfortable."

Very quickly the response came in a much cheerier strain than my words had been. "I have not got much, but I am not unhappy, Missionary."

"You poor creature," I replied. "You don't seem to have anything to make you comfortable."

"I have but little," she said quietly.

"Have you any venison?"

"No!"

"Have you any flour?"

"No!"

"Have you any tea?"

"No!"

"Have you any potatoes?"

When this last question of mine was uttered, the poor woman looked up at me, for she was the widow of Samuel Papanekis. This was her answer: "I have no potatoes. Don't you remember? At the time of potato planting, Samuel took charge of the brigade that went up with provisions to save the poor white people? And Samuel is not here to shoot deer that I may have venison. Samuel is not here to catch mink and marten and beaver and other things to exchange for flour and tea."

"What have you got, poor woman?" I said with my heart full of sorrow.

She replied, "I have got a couple of fish nets."

"What did you do when it was too stormy to visit the nets?"

"Sometimes some of the men from the other houses visited them for me and brought me the fish. Then we sometimes get some by fishing through the ice."

"What about when it was too stormy for anyone to go?"

She quietly said, "If nothing is left, we go without anything."

I looked at her and her large family of fatherless children. I thought of her husband's triumphant death and his glorious transfer to that blest abode, where they shall hunger no more, neither thirst anymore and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes. The contrast between the husband and father in his dedication and the sorrow of the widow and children in their poverty affected me so much I had to hide my emotion and keep back my tears. I hurried out of the room, following my loving Brother Semmens, who was more deeply moved than I was. We had gone into that house to pray, but we could not. There must be tangible sympathy given before we could look to a higher source.

My brother had reached the cariole a few yards away, and I was not far behind, when the word, "Ayumeaookemou," ("Praying master") stopped me in my tracks. I turned back, and there was Nancy, just outside of the door. With a woman's quick intuition to read the feelings of the heart from the face and voice, she had followed me out. As nearly as I can recall, her words were: "Missionary, I do not want you to feel so badly for me. It is true I am very poor; it is true, since Samuel died, we have often been hungry and suffered from the bitter cold. But, Missionary," her face had no trace of sorrow upon it, "you have heard me say that as Samuel gave his heart to God, so have I given God my heart. He who comforted Samuel and helped him so he died happily is my Savior. Where Samuel has gone, by and by, I am going too, and that thought makes me happy all the day long."

There came a blessed exultation into my soul, but I could find no answer then. So I hurried on and joined my weeping brother, shouting, "Marche!" to our dogs. We were soon speeding over the icy trail to our Mission home.

That night our bed was a blanket thinner, and our limited supplies had been drained. I told the Indians who were better off about her condition. Soon she and her children were made more comfortable. Many of them gave very generously indeed to help her. The grace of liberality abounds among these poorer Christian Indians. They will give to the necessities of those who are poorer than they are, until it seemed they had reached about the same level.

The triumphant death of Samuel and Nancy's brave words encouraged us in our work. We could not rejoice more at the gospel's power to save in the valley of the shadow of death and to make a humble log cabin a little heaven below. We pitied her in her poverty, but soon after when we had thought it all over in the light of eternity, we could only rejoice with her and in our spirits say, "Happy woman! Better to live in a log hut without a chair, table, or bedstead, and without flour, tea, and potatoes, entirely dependent upon the nets in the lake for food with the Lord Jesus as a constant guest than in a mansion of a millionaire, surrounded by every luxury, but destitute of His presence."

With great thankfulness, thousands of Canadian Indians are spiritually and physically improving in a grand way. The accompanying picture is from a photograph taken at the Scugog Lake Indian Mission. The fine barn, filled with wheat, and all the surrounding vehicles and agricultural implements belong to one of the Christian Indians.

Christian Indian's barn, Scugog Mission.
Chapter 18

The Blizzard Trip

Sometimes as we wandered over those regions with our gallant dogs and faithful companions, blizzards assailed us. If you have never made the acquaintance of a blizzard in the Northwest Territories or wild northland, a satisfactory description is not imaginable. One peculiarity about them, causing them to differ from other storms, is that the wind seems to always come in little whirls or eddies, keeping the air full of snow. This makes it almost impossible to tell the direction from which the wind really comes. If it is striking you in the face, you turn your back to it but are amazed that it still wallops your front side. One time on Lake Winnipeg, we saw such a storm coming down upon us. It appeared to be dense fog blowing in from the sea. Very few travellers can steer their course correctly in a blizzard. Most people, when so unfortunate as to be caught in one, are soon bewildered. They become blinded by the fine, dry, hard particles of snow, which beats upon them, filling eyes, nose, and even ears and mouth. Snow fills anything that is exposed.

I once was caught in a terrible storm, when crossing Lake Winnipeg to visit some Indians. We had found them in the midst of the ceremonies of a dog feast. My men had gone ahead with all the dogs to have dinner ready in the camp on the distant shore, leaving me miles behind, tramping along on snowshoes. The gale came down from the north with terrific fury. I tramped on as rapidly as possible, until I became disoriented. I took one of my snowshoes off and fastened it in a hole cut in the ice. I prepared to tramp in a small circle around it to keep from freezing, when I heard the welcome whooping of my companions. They had recognized my danger and had turned around, risking their own lives for mine. They could have reached the woods and shelter with the aid of the dogs, but had fortunately returned for me. We stopped there for hours, until the blizzard had spent its fury; then on we went.

I had another remarkable experience in a blizzard, when God provided for our escape through my wonderful dog, Jack.

I had started on one of my long winter trips to visit the few little bands of Indians who were struggling for an existence on the eastern coast of Lake Winnipeg. They were always glad to welcome the missionary and to hear from him of the love of the Great Spirit and His Son, Jesus Christ. Their country was wild and rough, very different from the beautiful prairie regions. To keep expenses down, which in those northern Missions are very heavy, I had started out on this long trip with only one young Indian lad as my companion. Because he was good and true, I thought we could succeed. I had been in that country several years and had faced many a wintry storm and slept many nights in the snow.

We had two splendid trains of dogs with us. My leader was a lively, cunning Eskimo dog, as white as snow. His name was Koona, which is the Cree word for snow, and he was well named. The other three dogs of my train were my favorites from Ontario. Two of them were gifts from Senator Sanford of Hamilton; the other was sent to me by Dr. Mark of Ottawa. Alec's train was composed of some sagacious St. Bernards, obtained for me by the kindness of Mr. Ferrier of Montreal. The largest and most enduring of the eight was Jack from Hamilton. His place was second in my train and proved to be the hero of this adventure.

Indian ceremonies at a dog feast.

We left our campfire in the woods early in the morning and turned our faces towards the north. We hoped to cover sixty miles of frozen Lake Winnipeg before the shadows of night fell around us. For a time we pushed on rapidly, keeping the distant points of land well in view for guidance. Lake Winnipeg has many bays, so when traveling, we did not follow the coastline but struck directly across these bays from point to point. Some of them run back for many miles into the land, and several of them are from ten to thirty miles wide. The dogs get accustomed to these long trips and to their work. They require no guide to run ahead, but with wonderful intelligence, they push on from point to point with great exactness.

On and on we had travelled for hours; the cold was intense, but we could jump off our dog sleds and run until we felt the glow and warmth from the vigorous exercise. After a while, a strong wind had arisen and was filling the air with fine dry snow. This made travelling very difficult and unpleasant. Then it increased to a gale, and we found ourselves in a real northwest blizzard on stormy Lake Winnipeg, many miles from shore.

Perhaps our wisest plan at the beginning of the storm would have been to turn sharply to the east and find shelter in the forest as quickly as possible. But the bay we were crossing was a very deep one, and the headland before us seemed as near as the other end of the bay. We thought it best to run the risk and push on. So we wouldn't become separated from each other, I fastened the tail rope of my sled to the collar of the head dog of Alec's train.

After Alec and I had travelled for several hours with no sign of any land, we began to think that the fickle blizzard was playing one of its tricks on us and we had wandered far out into the lake. We stopped our dogs out there in the blinding, bewildering storm.

"Alec!" I shouted, "I am afraid we are lost."

"Yes, Missionary," he replied, "we are surely lost."

We talked about our position and admitted that we did not know where we were or which way we should go.

The result of our deliberation was that we could do no better than trust in the Great Spirit above us and in our dogs before us.

By this time, it was after midday, and we were very hungry from the vigorous exercise of the last few hours. We opened our provision bag, took out some frozen food, and made a good attempt of satisfying the keen demands of appetite. We missed having the good cup of hot black tea we should have had if we had been fortunate enough to reach the shore with wood to make a fire.

I suppose I acted and talked to my dog in a way that some folks would have considered very foolish. When travelling regularly, the dogs are only fed once a day – when the day's work is done. However, this day was different. Alec and I tried to eat our dinner in the blinding gale. Jack and the other dogs crowded around us; they were not neglected. We shared the food we had with them, as there was great uncertainty whether another meal would ever be required by any of us.

After our hasty meal, we consulted together and realized that our position was a very perilous one. We were blinded by the driving particles of fine snow that stung our eyeballs and added to our confusion. We did not know east from west or north from south. We would have to allow the dogs to choose their own course and let them go in any direction they pleased.

I had confidence in my dogs, as I had proved their judgment. I looked to Jack, the noblest of them all, to lead us out of our difficulty; he did not disappoint our expectations.

As usual in such emergencies, Jack had come up close to me, and while he, Alec, and I were eating our dinners, I had a talk with him.

"Jack, my noble fellow," I said, "do you know that we are lost and it is very doubtful we shall ever see the Mission home again? The prospect is that the snow will soon be our burial shroud, and loving eyes will look in vain for our return. The chances are against your ever having the opportunity of stretching yourself out on the wolf rug before the study fire. Rouse yourself up, old dog, for in your intelligence we are going to trust to lead us to a place of safety."

We made a few necessary arrangements for this race. Alec wrapped himself as comfortably as possible in his rabbit skin robe, and I helped him to ensconce himself securely on his dog sled. I tied a rope from the end of my sled to the collar of his leader dog, so that our trains might not get separated. Then I straightened out the trains and wrapped myself as well as I could on my sled. I shouted "Marche!" to the dogs.

