By Canoe And Dog-Train Part 7

"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."

"Not so bad as that yet, Alec," I said. "G.o.d is our refuge and help.

He has given us other ways by which we can get warm. As quickly as possible get on your snow-shoes, and up with your hood and on with your mits, and I will do likewise, and now see if you can catch me."

In much less time than I have taken to describe it, we were rigged up for rapid snow-shoe running, and were off. Away I rushed through the woods as rapidly as I could on my snow-shoes. The lad followed me, and thus we ran chasing and catching each other alternately as though we were a couple of boisterous schoolboys 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, and then the hot blood began working its way out 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 again to the camp, and, gathering a quant.i.ty of birch bark which we found loosely hanging from the trees, and which is very inflammable, 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 lat.i.tudes are so few, we generally roused ourselves up several hours before daylight. Often my kind-hearted men endeavoured 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 any one stirring. I would rather freeze to death than be suffocated.

There were times not a few when I was the first to get up, and kindle the fire and cook the breakfast before I called my faithful wearied companions, who, long accustomed to such hardships, could sleep on soundly, where for me it was an absolute impossibility. Sometimes my men, when thus aroused, would look up at the stars and say "a.s.sam 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 Esquimaux ones this was not always an easy task--and we were ready to start.

Before starting we generally threw the evergreen brush on which we had slept on the fire, and by its ruddy, cheerful light began our day's journey. When some mornings we made from twenty-five to forty miles before sunrise, the Indians began to think the stars were about right after all, and the Missionary's watch very fast. However, they were just as willing to get on rapidly as I was, and so did not find fault with the way in which I endeavoured to hurry our party along. I paid them extra whenever the record 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 after years we reduced it to four days. The trail is through one of the finest fur-producing regions of the North-West. Here the wandering Indian hunters make their living by trapping such animals as the black and silver foxes, as well as the more common varieties of that animal.

Here are to be found otters, minks, martens, beavers, ermines, bears, wolves, and many other kinds of the fur-bearing animals. Here the black bears are very numerous. On one canoe trip one summer we saw no less than seven of them, one of which we shot and lived on for several days.

Here come the adventurous fur traders to purchase these valuable skins, and great fortunes have been made in the business. If, merely to make money and get rich, men are willing to come and put up with the hardships and privations of the country, what a disgrace to us if, for their souls' sake, we are afraid to follow in these hunters' trail, or, if need be, show them the way, that we may go with the glad story of a Saviour's love!

CHAPTER EIGHT.

NELSON RIVER--A DEMONSTRATIVE WELCOME--FIRST RELIGIOUS SERVICE--A FOUR HOURS' SERMON--THE CHIEF'S ELOQUENT REPLY--THE OLD MAN WITH GRANDCHILDREN IN HIS WIGWAM--"OUR FATHER"--"THEN WE ARE BROTHERS"--"YES"--"THEN WHY IS THE WHITE BROTHER SO LONG TIME IN COMING WITH THE GOSPEL TO HIS RED BROTHER?"--GLORIOUS SUCCESSES.

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 even at the best a precarious mode of obtaining a livelihood. Then, as the movements of the herds of deer, upon the flesh of which many of these Indians subsist 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.

It used to be very discouraging, after having travelled for several days together, either by canoe in summer, or dog-trains in winter, to reach a certain 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, favoured 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 wild tribes of the great Saskatchewan country, with his open Bible, preaching the wonderful Gospel truths, great was the excitement of the people 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 had my share of strange welcomes. Here the custom of handshaking was but little known, but the more ancient one of kissing prevailed. Great indeed was my amazement when I found myself surrounded by two hundred and fifty or three hundred wild 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, and 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. My Christian Indians from Norway House aided me in the opening services, and, being sweet singers, added very much to the interest. We sang several hymns, read a couple of lessons from the Bible, and engaged in prayer. At about nine o'clock I read as my text those sublime words: "For G.o.d so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life."

They listened with the most enrapt attention, while for four hours I talked to them of some of the truths of this glorious verse. They had never heard a sermon before; they were ignorant of the simplest truths of our blessed Christianity; and so I had to make everything plain and clear as I went along. I could not take anything for granted with that audience. So I had to take them back to the Creation and Fall. Then I spoke of G.o.d's love in providence and grace; and 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 this Saviour. I tried hard to show how we, who had wandered so far away, were invited back to actual adoption into G.o.d's great family, as a conscious reality. I spoke of the universality and impartiality of G.o.d'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 were suffused with tears, and 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 G.o.d and King, The triumphs of His grace!"

Again we bowed in prayer, and, at my request, they repeated after me all the pet.i.tions which in short easy sentences 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, and I felt a sweet a.s.surance that those simple pet.i.tions, from the hearts and lips of those poor Indians, were not despised by Him Whose great heart of love beats so true to all. After prayer I requested them all to again seat themselves on the ground, as I wished to hear from them about these great truths which I had come so far to tell them of. I wanted to know what were their wishes and determinations about becoming Christians. When I had finished, every eye turned towards the princ.i.p.al chief, as these Indians, like the other tribes, have their unwritten laws of precedence.

He rose up from his place among his people, and, coming near me on my right hand, he made one of the most thrilling addresses I ever heard.

Years have pa.s.sed away since that hour, and yet the memory of that tall, straight, impa.s.sioned Indian is as vivid as ever. His actions were many, but all were graceful. His voice was particularly fine and full of pathos, for he spoke from his heart. Here is the bare outline of his speech, as, with my interpreter to aid me, I shortly afterwards wrote it down.

"Missionary, I have long lost faith in our old paganism." 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 paganism for a long time. I hear G.o.d 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, the reindeer, the beaver, and the bear; I see His loving-kindness 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, that 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 for years have had no religion."

Then turning towards me and looking me in the face, he said, in tones that thrilled me, "Missionary, what you have said to-day fills up my heart 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 did 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, and came from the rear of the company to the front with strange springy movements. His hair was braided, and reached to his knees. Threading his way through the audience, he came up close to me, and then, 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; and yet I never before heard such things as you have told us to-day. I am so glad I did not die before I heard this wonderful story. Yet 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, and 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 ere he turned round 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 something wonderful. When our conversation with the old man had reached this point, and in such an unexpected, and yet dramatic manner, had so clearly brought out, not only the Fatherhood of G.o.d, but the oneness of the human family, the people could hardly restrain their expressions of delight. The old man, however, had not yet finished, and so, 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 red brothers in the woods."