Part 11 (1/2)
I made a little camp and lay down cold and hungry. I hunted all the next day and only got a rabbit. This I ate 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 any more.' Then I loaded my gun with a heavy charge of powder and two bullets, and, drawing back the trigger, my plan was to put the muzzle of the gun against the side of my head, and then press on the trigger with my big toe, which, you know, moves easily in the moccasin. Just as I was getting ready thus 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; and 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 that 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 Whom to go to help us out? 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 so well 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 the pagan people that I knew anything about the white man's religion. I had been very bad, and had got very 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 all trembling in the cold, I seemed to hear my wife and children in the wigwam far away crying for food. This decided me. So I turned round, 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 the poor Indian who had got 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; and there in the snow I promised, if He would forgive and help me in my trouble, and give something for my wife and children to eat, I would, just as soon as the snow and ice left the rivers and lakes, go and find the Missionary, 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, and 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; and I had not gone far before a large reindeer came das.h.i.+ng 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 down a small tree, and fastened part of the meat into the top of it, and let it swing up again, so as 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 venison, 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 since. 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 have come with my wife and children to ask you to help us to be Christians.”
We were very much pleased to hear such a wonderful experience, which was thus leading him back to G.o.d; 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 sh.o.r.e, 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 of course were also 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 when at the snow-covered log in the forest William had bowed in prayer, he 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 head men 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 circ.u.mstance of his adoption by Mr Evans after the death of his parents, whom they remembered well.
Happy Christians themselves, and anxious that others should enjoy the same blessedness, they rejoiced at William's return, and especially with such a desire in his heart. So they at once 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 from the church services they were never absent, 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 G.o.d. Here is a beautiful ill.u.s.tration:--
”WHERE ARE OUR CHILDREN?”
On the banks of a wild river, about sixty miles from Beaver Lake, I visited a band of pagan 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 for a time 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 canoemen and I had suffered much from the character of the route, and the absence of game, which had caused us more than once to wrap ourselves up in our blankets and lie down supperless 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 suns.h.i.+ne that we might get dry again.
We had met with some strange adventures, and I had had another opportunity for observing the intelligence and shrewdness of my men, and their quickness in arriving at right conclusions from very little data.
Many think of the Indians as savages and uncivilised, yet in some respects they are highly educated, and are gifted with a quickness of perception not excelled by any other people in the world. We had the following ill.u.s.tration 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 to freight up the goods for the next winter's trade, I could not find any canoemen who were acquainted with the route to the pagan 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, if possible, although so far beyond the most northern point he had ever gone before. As I could do no better I hired him and another Indian, and away we went.
After several days of hard work--for the portages around the falls and rapids were many, and several times we had to wade through muskegs or mora.s.ses up to our knees for miles together, carrying all our load on our heads or backs--we at length 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 yet had about sixty miles to go ere we expected to see human beings, and were all absolutely ignorant of the direction in which to go.
We spent the night on the sh.o.r.e of the lake, and slept comfortably on the smooth rocks. Early the next morning we began to look out for signs to guide us on our way. There were several high hills in the vicinity, and it was decided that we should each ascend one of these, and see if from these elevated positions the curling smoke from some distant Indian camp-fire, or other signs of human beings, could be observed.
Seizing my rifle, I started off to ascend the high hill which had been a.s.signed me, while my Indians went off in other directions. This hill was perhaps half a mile from our camp-fire, 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 came almost suddenly upon a creek of rare crystal beauty, on the banks of which were many impressions of hoofs, large and small, as though a herd of cattle had there been drinking. Thoughtlessly, for I seemed to have forgotten where we were, I came to the conclusion that as the herd of cattle had there quenched their thirst, they and their owner must be near. So I hurried back to the camp, and signalled 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, and so they accompanied me to the creek, where, with a good deal of pride, I pointed out to them the footprints of cattle, and stated that I thought that 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 amus.e.m.e.nt.
We looked around for a time, and, 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 quite a fine river, and began paddling up it, keeping close to one of its sandy sh.o.r.es. Suddenly one of my Indians sprang up in the canoe, and began carefully examining some small tracks on the sh.o.r.e. 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 of them went up this river yesterday, and the dog ran along the sh.o.r.e, 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 or 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 my men confidently pushed along. After paddling for about twenty miles we came to the camp-fire, still smouldering, where the Indians had slept the night before. Here we cooked our dinner, and then hurried on, still guided by the little tracks along the sh.o.r.e. Towards evening we reached the encampment, just as my canoemen had intimated we should.