Koona, the intelligent white Eskimo dog, was my leader dog. As I shouted the word for go, Koona turned his head and looked at me, as though bewildered. He seemed to be waiting for "Chaw" or "Yee," the words for right and left. As I did not know which way to go, I shouted to Jack, who was second in the train: "Go on, Jack, whichever way you like, and do the best you can, for I do not know anything about it." As Koona still hesitated, Jack, with all the confidence imaginable, dashed off in a certain direction, and Koona with slackened traces ran beside him, very willing to give him all the honor of leadership.

For hours the dogs kept bravely to their work. The storm raged and howled around us, but not for one moment did Jack hesitate or seem to be at fault. Koona had nothing to do but run beside him. The other two splendid dogs in the traces behind Jack seemed to catch his spirit and nobly aided him with their untiring efforts and courage. The cold was so intense that I feared we would freeze. We were obliged to wrap ourselves so it was impossible for us to run with any comfort or to keep up with the dogs while going at such a rapid rate. Frequently would I shout back to my comrade, "Alec! Don't go to sleep. Alec, if you do, you may never wake up until the Judgment morning."

Back would come his response, "All right, sir; then I'll try to keep awake."

On we travelled through that wintry storm. How cold, how relentless, how bitter were the continuous blasts of the north wind! After a while, the shadows of night fell upon us, and we were enshrouded in the darkness. Not a pleasant position in which to be situated, but there was no help nor any use in giving way to despondency or despair. A sweet peace filled my soul, and in a blessed restfulness of spirit, my heart stayed upon God. While there is life, there is hope. So, with an occasional shout to Alec and a cheering call to the dogs, who required no special urging to do their work, we hung on to our sleds and awaited the result. We were in the gloom of night, dashing along I knew not where and not even able to always see the dogs before us.

About three hours after dark, the dogs quickened their pace to a gallop and showed by their excitement that they had detected the nearness of shore and safety. I could still not tell where we were. Soon they dragged us over a large pile of broken ice and snow, the accumulations of ice cut out of the holes in the lake, where the Indian families had obtained their supply of water. Turning sharply on the trail toward the shore, our dogs dashed along for a couple of hundred yards more. Then they dragged us up a steep bank into the forest. After a few minutes more of rapid travelling, we found ourselves in the middle of a little collection of wigwams and among a band of friendly Indians. They gave us a cordial welcome and rejoiced with us at our escape from the storm, which was the severest of the year.

We had three days of religious services with them and then went on our way from encampment to encampment. The poor people were very glad to see us, and they received the preached word with eagerness.

I felt that this mission was very slow work. My circuit or mission field was larger than all England. I was the only missionary of any church in this large field. By canoe or dog train, I could only get to all my appointments or out stations twice a year. Six months the poor souls had to wait for the messenger and the message.

At one of these Indian encampments, I had the following sad experience. Before I closed the first service, I asked, "Where is the old man whose head was like the snowdrift?" I had missed a white haired old man, who had always been at all the services. From the time of his conversion, he had manifested the greatest hunger to hear and learn all he could about this great salvation. At first he had opposed me and was annoyed at my coming among his people. Ultimately, he became convinced of the error of his ways and became an earnest, decided Christian. When I arrived at his village, whether by canoe in summer or dog train in winter, this venerable old man always received me with great delight. Not satisfied with attending all the services held and being at hand whenever I taught the syllabic characters, he used to follow me like my shadow and listen very attentively to all I had to say.

I was rather startled when one night after a hard day of preaching, teaching, and counseling, I kneeled down to pray, before I wrapped myself in my camp bed to get a little rest. Quiet tones beside me whispered, "Missionary, pray in Cree and out loud so I can hear you." In the morning prayers, this old man's pleading words came to my ears again, "Missionary, please pray in Cree and pray out loud, so I may hear what you say."

Is it any wonder that I became attached to my old friend with the snow white hair, who was hungering and thirsting for the teachings of the Word? Only twice a year could I visit him and his people. I used to remain a few days at each of these visits and was very busy. For six months these poor sheep in the wilderness had been without the gospel, and as soon as I left, they would have to get along as well as they could on what they had heard. Now under the Spirit's influence, they had a longing desire to receive the truth. Can any one wonder at their longing to learn all they could from the missionary during his short stay among them? This intense desire on their part filled my heart with thankfulness and compensated for all the sufferings and hardships of the long, cold, dangerous journeys.

On my arrival at this place, the Indians had crowded around to welcome me as usual. I was disappointed at not seeing my old friend. So it was that at our first meeting, soon after my arrival, I asked the question, "Where is the old man whose head was like the snowdrift?"

There was no response to my question, but every head was bowed as in grief and sorrow.

Again I asked, "Tell me, what have you done with the old man with the snow white hair?"

Then there was a little whispering among them, and one of them softly said in the Cree language, "Non pimmatissit," the English of which is, "He is not among the living."

These poor Indians, who had not as yet come to understand that death is a conquered foe, never like to use the word; so when speaking of those who have gone, they say they are "not among the living."

When I learned in this expressive way that my old friend was dead, my heart was filled with sorrow, as I saw were theirs. After a little pause, I said, "Tell me how he died."

At first there was a great deal of reluctance to answer this question. But when they saw I was not only anxious but also resolved to know about it, they took me into a wigwam where most of his relatives were. A young man, a grandson, got up and told me this pathetic story.

He said: "Missionary, you had not been long gone with your canoe last summer before Mismis (the Cree word for grandfather) got very sick. After some weeks, he seemed to know that he was going to leave us. He called us all around him and said a great many things to us. I cannot remember them all, as he spoke many times. I do remember that he said, 'How I wish the missionary would soon come again to talk to me and comfort me! But he is far away, and my memory is bad. I have forgotten what he used to say to me. My body is breaking up, so my memory is getting bad. Tell him his coming was like the sunlight on the waters; but he came so seldom that my mind has got so dark, and my memory is so bad. I have forgotten all he used to say to me. The good things he used to tell us about the Good Spirit, His Son, and what we ought to do have slipped away from me. O that he were here to help me! Tell him, as long as I was able, I used to go up to the point of land that runs out into the lake and watch for his canoe returning. But it came not. Tell him I have, since the winter set in, listened for the sound of the bells on his dog trains. But I have not heard them. O that he were here to help me! He is far away; so get me my old drum and medicine bag and let me die as did my fathers. But you, young people with good memories who can remember all the missionary has said to you, listen to his words and worship the Great Spirit and His Son, as he tells you. Do not do as I am doing!'

"Then, as we saw his mind was weak, or he would not have asked for his old things, we got him the old drum and put it before him where he was sitting upon the ground. We also hung up a medicine bag before him in the wigwam, and he drummed. As he drummed, he fell, and as he fell, he died. But his last words were to the young people with good memories to be sure to listen to the missionary and give up all their old sinful ways."

When the young man ceased and sat down again, a deep silence fell upon us all, as we huddled that cold, stormy day in that little bark tent. An occasional sob from some sorrowing relative was the only sound heard for several minutes.

My own heart was deeply affected when they told me these and other things, which I cannot now remember, about the old Indian's death. After a while, I broke the silence by saying, "Where have you buried him?"

They showed me the place. It was where his wigwam had stood. So terrible is the power of the Frost King in that land in winter that to dig a grave out in the open places is like cutting through a granite rock. So they dug his grave and buried him in his tent, where his fire burned, and the ground was not frozen. The wigwam was removed, and the fierce storms swept over the place. The snow fell upon it. Nothing was left to indicate that there, so shortly before, had been a human habitation.

When they had pointed out the place where all that was mortal of my old friend rested underneath the snowdrift, I lingered until the Indians had sought the shelter of their wigwams from the bitter cold. Then all alone, except for Him who hears His people's cry, I knelt down in the snow and prayed, or tried to pray. But I could only weep out my sorrow as I thought of this old man's precious soul passing into eternity under such strange circumstances. With his waning strength, he exhorted his loved ones to be Christians, while he was performing some of the useless rites of the old ways. This was not because he had faith in them, but because there was no missionary or teacher to help him remember the story of Jesus and His wondrous love!

Never before did the wants and woes of the weary, waiting, wailing multitudes of earth's perishing ones rise up so vividly as I knelt there in the snow. Before me through my blinding tears, I seemed to see them pass in dense array: a dark world to be illumined, an enslaved world to be set free, a sinful world to be made holy, and a lost world to be saved.

In a spirit that perhaps showed too much unbelief, I cried out, "How long, O Lord, how long? Why do Thy chariot wheels delay?"

Saving me from further gloom, some of the sweet promises of the Word came, and I prayed for their speedy fulfillment. Earnestly did my feeble petitions ascend. I prayed that the time would come soon when all the Indians of the great Northwest and all the unnumbered millions of earth's inhabitants would have faithful teachers. I prayed for those who are going from the darkness of sin and shame to the darkness of the grave to hear the story of the Cross. I prayed that the teachers would whisper in their ears and point them to the world's Redeemer.

Making all the visits we had arranged for that trip, we returned home. Months later when the packet arrived from Manitoba, the sad news that had filled the church with sorrow of the death of the heroic George McDougall reached us. Out on the wide prairies, he had been caught in a blizzard. Horse and man seem to have become disoriented, and the noble missionary to the Indians on the Great Plains laid himself down to die. His frozen body was not found until after fourteen days of diligent searching. My dear wife and I had read the story, talked, and wept about his death, so sad, so mysterious, and so inscrutable. Then she said to me, "Where were you during that week?"

We searched the journal and were not a little startled at finding that the race for life we had on Lake Winnipeg was in all probability on the same day as that on which the Rev. George McDougall perished.
Chapter 19

Resolving Polygamy and Family Situations

The blessed work of preaching the glorious gospel of the Son of God was ever recognized as the most important of our duties. We were also permitted to rejoice that, as in Paul's time, it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save those that believe, yet there was a great deal to be done outside of the pulpit before the Indians could shake off the fetters of the old religion with all its evils.

The fear of the old conjurers deterred some from openly declaring themselves as accepting the truths of Christianity. Others were polygamists and were unwilling to comply with the scriptural requirements. To have several wives was considered a great honor in some of the tribes. If a man separated from all but one wife, he exposed himself to ridicule from his friends and the danger of the hostility from the families of the discarded wives. Some of the most perplexing and trying duties of my missionary life have been in connection with this matter of a Christian re-organizing of the families of polygamists. They were desirous to do what was right but left the matter entirely in my hands. At first my convictions and views were that the first wife should be the one to remain with the man, and the others should go away. Like all the other missionaries in the country, I had to modify these ideas and decide differently in some peculiar cases.

For example, a man came to me who was impressed by the truth and desired to be a Christian. I questioned him and found him sincere and earnest in his resolves. The Spirit was undoubtedly working in his heart and conscience. He told us he had two wives but was willing to put one away. He said he would allow the missionary to decide which one should go. His first wife was much older, but she had no children, while the younger wife had quite a family of little ones around her. They were so poor in this cold northern land that it was hard for the best of them to survive. The condition of the widow or those women who had no able-bodied men as husbands, fathers, or sons to hunt and work for them was very sad. If they had helpless little children to be cared for, it was even worse. So the decision we came to was that the wife with the family of little ones should remain with the man, and the one who had no children should leave him.

We tried to arrange that a certain quantity of help should be rendered to the wife or wives who were put away by the husband. But we found that there was a certain amount of danger in this. Because we insisted on the one or more who left receiving as large a share as possible of the man's worldly goods, we endeavored to help make the separation complete and final. To help those who had been cast out placed a heavy tax upon our limited means.

Often the women themselves were the first to insist on a change from the old polygamous style. After the gospel was proclaimed to them, they recognized that lifestyle was against the gospel's teachings.

One case moved our hearts and caused us to rejoice. It showed us the depth of the religious convictions, which compelled them to make things right. They sought to rectify this even though one would be cast out and exposed to the ridicule of her unsaved friends. She would also lose a good-natured husband.

Two women came to our Mission house and asked to have a talk with my good wife and me. After talking about different things, with much trepidation, they told us that they had attended our services and had a great desire in their hearts to become Christians. We found they were the two wives of an Indian whose wigwam had been pitched in our vicinity a few weeks earlier. These women and others had quietly come to our services at the church, and their hearts and consciences had been touched by the truth.

We had some experiences like this with entire strangers, which caused us to be a little cautious. In that country, as well as in civilized lands, it is sometimes a dangerous matter to interfere in the domestic affairs of other people. So we questioned them closely and found that they were resolved to have the matter settled. I asked them if they had spoken to their husband about it, and they answered in the affirmative. He had left it to them to settle which should go, because he had begun to think they ought to live as the Christian Indians did. We asked them what they wanted us to do, and they said they had decided they would leave the matter to the missionary and his wife. Whichever we thought ought to leave would go away and try to get her own living.

They returned to their wigwam and with the consent of their husband made an equal division of their possessions, such as nets, traps, blankets, kettles, and axes. Then accompanied by their children, they came to our house, sat down apart from each other, and patiently awaited our decision. My wife and I felt the burden of the responsibility of deciding. Yet, it had come to us because of the awakening of their hearts to desire a better life, we had to accept the situation and do the best we could.

We had talked the matter over and asked for divine guidance. When summoned to give our decision, we quickly but kindly said to the woman with five children, "You are to stay with your husband," and to the other woman, who had four children, we said, "You are not to return to the wigwam, but must be from this hour as an entire stranger to it."

The first woman sprang up, and her eyes flashed with joy. She gathered her children and property around her, uttered her hasty words of farewell, and was gone. For a few moments the other woman, who had drawn her blanket over her head, remained perfectly still with the exception of a suppressed sob, which seemed to make the whole body quiver. Then, with that wonderful will power which these Indian women and men possess, she appeared to have control over herself again. She uncovered her head and prepared to leave. She turned her large black eyes dimmed with tears towards us, and we saw a despairing sorrow that pierced us like a knife. She recognized the lonely, neglected, condemned, suffering life before her, but she had counted the cost. She had taken the step for conscience' sake and would not flinch now. We entered into conversation with her, but it seemed almost cruel. We had given a decision that banned her from the only home she had and now talked to her about where she would go and what she would do.

She told us she did not know where to go or what to do. Her husband had bought her from her father, but he was dead. Her girlhood home was far away, and she had not been there since her husband took her. She knew nothing about any of her relatives. But even if she did and could find them, it was very likely they would treat her with contempt and perhaps persecute her. So she did not have the slightest idea about the future.

Our hearts were full of sorrow, and we saw that this was a case that needed help, no matter how strained our financial circumstances.

We had recently read the story of the little oil in the cruse and the handful of meal in the barrel; this woman and her children must be helped likewise. While Mrs. Young fed them and talked kindly to them, I went out and got some of the Christian Indians together. We talked the matter over, then took off our coats, and went to work. We made her a wigwam for the present, as it was in the pleasant summer time. We obtained a canoe for her and set her nets where white fish could be caught. She was an industrious woman, willing to do everything she could; so, with the help we gave her and the tangible sympathy manifested by the Christian Indians, she took heart and got along very well. She became a good Christian woman.

As the result of the looseness of the marriage tie in their old way of living, we found many strange, complicated tangles, some of which were impossible to straighten. Changing some of them would have caused endless difficulty without any possibility of improving matters. To refuse to interfere gave offense to some who were more pharisaical than wise.

For example: A couple had been married years ago. After living together for several years and having three children, the man went off to Red River as a boatman for the Hudson's Bay Company. Delayed there for a time, he married a wife in the Indian settlement and made that place his home. He returned with this second family about the time I arrived there. Not hearing from him for a year or two, his first wife married another man who thought she was a widow. They had several bright, interesting children together. As the result of the faithful preaching of the Word, these families became good Christians. They perceived their difficult position, but after I pondered over it and considered many solutions, I gave it up. As the two families were living happily, I left them as I had found them. Sin, not Christianity, was responsible for the difficulty.

At Nelson River, I was accosted one day by an old man, who said he had listened carefully to what I had said and wanted to become a Christian. He also wanted to be baptized. I was pleased with his talk, but suspecting he was a polygamist, I asked him how many wives he had. He said he had four. I talked with him and explained the teachings of God's Word. I candidly told him I could not baptize him until he sent three of them away.

He seemed grieved at my decision and said that he did want to be a Christian; he and his wives were getting old, and they had got along well. If he went and told them what he would have to do, he was afraid there would be trouble. As I saw the man was really in earnest, and it was evident that the Spirit was working upon his heart, I encouraged him to make the effort and told him everything would work out all right.

He went to his large tent and gathered his large family around him, for three of these wives had stalwart sons. He told them of his desire to become a Christian and the condition before the missionary could baptize him. At once there was a "row." The women began to wail, and the sons, who generally treated their mothers with neglect and indifference, now declared with a good deal of emphasis that their mothers should not be sent away and degraded in the eyes of the people. From what I afterwards learned, it must have been a rough time.

At length one of the sons spoke up and said, "Who is causing us all this trouble?"

The answer was, "Why it is the missionary, whom we have all heard, and who refuses to baptize our father unless he puts away all of his wives but one."

"Let us go for that missionary," said several of them, and seizing their weapons, they came for me.

Fortunately for me, I was outside of the trading post on the green and saw them coming. Not liking their suspicious movements and imagining the cause, I speedily decided on my course of action. Calling one of my reliable Christian Indian friends, I went towards them, ignored their angry looks, and began talking to them as though we were the best of friends. Something like the following were my words to them:

"Men, you have heard me talk to you out of the great Book. You have listened attentively. You are thinking about what I have said to you. I wish we could do something or find out some way by which you and your mothers and father could all resolve together to give up the old bad life, accept the new one, and become Christians together. I have been thinking it over since I had a little talk with your father, and I have a plan that I think will work well."

While I went on in this way, they listened attentively. When I came to mention a plan by which the difficulty could be overcome, the wicked looks began to fade from their eyes, for they were not anxious to kill me if any other solution of the difficulty could be found.

They were eager to know what I had to suggest and listened when I told them it would not be humiliating to anyone. I told them I was pleased to find some young men who were willing to stand up for their mothers, while the great majority treated them worse than they did their dogs. My suggestion was for the sons of each mother to form a wigwam of their own, take their own mother with them, and care for her. They were good hunters and strong men and could do well. Then I added, "Let your father remain with the wife who has no children, no strong sons or daughters. Do this, and the Great Spirit will be pleased, and when you are further instructed, nothing will prevent you all from being baptized and becoming Christians together."

They were pleased with the suggestion and went away to talk it over. I did not succeed in getting the scheme immediately carried out, but my successor, the devoted and heroic Rev. John Semmens, was so successful in following up the work that these Indians, with many scores of others, have become sincere, consistent Christians.

My devoted wife and I had various plans to help the people rise to a better and happier life. In their old ways, the women made little effort to keep their homes neat and tidy and their children or themselves clean. They had no encouragement to do anything of the kind. Kicked and cuffed and despised, they had no ambition to do anything more than what would save them from the rough treatment of those who considered themselves their lords and masters. Therefore, when they became Christians, they needed to learn a great deal before their simple little homes could be kept decently and in order. Fortunately, a great many of them had a desire to learn. A novel plan that we adopted was occasionally to go and dine with some of them. Our method was something like this. On the Sabbath from the pulpit, I would announce that on Monday, if all was well, Mrs. Young and I would dine with a family, mentioning the name. On Tuesday, we would dine with someone else, and on Wednesday with some other family, and so on for the week. This was, of course, the first intimation any of these families had received that the missionary and his wife were coming to dine with them without waiting for an invitation.

After the service, they asked us if they could believe their own ears.

"Yes, certainly," I replied.

"Why, we have nothing to set before you but fish," they would say.

"Never mind if you have but little. We will see to the food. All we are anxious for you to do is to have your little house as clean as you can possibly make it, and you and your children as clean and nice as possible."

In this way, we would talk to the half-frightened women, who were alarmed at the prospect of having to entertain us. However, our words comforted them, and they went off delighted.

Our plan went generally as follows: I started after breakfast and made several pastoral visits or attended to some other matters. I arranged my forenoon work that I would reach the Indian home about noon. Mrs. Young would have her own train of dogs harnessed up about ten o'clock. In her cariole, she would put dishes, tablecloth, and provisions with everything else needed for a comfortable dinner using our limited provisions. A faithful young Indian acted as her dog-driver, and soon she and her load were at the home of the expectant family. They were all excited at the coming of the missionary and his wife.

The little house and family were very clean and tidy. The floor had been scrubbed and rubbed until it could not be made whiter, and everything else was similarly polished up. Few of the houses had tables in those days, so the floor was used as the substitute. The tablecloth was spread on it, and the dishes, knives, and forks were arranged and the dinner prepared. If the family had fish and potatoes, some of them would be cooked; but if not, food from the cariole was sufficient. We found it best to let them contribute to the dinner if they had abundance of either fish or potatoes.

About the time I arrived, dinner would be ready. After cheering words of greeting to all, even to the fat baby in the board cradle, we sat down picnic style on the floor for dinner. In other lands it would be called a plain dinner, and so it was; yet it was a feast to them, a banquet to us. Cheery conversation added to our enjoyment, and we spent a very happy hour with them. Then the Bible and hymnbooks were brought out, and we sang and read and talked about the blessed truths of that glorious Book. Then we kneeled down together, and by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving made our requests known to God; to us came the sweet fulfilment, the peace of God, which passes all understanding, filled our hearts.

I generally hurried off to other duties. Mrs. Young directed in the washing of the dishes and in putting them away. She then helped the woman of the house with some things she was longing for assistance. Perhaps it was a dress to be cut, or some garments fitted on some of the girls, or other similar things too intricate or difficult for my male mind to be able to grasp.

Thus from house to house we would go, and by our presence and cheery words we encouraged them to become more industrious and tidy. Those families never forgot these visits. We saw a marked change in many of their homes and a marked improvement in many of their religious lives.

Once, in preaching from the text, Behold, I stand at the door and call: if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come into him (Revelation 3:20). I tried to describe the blessed Redeemer coming to our hearts and knocking for admittance. I told them all He wanted was a welcome to come in. As they cleaned their little houses and welcomed the missionary and his wife, so the Savior asked us to drive all sin out and give Him the whole place.

"Some of you said, 'We cannot entertain the missionary. We have no food, so there will be no dinner.' But the missionary and his wife brought abundance, and there was a good dinner. Better far is it when Jesus comes. He spreads out the feast, and He invites us to sit down and feast with Him. O let Him in!"

Such talks as these with such practical illustrations opened many hearts to the heavenly Guest.

The Fish Sermon

Many persistent pleading calls came for visits to different places. The Indians wanted the missionary to tell the wonderful story of the Great Spirit and His Son and to teach the people to read His Book. We were so busy that year my canoe trip to Oxford House Mission had to be delayed until the summer was nearly ended. But my comrades were splendid fellows, and we started in good spirits, anticipating a successful visit. We were not disappointed.

We preached several times to the Indians and baptized a large number of children. Some young couples were married, and we had a solemn and blessed time when celebrating the dying of the Lord Jesus. The sacrament of the Lord's Supper was prized by the Indians, and the greatest reverence was always manifested during the service. The fellowship meeting was a very good one, and some of the testimonies given by the men and women, who had been happily rescued by the gospel's power, were of great interest.

If the weather was good, we generally rose with the first blush of morning and were often on the way by four o'clock. Sometimes our route was across fine lakes or along majestic rivers; then we were in narrow, sluggish streams that were destitute of beauty or interest. One morning we headed down a large river on the shores where the fog had settled, completely hiding us from land. The early morning air was invigorating, so in unison we were plying our paddles vigorously and rapidly speeding along. We had seen no signs of human beings for days, so we were surprised and startled when several reports of firearms in quick succession sounded sharp and clear through the fog on our right. Nothing was visible through the gloom, but we quickly turned in the direction from which the feu-de-joie had sounded. As we approached the shore, human forms began to appear in ghostly outline. They became more and more distinct, until they resolved themselves into a company of Indians, who were delighted to see us and had been on the lookout for days. They had come sixty miles from the interior and had camped on that point jutting out into the river to have a visit from us as we passed.

The fact that they detected us as we were passing was another evidence of the marvellous skill of these Indians. It was very early in the morning; our canoe was hundreds of yards from the shore; a dense fog hid us completely from each other. All the noise we made was the dip of our paddles in the water. Yet these wide-awake, alert Indians heard that sound and by the rapid firing of the guns drew us to them.

We shared their hospitality, as they had abundance of game. We had a service with them, married a young couple, baptized several children, and had a pleasant time. Then on we hurried, since the time of open navigation was drawing to a close, and we did not wish to be caught in the ice and have to walk scores of miles with our bedding, provisions, kettles, axes, and other things strapped on our backs.

We had made the greater part of the return trip, reached Harry Lake early in the forenoon, and were rapidly paddling out of the river which entered into it, when again we heard the report of guns. We were so anxious to get on that we hesitated about stopping. It was later in the season than often in some other years. Fierce storms had raged, and the ice had formed on the lakes and rivers. We dreaded these fierce fall storms, which come suddenly and stir up these northern lakes. In a very short time, all that was calm and still could turn to great foam crested waves rushing madly by.

The lake before us was several miles in diameter and as placid as a pond.

To cross it now in the wondrous beauty it spread before us would be but a pleasure jaunt. The poetry of motion is to be found in the Indian's birch canoe, when the water is calm and the sky is clear. Cold-hearted prudence said, "Go on, and never mind those Indians' signals for you to land." Our better natures said, "They may be in need and have good reason for asking you to stop. Perhaps you can do them good." So we turned the head of our canoe to the shore and were soon alongside the rock on which we saw them standing. They were five hunters. Without getting out of the canoe, we asked why they had signaled to us to come ashore. Their answer was one we had often heard before. They were hungry and wanted help. Finding they were only a few days from the Fort where they had got supplies, I asked how it was that they were so needy. They said they had left their powder, which they carried in a canvas bag, out on the rock a few nights before. While they slept, the rain came down upon them and ruined it, so they could not shoot anything. I quickly said to one of my men, "How much food have we?" He examined our limited supply and said there was about one square meal.

We found these men were unbelieving Indians, whom I had met before and had talked with about becoming Christians; but all I could get from them was the characteristic shrug of the shoulders and the words, "As our fathers lived, so will we." Our dinner was the last of a bear we had shot a few days before. While it was cooking, the storm that we feared began to gather, and before our dinner was finished, the lake looked very different from what it was an hour earlier. If we had not stopped, we could have easily crossed. As it was now, it would have been madness to venture out upon it. So we had to pull up our canoe, and as contentedly as possible, wait for the storm to cease. It raged furiously all that day and the next. The third day it lightened up. What made it worse for us was the scarcity, or rather the entire absence, of food. We were storm-bound in about the worst part of that country for game. It was so late in the season that the ducks and geese had gone south, the beaver and muskrats were in their houses, and we could find nothing. On some of our trips, we carried fishing tackle, but this time we had nothing of the kind. Fortunately, we had some tea and sugar.

Without breakfast, dinner, or supper, we had to live as best we could. Before we lay down to sleep, we had to tighten our belts, or we would not have slept at all, so keen was the gnawing of hunger. I found it helpful to roll my towel up as hard as possible and crowd it under my tight belt over the pit of my stomach. Nearly three days without food was no pleasant ordeal even in missionary work.

We held several religious services, even though our congregation was a small one. We also found out that it was not at all helpful to piety to try to worship on an empty stomach and have since understood those who would feed the poor first and then preach to them.

The third day one of the Indians, while walking along the shore, found the old bleached shoulder blade of a bear. With his knife, he carved out a rude fishhook, and taking the strings of their moccasins, he formed a line. He used a piece of red flannel as bait, and a small stone served as a sinker. With this primitive arrangement, he began fishing. His method was to stand on a rock and throw the hook out as far as his line would permit and then draw it in rapidly, like trolling.

Strange to say, with this crude appliance he caught a fish. It was a pike weighing six or eight pounds. Very quickly was it scaled, cleaned, and put in the pot. When cooked, about a third of it was put on my tin plate and placed before me with these words, "Please, Missionary, eat."

I looked at the hungry men around me and said, "No, that is not the way." I put back the third of the fish with the rest and took out my hunting knife. I counted the men and cut the fish into eight pieces. I gave each man his eighth and took an equal portion myself. It was right that I should do this, and it seemed to be a little thing. But this was the sermon that led those five men to become Christians. As soon as they had finished their portions, they lit their pipes. As they smoked, they talked. As near as my men and I could make out, this is what they said:

"We must listen with both ears to that missionary. He is here without food, suffering from hunger, because he stopped to share with us his last meal. We caught a fish, and when we offered him a large piece, he refused it and divided equally with us all. He has been anxious to do us good and to have us to listen to his words. He has not once scolded us for asking him to stop, although he could have crossed the lake before the storm arose. Because the rest of the way is in the river, he could have gone on home. He has shown himself to be our friend, and we must listen to what he has to say." They went on, and I must confess I paid little attention to what they were saying. After a few hours more, the storm went down, and we gladly embarked in our canoe and pushed on that evening.

The next day we reached the Mission village of Rossville, making our last portage at Sea River Falls near Norway House. As we saw the fish and venison hanging on the stages around the houses of the people, my patient fellows cried out, "We should like to laugh at the sight of food, but we are too empty altogether."

We paddled the last mile as quickly as we had any other and kept up our courage until we were home. As I entered the house, a strange faintness came over me, and the only welcome words I could give to my loved ones were, "My dear, we are starving; please get us some food." Then I sank down exhausted. Loving care from one of the best and bravest of wives quickly brought me around again, and I was soon ready to be off on another trip.

The long winter passed away, and the welcome summer came at last. We had very little spring in that northern land. The transition from winter to summer is very rapid. With the disappearance of the ice from the lakes and rivers came the Indians in their birch canoes from various quarters where they had spent the winter, trapping the fur-bearing animals. As usual, they came to see the missionary in large numbers. Among those who honored us were five big men. After a few words of greeting, they said, "We hope you have not forgotten the fish; we have not, and we want to have a talk with you."

"Fish?" I said, "Why, we have fish twenty-one times a week: boiled, baked, fried, salt, dried, good, bad, and indifferent. I have seen so many fishes, I cannot think of any one in particular."

Sea River Falls, near Norway House.

Then they told me about the long delay by the storm, when I had stopped and fed them, when they had not kept their powder dry. They told of how one of them caught a fish and offered me a large piece, but I divided it equally among them. As they brought the incident back to my memory, for there were so many strange adventures occurring in the wild life that this one had partly faded, I said, "Yes, I remember something of the kind."

Very earnestly one of them spoke up and said, "We have never forgotten it, and all through the moons of the winter, we have talked about it and your lessons out of the great Book. Up to that time we had decided not to be Christians, but to die as did our fathers; we have changed our minds since that time you divided the fish, and we want you to teach us more and more of this good way."

They were intensely earnest and fully decided for Christ. So five more families settled down in the Christian village and gave evidence by their lives and conversation that the change wrought in them was real and abiding. Their conversion in this peculiar way was encouraging to us, and it was another lesson to be instant in season, out of season.
Chapter 20

Negotiating Treaties

In 1873 I received a most urgent request from a deputation of Indians to go and visit a band of their countrymen who lived on the western side of Lake Winnipeg at a place called Jack Head. They were becoming unsettled and uneasy in their minds in reference to their lands. Treaties were being made with other tribes, but nothing had been done for them. Because surveyors and other white men had been seen in their country, they were suspicious and wanted to know what they should do.

So, after many councils among themselves, they decided to send for the missionary of the Crees to come and give them advice. They also wanted to make a treaty with the Government of the Queen.

I was pleased on receiving this deputation. It would give me a grand opportunity to preach the gospel to a people who had not heard it. I consented to go. With two dog trains accompanied by a couple of trusty Indians, we left the eastern side of the great Lake Winnipeg about sunrise. We dug a hole in the snow at Pigeon Point, made a fire from some dry young willows, and enjoyed our breakfast. From that point, we struck out in a southwest direction across the great lake. Although cold, the day was a very bright one. The ice was good, and our dogs were magnificent fellows, so we sped along at a rapid rate. We reached a chain of little islands out in the middle of the lake early in the afternoon. On the shore of one of them, we gathered some dry wood, cleared away the snow, made a fire, melted some snow, and made ourselves a good kettle of tea. This, with some pemmican and flat cakes, made a great dinner.

From this island, the western shore of the lake was just visible over thirty miles away. We pushed towards it as rapidly as possible, considering one of our party was quite an old man. When we were within three miles of the shore, the report of firearms reached our ears, telling us that the Indians had observed our coming. Our noble dogs seemed to rejoice at the sound as much as ourselves. Knowing that their day's journey of over sixty miles was nearly ended, they changed their swinging trot into a gallop. Very soon we were at Jack Head, and were received in a most extraordinary manner.

At some other places where I had gone as the first missionary, I have had two or three hundred men, women, and children trying to see who could be the first to kiss me; but here the reception was very different. Night was falling upon us as we drew near the shore, but there was light enough to observe that the narrow trail from the lake into the dark recesses of the forest, along which we passed with our dog trains, was lined with men armed with guns.

When we were about a hundred yards from them, the closest ones began firing. This feu-de-joie continued until we had reached them and had dashed through the lines of fire, for they continued loading and firing as rapidly as possible. Our ears were almost deafened with the continuous reports, and our nerves were somewhat tried. The younger braves especially considered it great fun to fire off their heavy charges of powder as close to their visitors' heads as possible. But a well-singed fur cap was the only evidence of harm having been done.

To increase the welcome, they courteously brought out for our benefit the few English and French words they had mastered. Some of them were most ludicrously out of place. It did require a good deal of nerve to keep my face straight when a grave and dignified chief dropped his own language and inquired politely as to my health. In good English he said, "Does your mother know you're out?" I found out afterwards that a roguish fur trader had taught him the expression as a very polite one to use to distinguished strangers.

Indian Council.

We quickly unharnessed and fed our faithful dogs. We hung our sleds and harness in the trees beyond the reach of the village dogs, which prowled around in large numbers. If they could get the opportunity, they would make short work of the deerskin and rawhide fastenings of the sleds, and the harness would entirely disappear with perhaps the exception of the buckles. We waited until our big dogs had given a few of the most impudent and saucy of these brutes a good thrashing, so there was some prospect of peace. Then, feeling that our outside work was attended to and the Indians had time to get arranged in their council room, we went to the door and were ceremoniously ushered in. The council house was a large square log building of much better construction than I had expected to see. It was without partitions and was lighted by the brilliant council fire and a number of fish oil lamps hanging from the walls. At the places of honor were seated the chiefs of the band. Their "thrones of state" were curiously woven mats of rushes made by the Indian women. Their headdresses were gorgeous masses of feathers, and their costume was very picturesque. Some of them had not yet adopted trousers, but wore the scant leggings of native manufacture.

From the chiefs on either side and extending around the room in circles were the old men, warriors and hunters, arranged according to their rank and standing. Behind these were the young men and boys. All were seated on the ground, and all were silent as I entered. The chiefs were fine looking men with that indescribable haughtiness now so rarely seen among these interesting people. The women and girls were crowded out behind the men and boys and in many places packed against the walls of the house. While the men were often brilliantly dressed in their finery, the women and girls were wretchedly clothed and miserable in appearance.

The house was filled with the exception of a small space reserved at the right hand of the principal chief for the visitors. With a good deal of ceremony, we were escorted to our seats. For me they had obtained a little box on which a fur robe was placed. They said afterwards that they had heard white men couldn't sit comfortably on the ground. I sat on this next to the chief, and my attendant Indians arranged themselves beside me. During the profound silence that lasted for several minutes after our entrance, I had a good opportunity to grasp the situation. I breathed an earnest prayer to God for the much-needed wisdom and that I might preach the gospel here in such a way that it might be understood and accepted by this people, the majority of whom had not yet heard the glad tidings of salvation.

Then I rose up and addressed the chief. I said, "I have come at your request from across the great Lake Winnipeg to visit you and meet you at your council fire. I will preach to you and discuss treaty matters with you and help you all I can with the government. I want to understand your views about giving up your old religion and becoming Christians. I also want to know how many children you have among you and if you desire a school for them. So I am here for these reasons."

When I sat down, the calumet (pipe of peace) was solemnly lit. After the chief had puffed away at it, he handed it to me. This peace pipe was over a yard in length. Because I had not yet acquired the art of smoking, I adopted the plan of taking hold of the long stem by the middle. The result was that when my hand was near my mouth, the mouthpiece of the pipe was a foot or so behind my head. I had arranged beforehand for one of my obliging Indian friends to always be available to do my smoking.

After the pipe ceremony was over, the chief began his address of welcome. He said a good many kind things and told me of their anxieties about their future and that of their children. The fire canoe (steamboat) was rushing through the waters, destroying their fisheries. The white hunters with their fire guns and steel traps were rapidly killing off the game. The surveyor was driving his lines of stakes into the ground, and the white people, more numerous than mosquitoes, were crowding in on the prairies. They had nothing but peace in their hearts, but still he could not help thinking that a treaty ought to be made with them before the fire canoe or the surveyor came. They were powerless to speak before the Queen's representative, the governor, by themselves. They had heard of the missionary's love for the Indian, so they had sent across the great Lake Winnipeg for him. Their hearts were glad he had come. With their right hands, they had fired off their guns, which all said, "Welcome!" With his left hand, he had handed the pipe of peace, which also from the heart said, "Welcome!" Their hearts were all glad that with their eyes they saw the missionary among them. Their ears were now open to hear what he had to say about their future and what he thought the Queen's men would do for them.

Then he sat down on his mat, and I rose up and in reply said, "Before I dare talk to you about treaties, and lands, and your future for this life, and that of your children, I must speak about something more important."

This seemed to astonish them, and they said, "What has he got to talk about that is more important than the treaty?"

"Yes," I answered, "I have something more important than the treaty, and I have something to say about One greater than the Queen or the governor she sends. I must first talk about our great God, Whom the Queen and all of us must love if we would be happy. The Great Spirit, our good Father in heaven, wants to make a treaty with us. If we will be willing to comply with His conditions, it will be the best treaty ever made, for it will bring us joy and happiness for this life and the life to come."

Loud were their words of approval that I should speak about this to them. So I preached to them, making use of my trusted and careful interpreter, Timothy Bear, who was as thorough a master of the Saulteaux language as he was of the Cree. Considering it was the first sermon they had ever heard and their ideas of our worship were very crude, this crowd of plumed and painted Saulteaux behaved remarkably well. They smoked through all the whole service, except when we were singing or praying. Men, women, and children all smoked, and it seemed as though they always smoked.

Before I finished my sermon, I was almost suffocated by the smoke. The cloud, not that for which we had prayed, overwhelmed us, blinded us, and nearly smothered us. As well as I could, I talked to them of God and His love, the way of salvation, and the blessings which would come to them if they cheerfully and heartily accepted Him. We then sang the Jubilee hymn:

"Blow ye the trumpet, blow."

This hymn had been translated into their language. The tune we used was "Lennox," and I urged them to help us sing. I gave the hymn verse by verse and said, "Sing as well as you can." Some followed very well, and others, while trying to follow the words, seemed to have substituted the tune of their own chants. After the religious service was over, we boiled our kettles, made tea, and had our suppers, for we had travelled far and were very hungry. The Indians had nothing but tea, fish, and tobacco. I never saw such smokers. Even little unweaned children were adept in the use of the pipe.

After tea, the ceremonious speeches were delivered. The head chief was the first to speak again. His address was very complimentary. He said he had been gazing all day long across the great lake, watching for my coming. Although several moons had passed, I had promised that in this one, if possible, I would be on hand. My coming just at the time I did showed I was a man of my word and could be depended upon.

"We feel," he said, "that we Indians are only children in the presence of the whites. Great changes are taking place. The buffalo and deer, once so abundant, are fast disappearing. Our fathers told us long ago that the buffalo was the special gift of the Great Spirit to the Indian and when it disappeared, the Indian must go also. But in your words, you tell us good things about the Great Spirit, and we are thankful that you have come. We wish you could live among us and talk to us like this."

He and others talked for a long time.

We went over the business of the approaching treaty, and I told them all I knew about the matter and assured them that they need have no fear or alarm. The Dominion Government would treat them honorably and fairly. More tobacco was smoked. Extra kettles of tea were made and drunk. Then I was told that as an additional mark of their thankfulness to me for coming with these assuring and quieting words, they wished to give me the tribal ceremony of the greatest welcome. This was only given at rare occasions and only when the best of news came to them.

The room was rearranged for the ceremony. The crowd in the center of the room moved back, much to the discomfort of the women and girls. Some were roughly ejected to make room for their masters. Then drums were brought in, and twenty to thirty of the most active and agile young men, dressed, or rather undressed, in their picturesque way, seated themselves around the drummers. The first part of the ceremony was a kind of concert, part musical and part pantomime.

To describe it with its monotonous drumming and shrill songs, which they said were words of welcome, is altogether beyond my powers. At certain places in the songs, ten or twenty of the young men would spring up in their places. Without moving their feet from the ground, they would go through strong, undulating, graceful motions in such perfect unison with each other and with the music that I was fascinated by the strange weird beauty of the scene.

Then their program changed, and rapidly they glided around in simple and intricate movements, still in perfect time to the songs and drums.

Not satisfied with giving me the welcome of their own tribe, they also gave me the more exciting Sioux welcome and that of the Crees in the Saskatchewan. These scenes were being enacted until long after midnight. Then word was passed around that the supply of tobacco devoted to the welcome ceremonies was exhausted, for through all of this the pipes were only out of the mouths of the performers. The rest of the crowd smoked without apparent cessation.

A young Indian with his canoe at the foot of the crude water slide.

This intimation of the exhaustion of the tobacco supply abruptly closed the ceremony. Such was their custom. More tea was made and drunk by the chiefs. They shook the missionary's hand, and the people flitted away to their wigwams. We enjoyed supper, consisting of beautiful fish called "gold eyes," which are caught by the young Indians in the rapid river at the foot of the crude water slide.

One of my faithful Indian companions brought in my camp bed and unrolled it near the council fire. I rolled myself up in a blanket and buffalo robe and soon fell asleep, for I was very weary. At daybreak, we arose and had our breakfast cooked at the council fire. While eating, many of the Indians crowded in to see us before we left for our home across Lake Winnipeg. We held another religious service with them. I talked kindly and faithfully to them and urged them to decide soon to forsake their old religious habits and become Christians. I told them that as they were making treaties and entering upon a new way of obtaining a living, they should adopt the religion of the great Book.

We sang a hymn with them and then kneeled down and prayed. Devoutly and reverently they bowed with us at the mercy seat. When we rose up from our knees, a young man spoke up on behalf of the young people. He said they were glad I had come and hoped I would come again. Their minds were dark; would I soon come back and bring in the light?

I said all I could to encourage them to seek after the great Light and promised to come again. We harnessed up our dogs, and in company with my attendant Indians, I started for home. A wild blizzard came down upon us from the north, when we were far out from land. We struggled on as well as we could, although at times unable to see a dozen feet ahead of us. Often we became disoriented by its fury, as it seemed to circle an eddy around us. But Jack was in the first train, so we safely reached the other shore. We did not cease to think about some of the strange features of this adventurous trip for many days. In later years, we discovered much good had been done.

We have referred to treaties and the excitement in the minds of the Indians with this new relationship they would have with the government. We must also record the noble spirit of one of our Indians on whom honors were desired to be conferred by his people.

When the Dominion Government of Canada took possession of the territories long held by the Hudson's Bay Company, they began to arrange for treaties with all the Indian tribes. Word came to us at Rossville Mission house that the government wished the Indians to elect one of their number as chief to represent them in making a treaty and discussing difficulties if they arose. They wanted the people to select a wise, judicious man whom they trusted.

Naturally, the Indians were excited at this new order of things and held many councils with much speech making. They expressed a good deal of curiosity about the benefits and amount of money to be received by each of them. While there was much uncertainty about these things, they knew that the one selected to be chief would fare very well. He would have more money and presents than any other. He would be presented with a silver medal with the face of the "Great Mother," the Queen, upon it. He would be honored with the personal friendship of the governor and with other honors naturally dear to people.

After many councils, the people came to the almost unanimous conclusion that Big Tom should be their chief. In a full council with much ceremony, they offered him the position. Instead of seizing the proffered honors with enthusiasm, his face became very grave. He was full of suppressed emotion. When he arose, all supposed he would accept the position and express his thanks. They were very surprised to hear him quietly say that he could not answer fully now but desired a day to think it over. So he asked the council to adjourn until the following morning.

Of course this request was complied with, and full of curiosity the people thronged the building the next day. I had taken a deep interest in the matter, as next to their spiritual interests, I was anxious to do all I could for their temporal welfare. So I attended many of their meetings. The council was opened in due form, and then Big Tom rose to give his answer. He began quietly and slowly, but warmed up a good deal before he ended.

He spoke as follows:

"Long ago, when the missionaries came and preached to us, for a time we refused to listen to them and would not become Christians. Then, after a while, many of us who had been in the darkness began to feel in our hearts that what they told us was for our good, so we accepted these things, and they have done us good. When I got the assurance in my heart that I was a child of God and had a soul that should live forever, I found that in working out its salvation I had something great to live for. To do this was the great object of my life. By and by, I married, and as my family increased and grew around me, I found I had another object for which to live. To help them along in the way to heaven, as well as to work for their comfort here, was my second great work. After a while, the missionary gave me the charge of a class. I was to meet with them, and we were to talk together about our souls and God's love to us and do all we could to help each other to the better land. To do my duty as the leader was a great and important work. While attending to these duties, I found I had another object for which to live. These three things: 1. My own soul's salvation; 2. The salvation of my family; and 3. To do all I can to help and encourage the members of my class to be true and faithful to Him who died for us that we may see Him by and by, are the uppermost things in my heart.

"I am thankful for your confidence in me in asking me to be your chief. I know it is a great honor, but I see it will have many responsibilities. Whoever has the position will have to attend to many other things than those which I have my mind set upon. So you must appoint someone else, for I cannot let anything else interfere with those three things. I thank you, my brothers, and love you all."

In this way he continued for a long while and then sat down. No one thought any the less of the noble Christian man; and David Rundle, who was appointed, found in Big Tom a wise and judicious counsellor and friend. I was thrilled by the address and the spirit manifested. How few white men in like circumstances would have had grace and self-denial enough to act in a similar manner!
Chapter 21

A New Mission

After a great deal of correspondence, it was decided that I should begin the work at Beren's River among the Saulteaux Indians who lived there. I would also serve little bands scattered along the eastern shores of that great lake and in the interior, most of them in extreme poverty and without Christ. As the result of acquaintance with the Christian Indians of other places, a few of them were groping after the great Light and trying to lift themselves up socially in life.

The Rev. John H. Ruttan was appointed to Norway House, the Rev. Orrin German to Oxford House, and I was assigned Beren's River.

It was advised that I should remain at Norway House until Brother Ruttan arrived, but since there was only one opportunity for Mrs. Young and the children to return to Red River, they took advantage of it.

With loving farewells, I wished them success on their journey and saw them off. Sandy Harte, our adopted Indian lad, and I sailed to the old Norway House about twenty miles from our home and having said goodbye, we returned to our lonely home.

Mrs. Young took our three darling children with her: Eddie, Lilian, and Nelly. All were well and full of the best of spirits as the sail was hoisted, and we saw them glide away before the favoring wind. We never saw our precious Nelly again. The heat was terrible, and the accommodations were so miserable in that little open boat without a deck, awning, or cabin that the child became ill and died.

I referred to this sad event in an earlier chapter, so we need not dwell upon it here. What the poor mother felt and suffered as she saw her beautiful child attacked by brain fever and then droop and die amid surroundings so sad and trying can be realized by only a few. God knows all about it. The venerable Archdeacon Cowley's sympathy did much to comfort Mrs. Young's crushed spirits and dry her bitter tears.

I remained at Norway House until Brothers Ruttan and German arrived. I spent a Sabbath with them and saw Mr. Ruttan and his noble young wife begin their blessed work among the people I had come to care for. Then I started for Beren's River. Sandy Harte, the Nelson River lad, went with me as far as my first camping place and spent the night with me. We read the sacred Word together, and after singing a hymn, we bowed in prayer. We lay down together, but we had so much to say that hours passed away before we slept.

Early the next morning we were aroused from our slumbers by the cry of "fair wind," so no time could be lost. I was surprised to find that during the night some scores of Indians had come in their canoes from the Mission, although it was many miles away. They wanted to shake hands with their missionary once more and say a final farewell.

After a hasty breakfast, we assembled on the shore for prayers. We sang a favorite hymn in Cree:

"Jesus, my all, to heaven is gone,

He Whom I fix my hopes upon.

His path I see, and I'll pursue

The narrow way till Him I view."

We closed by singing the Doxology, and after prayers, I sadly said goodbye and shook hands again with all of them. I found it hard to break away. Many of them who seldom wept were in tears. Coming to my beloved Sandy last, I put my arm around his neck and kissed him as he stood there, weeping as though his heart would break. With a "God bless you all," I sprang into the boat, which was quickly pushed off from the shore, and the long journey to the land of the Saulteaux began.

After some of the usual incidents of travel, I reached Beren's River. I was enthusiastically received by the Indians. The man who had said, "Our eyes were dim from long watching," now said they were dim with tears of joy that he had lived to see the day when a missionary of their own lived among them. Because I had to leave before the lake froze, every day was precious. I pitched a canvas tent and lived in it for several weeks. All assembled once every weekday for religious worship, and when that was over, the missionary and men took off their coats and went to work. The spot for the Mission was decided upon. Then acre after acre of the forest from this place and from where each Indian had decided to build was rapidly being cleared of the forest trees. We held three services every Lord's Day and saw that the school for the children was faithfully kept up.

After getting everything in good shape, I left Martin Papanekis in charge. He was a devout and trustworthy Christian Indian from the Norway House Mission. Then I started out in a birch canoe with Big Tom as principal canoe man for Red River.

Of our adventures and dangers, I do not need to write, although there were several on that long journey in that craft. One complete upset chilled me most thoroughly, as the water was close to freezing point. At one place where we tried to push on all night, we were tantalized by some most brilliant "Will-o'-the-wisp" lights, which the experienced Indians thought were decoy signals put out by wicked people to bewilder or injure us. Canoe travelling on this great lake is risky business. The storms come up with surprising rapidity, and the waves rise up like those of the ocean. However, we had a good canoe, Big Tom was in charge, and He who holds the winds and the waves in His fists was our Father and our Friend.

At Red River, I called on the Rev. Archdeacon Cowley at his Indian Mission home. He was very cordial and sympathetic as I introduced myself. I told him I had come to accept his kind offer of part of the quiet graveyard of his Mission Church for a little place to bury the body of my darling daughter. He went with me and showed me all kindness and concern, as did Mr. Flett and his family of the Hudson's Bay Company's Service. As we laid the beautiful child down with the solemn words Earth to earth, dust to dust, we sensed an additional tie holding us to that country and work.

In due time, I reached Toronto and met the Missionary Secretaries. I obtained an outline of the work before me. I had the great joy of meeting the Rev. Thomas Crosby, the energetic and successful missionary from British Columbia, who had been wonderfully surrendered to God in his glorious work. He had not been called by any church, but was compelled by the good Spirit. Shortly after his conversion, he made his way to British Columbia at his own expense and offered himself to one of the missionaries. He worked as a volunteer teacher among the poor, neglected Indians, who were not cared for by anyone. They had been prowling around the cities and towns of that new province, living lives of shame and sin. His success in this was great indeed.

The Rev. Thomas Crosby also established flourishing Missions at Fort Simpson and elsewhere to the north of that land. Through his labors, a blessed work began among the Indians in Alaska. Some of them, hearing wonderful stories about the black-coated man and his mysterious Book, came hundreds of miles to have their curiosity satisfied. They returned with more than they anticipated. They reached the Mission and heard the "old, old story" for the first time in their lives and from Mr. Crosby and from some of their own tribes who lived there. It was wonderful news to them, but they accepted it with a simple faith that was pleasing to God. The gospel brought the consciousness of His smile and blessing into their hearts. Rejoicing in this newfound treasure, they returned to their own land and announced the glad tidings of God's love. They added the testimony of their own personal experience of having a new joy in their hearts, the result of accepting this Savior. Great indeed was the excitement among the people. Some mocked, and some opposed and tried to persecute, but many were affected by what their companions had brought them and believing their testimony entered into their joy.

Of course, the new converts could give little instruction, so as the work proceeded, they decided to send a deputation for the missionary and bring him into their land. Mr. Crosby responded and went to Alaska to spend some time among them. God blessed his labors, and many of the Indians gave up their old ways and became Christians. Convinced this was a grand opportunity for missionary triumph, Mr. Crosby wrote to the Methodist Episcopal Mission Rooms in New York, urging the officials to enter this open door and begin work. The answer was that it was impossible; their other fields absorbed all their income, so there was no possibility of responding to his appeal.

Not to be discouraged, Mr. Crosby wrote to the Presbyterian Board at Philadelphia and told about these poor sheep in the wilderness. Thank God, he met with success, and there was a glad response. The successful Presbyterian Missions and Indian Schools in that land today are the outgrowth of that work.

I spent several months with Brother Crosby attending missionary meetings. We had blessed times. Immense crowds came out to hear us, and if I am not mistaken, the increase in the missionary income that year was the greatest in its history. All together we attended eighty-nine Missionary Anniversary Services in different Canadian towns and cities between Sarnia and Quebec.

My family spent a very happy week at "Oaklands," Toronto, the beautiful residence of the Honorable Senator Macdonald, the Lay Treasurer of our Missionary Society. Enough cannot be mentioned of Senator Macdonald's great kindness and tangible evidences of sympathy. Scores of ministers and missionaries could add their own fortunate experiences with this large-hearted philanthropist. Eternity alone will be able to reveal the full measure of what he constantly did for many of Christ's ambassadors and among the different churches.

As soon as the season for holding missionary meetings ended, I returned to my Indian work. I left the province of Ontario on the sixth of April and reached Beren's River after twenty-three days of continuous travelling. We were detained by snowdrifts on the railroads in Minnesota and Dakota, which blocked our way and caused some very unpleasant experiences. After leaving the railroad, I travelled two hundred and fifty miles in a stage on runners over the snowy prairies. We encountered some blizzards, and one night when we were fortunate enough to reach one of the stopping places, the storm raged like a hurricane. The house was built of logs and not well finished; the snow sifted in through the wide cracks between these logs and on to our beds. My experiences in wintry camps served me well. I pulled the hood of my overcoat up and completely covered myself under the bedclothes. I slept soundly through the raging storm and driving snow. When we were called for a hasty breakfast, I found several inches of snow on the top of my bed, but I had suffered no inconvenience from it. With my travelling companions in the other beds, it was very different. The upper story in which our beds were placed was all one room, so the snow had equally assailed us all. But they were not able to sleep with their heads completely covered and had suffered much. They were in anything but an amiable mood when we resumed our journey.

At Winnipeg, I was cordially welcomed by my beloved Chairman, the Rev. George Young, who had always taken the deepest interest in my work and done all he could to add to our comfort and efficiency in its fulfillment. Missionaries of the interior were fortunate, whether it was north or west, to have such a man to look after our supplies and see that we were not cheated or swindled by those who sent them out to the poor workers in their lonely fields. For years, we had no money in our northern Missions. Our plan was to receive from Winnipeg once a year all that our salary would purchase for us in the form of supplies. This included all that we needed in our own home and that which we used to pay teacher, interpreter, guides, canoe men, dog drivers, and others who might be employed in the work.

As all the work of purchasing and packing these things depended upon the Chairman, we were fortunate to have Dr. Young as our Chairman.

My dogs and Indians came down from the north to meet me and were waiting as arranged months before. We purchased our supplies, loaded our sleds, and away we started by dog train on the last part of the long journey. We had left Toronto in a splendid railroad carriage; we ended the trip of over twenty days duration with dog sleds.

I quickly became acclimated to the wild life of the north after six months of incessant pleading the cause of the Indians before the large and enthusiastic audiences in our towns and cities. I happily endured the days of hard and rapid travelling over the frozen surface of Lake Winnipeg with the bitter cold that made us shiver in spite of the violent exercise of running. I survived the intense and almost unbearable pain caused by the reflection of the brilliant rays of the sun upon the snowy waste. I cheerfully tolerated the bed in the snow with no roof above us but the star-decked vault of heaven.

Toiling along on snowshoes through the woods.

My welcome by the Saulteaux at my new field was very cordial. I was gratified to find that they had a successful winter, and those left in charge had worked faithfully and well. A little log house, twelve by twenty-four feet, had been put up, and one end of it was my present home. My apartment was just twelve feet square, but to me it was sufficient. It was kitchen, bedroom, dining room, study, reception room, and everything else. Two of my grandest dogs, Jack and Cuffy, shared it with me for months, and we had a happy and busy time. With several hard working Indians, two of them being Big Tom and Martin Papanekis from Norway House, we worked hard at getting the timber and logs for our new church, school house, and parsonage. We travelled a distance of twelve or fourteen miles over the frozen lake to reach the large island with timber sufficiently large for our purpose. Here we worked as hard as possible. We often had to search miles from the shore to find what we wanted. To make our work more difficult, we found few large trees growing close together. So for nearly every large stick of timber, we had to make a new trail through the deep snow to the lake. The snow was three to four feet deep. The underbrush was thick, and the fallen trees were numerous. Yet even with these discouragements, we worked. We cut the trees down, measured them, squared them, and got them ready for their places. Then we hitched one end on a strong dog sled and attached one dog train to this heavy load. How four dogs could drag these heavy sticks of timber was indeed surprising. The principal pieces were thirty-six feet long and ten inches diameter. My gallant St. Bernards and Newfoundlands would take these heavy loads along at a rate that was astounding. We had thirty-two dogs at work, and our piles of timber and logs rapidly accumulated.

Dressed as one of the natives, I worked incessantly for the material for building up of the Mission. We had delightful services every Sabbath. Nearly every Indian within some miles attended, and good results continually cheered our hearts. Although it was late in the season when I arrived, there was not any sign of the spring except the lengthening days and increasingly brilliant sun. For a long time, the vast snowy wastes remained crisp and hard. The atmosphere was glorious, for there was no fog, no mist, and no dampness. The sky seemed always cloudless, and the air was always clear.

Nearly every morning during these weeks of hard labor, we were treated to the strange sights, which the beautiful and vivid mirage brought to us. Islands and headlands, scores of miles away, were lifted from below the horizon and appeared to us as distinctly as though they were close. With few exceptions, our nights were glorious, especially when the Northern Lights held one of their grand carnivals with the vast Lake Winnipeg as their field of action. Generally beginning in the far north with a majestic sweep, they came marching on, filling the very heavens with their colored bars, or flashing, ever changing, yet always beautiful clouds of brightness and glory. Sometimes they would form a magnificent corona at the zenith and from its dazzling splendor shoot out long columns of different colored lights, which rested upon the far off frozen shores. Often have I seen a cloud of light flit swiftly across these tinted bars, as if a hand were sweeping the strings of some grand harp. So startling was the resemblance that there was an instinctive listening for the sound that we used to think ought to come. Sometimes I have suddenly stopped my dogs and men, when we have been travelling amid these fascinating and breath-taking glories of the heavens above us. We have listened for that rustling sound of celestial harmony, which some Arctic travellers claim they have heard, and which seemed to me so evident that we ought to hear. But although for years I have watched and listened amid the death stillness of these snowy wastes, I have never heard any sounds. Amid all their flashing and changing glories, these resplendent beauties always seemed as voiceless as the stars above them.

With spring and its open water came our first boats that we brought from Red River with building material and two experienced carpenters. Then the work of building a Mission house and a large schoolhouse went on. For a time, this schoolhouse was to serve as a church also. We called it "the Tabernacle," and it served its double purpose admirably.

Leaving the carpenters and Indians at work, I went into the small village of Winnipeg for Mrs. Young and our two little children, who were returning from Ontario. They had remained among friends, until I had some kind of a habitation prepared for them in the wilderness. For weeks, we had to live in my little twelve by twelve log cabin. It was all right in cold or dry weather, but as its construction was peculiar, it failed us most in times of rain and wet. The roof was made of poplar logs laid up against the roof pole and covered very thickly with clay. When this hardened and dried, it was a good roof against the cold. But when incessant rains softened it, and great pieces of mud fell through upon bed, table, stove or floor, it was not luxurious or even comfortable living. One morning we discovered a mass, weighing over five pounds, had fallen at the feet of our youngest child during the night. She slept in a little bed near us, unconscious of the danger. However, after a while, we moved into our new house. We rejoiced to find ourselves comfortably settled and ready for undivided attention to the blessed work of evangelization.

While there was a measure of prosperity, the Mission did not advance as rapidly as I had hoped it would. My hopes had been that the surplus population at Norway House would have settled there. I expected many from the interior directly east would come out and help to build up the Mission as they had stated.

Opposition in various quarters arose, and the Norway House Crees preferred to go farther south. In the end, seventy families preferred that place, and they formed a flourishing additional Mission. The work advanced in this way, although not all along the lines which some of us had marked out. With patient endurance, my noble wife and I labored on. There was room for the exercise of the graces of courage, hope, faith, and patience. A measure of success was also ours, and we saw signs of progress. Every now and then, we saw some clear and remarkable cases of conversion from the vilest to a clear and conscious assurance of heaven's favor and smile.

One summer a chieftainess with several of her followers came from the east to visit us. Her husband had been the chief of his people, and when he died, she assumed his position and maintained it well. Her home was several days journey away in the interior, but she had heard of the missionary who had come to live among the Saulteaux and teach them out of the great Book. Was not she a Saulteaux, and had not she a right to know of this new way about which so much was being said? With these thoughts in her mind, she came to see us.

When she arrived at the Mission, we saw very quickly that she was an interesting woman. We had several interviews, and Mrs. Young and I did all we could to lead this candid, inquiring mind into the right way. Before she left, I gave her a sheet of foolscap paper and a long lead pencil. I showed her how to count the days to the Sabbath day. Among many other lessons, I had described the Sabbath as one day in seven for rest and worship; she had become very interested and promised to try to keep it.

As she pushed out in her canoe from our shore, her last urgent request was that as soon as possible, I would visit her and her people in their own land. I had so many engagements that I could not take this additional one until the middle of the next winter. When we dashed into her village with a couple of Indian attendants and our dog trains, her joy was great at seeing us and gave a very demonstrative welcome. On a stage outside in the cold, she had put a couple of caribou heads, keeping them preserved by the frost until I should arrive. Very quickly were they taken down to cook. The hair was singed off, and they were cut up with an axe into pieces weighing about two pounds each. Soon they were in the pot, boiling for our dinner. I furnished some tea, and while everything was being prepared by a few, the rest of us sat down and talked.

They were indeed anxious for instruction in spiritual things. Through my interpreter, I read and explained truth after truth, to which they gave the most earnest attention. Then we stopped while we had dinner. As my men and I were the guests of this chieftainess, I did not get my tin plates, cups, knives and forks out. I sat down beside her in her wigwam with the rest of the people, completing a circle around the big wooden dish, in which the large pieces of cooked caribou heads had been thrown. I asked a blessing on the food, and then dinner began. The plan was for each person to help himself or herself to a piece of the meat, hold it in the hand, and get pieces off to eat by using a hunting knife or teeth, or both together.

I am sorry to say my lady friend on the right, the chieftainess, had very dirty looking hands and long, strong, brilliant teeth. She took her piece of meat, turned it over and over in her hands, and began tearing and cutting at it in a way that was not very dainty. After biting off a few mouthfuls, she threw it down on the dirty ground of the wigwam. She inserted one of her greasy hands in the bosom of her dress and pulled out a large piece of soiled paper. She unfolded it before me and began in excited tones to tell me how she had kept the tally of the "praying days." I was so interested in her story and in her wild joyous way of describing her efforts to keep her record correct that I stopped eating and looked over her paper, as she talked away. Imagine my great delight to find that through the long months, which had passed since I had given her that paper and pencil, she had not once missed her record. This day was Thursday, and she had marked it as such. Her plan had been to make six short marks and then a longer one for Sunday.

"Missionary," she said very earnestly, "sometimes it seemed as though I would fail. There were times when the ducks or geese came very near, and I felt like taking my gun and firing. Then I remembered that it was the praying day, so I only put down the long mark and rested. I have not set a net, or caught a fish, or fired a gun, on the praying day since I heard about it at your house so far away."

Of course, I was delighted at this and said some kind words of encouragement. Then we resumed our dinner. I had my piece of meat in one hand and my knife in the other and endeavored to cut off the pieces and eat them. The good woman replaced the precious paper and pencil in her bosom and picked up her piece of meat from the dirty ground. After turning it over and over in her hands, she began to tear off large mouthfuls with her strong teeth. All at once, she stopped eating, and looking intently at my piece, she said, "Your piece is not a very good one, mine is very fine." Before I could protest or say a word, she quickly exchanged the pieces; I had to finish my dinner from her portion, which she put in my hand. What she did was considered an act of great kindness, so I could not grieve her by showing my annoyance. I quietly smothered any squeamishness that might have arisen and finished my dinner. Then we resumed the religious service. Soon after, she became a decided Christian.

Due to the failure of Mrs. Young's health, we left the land of the Saulteaux for work in the Master's vineyard elsewhere. The following extracts are from the last letter, which I sent to the Mission Rooms. The Mission was fully established; a comfortable parsonage was built and well furnished. A large schoolhouse had been erected, which also served for the religious services until the church would be finished. Our trials and hardships had been numerous with a great deal of opposition, much from unexpected places. But I rejoiced to be enabled to send tidings from a place where I had gone as the first missionary. These Saulteaux were a difficult tribe, so different from the more peaceful Crees, but they caused my heart to rejoice. He who had permitted me to go and sow the seed had also given me the honor of seeing some golden sheaves gathered in for the heavenly garner:

"Last Sabbath was perhaps the most interesting and encouraging one we have spent on the Mission. Our place of worship was crowded, and many had to remain outside. Some of the old Indians, who in spite of our pleading had clung to their sin, renounced it on that day in a most emphatic manner. Seven of them were questioned as to their thorough renunciation of their old ways. I inquired of their present faith in Christ, and they were baptized immediately.

"At the afternoon service, several more were baptized, among them an old man, perhaps seventy years of age, with his wife and grandchild. He had never been inside a Christian sanctuary before. He had just arrived from the vast interior east of this place, the country I visited under many difficulties last April.

"The old man brought the Bible and hymnbook, which I had given him months ago. He stated that although he could not read them very well, he kept them close to him by day and under his pillow by night. He tried to keep all he had heard of what was written in them in his memory, as I had told him.

"I have been teaching the school myself for months, as my faithful teacher, Timothy Bear, is doing poorly. Among the scholars, I have none more attentive than the old man and his wife. Seated on the ground with the Rev. James Evans' syllabic characters marked out with a pen on a piece of paper in their hands and the open Bible on the grass before them, they are striving hard to read the wonderful works of God fluently in their own language.

"If this old man had presented himself for baptism a little better clothed, we should have been pleased. All he had on was a dirty cotton shirt and a pair of deer-skin leggings. However, as such fashions occur here, his appearance created no remark, but all were deeply moved at his coming forward and emphatically renouncing his old ways of worship.

"The sacrament of the Lord's Supper on the same day was also a service of great interest, as several new members were admitted to the Lord's Table for the first time. In two instances, the firm stand for Christ taken by the women has led to the conversion of their husbands. Until lately, they were careless, reckless men; but they have come and declared that they are convinced that the religion of their wives is better than the old, and they desire to have it too. Thus the work goes on, but how slowly! When shall the time arrive when 'nations shall be born in a day'? Haste, happy day!"

"We are toiling through the darkness, but our eyes behold the light

That is mounting up the eastern sky and beating back the night.

Soon with joy we'll hail the morning when our Lord will come in might,

For Truth is marching on.

"He will come in glorious majesty to sweep away all wrong;

He will heal the broken hearted and will make His people strong;

He will teach our souls His righteousness, our hearts a glad new song

For Truth is marching on.

"He is calling on His people to be faithful, prompt, and brave,

To uplift again the fallen, and to help from sin to save,

To devote themselves for others, as Himself for them He gave,

For Truth is marching on.

"Let us fight against the evils with our faces toward the light;

God is looking through the darkness, and He watches o'er the flight,

And His joy will be our recompense, His triumph crown the right,

For Truth is marching on."

About the Author

Egerton Ryerson Young was a teacher, pastor, author, and a brave missionary to remote Canadian Indians. Young's mother died in 1842, and consequently he was raised by his stepmother, Maria Farley. After a brief stint as a school teacher, Young was ordained and called to a pastorate of the First Methodist Church in Hamilton. In 1868, however, he was invited to become a missionary to the natives of Rupert's Land. After praying over this with his new wife, Elizabeth, he asked her what she thought about this call. "I think it is from God and we will go," was her reply. What happens next is the compelling story of this book.
By Canoe and Dog Train – Egerton Ryerson Young

Revisions Copyright © 2015

Originally Printed in 1890, by Methodist Book and Publishing House, Toronto

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