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Missionary Work Among the Ojebway Indians

by Edward Francis Wilson · English · Gutenberg #6983 · 401,302 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Missionary Work Among the Ojebway Indians

Author: Edward Francis Wilson


        
Release date: November 1, 2004 [eBook #6983]
                Most recently updated: December 30, 2020

Language: English

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Credits: This eBook produced by Avinash Kothare, Tom Allen, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISSIONARY WORK AMONG THE OJEBWAY INDIANS ***




This eBook produced by Avinash Kothare, Tom Allen, Juliet Sutherland,
Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team




MISSIONARY WORK

AMONG

THE OJEBWAY INDIANS.

BY THE

REV. EDWARD F. WILSON.




CONTENTS.

CHAP.


INTRODUCTION.

I. HOW IT CAME ABOUT THAT I WENT TO CANADA.

II. FIRST MISSIONARY EXPERIENCES.

III. OUR ARRIVAL AT SARNIA.

IV. KETTLE POINT.

V. INDIAN NAMES GIVEN.

VI. CHRISTMAS ON THE RESERVE.

VII. MISSION WORK AT SARNIA.

VIII. THE BISHOP'S VISIT.

IX. FIRST VISIT TO GARDEN RIVER.

X. BAPTISM OF PAGAN INDIANS.

XI. THE RED RIVER EXPEDITION.

XII. CHANGES IN PROSPECT.

XIII. ROUGHING IT.

XIV. CHIEF LITTLE PINE.

XV. OUR FIRST WINTER IN ALGOMA.

XVI. CHIEF BUHKWUJJENENE'S MISSION.

XVII. AN INDIAN CHIEF IN ENGLAND.

XVIII. A TRIAL OF FAITH.

XIX. LEARNING TO KNOW MY PEOPLE.

XX. A WEDDING AND A DEATH.

XXI. THE OPENING OF THE FIRST SHINGWAUK HOME.

XXII. FIRE! FIRE!

XXIII. AFTER THE FIRE.

XXIV. PROSPECTS OF RE-BUILDING.

XXV. LAYING THE FOUNDATION STONE.

XXVI. A TRIP TO BATCHENWAUNING.

XXVII. THE WINTER OF 1874-5.

XXVIII. THE NEW SHINGWAUK HOME.

XXIX. RUNAWAY BOYS.

XXX. CHARLIE AND BEN.

XXXI. A TRIP UP LAKE SUPERIOR.

XXXII. COASTING AND CAMPING.

XXXIII. UP THE NEEPIGON RIVER.

XXXIV. THIRTY YEARS WAITING FOR A MISSIONARY.

XXXV. THE PAGAN BOY--NINGWINNENA.

XXXVI. BAPTIZED--BURIED.

XXXVII. THE WAWANOSH HOME.

XXXVIII. A SAD WINTER.

XXXIX. WILLIAM SAHGUCHEWAY.

XL. OUR INDIAN HOMES.

XLI. A POW-WOW AT GARDEN RIVER.

XLII. GLAD TIDINGS FROM NEEPIGON.




PREFACE.


A few words addressed by the Bishop of Algoma to the Provincial Synod
may form a suitable preface to this little book, which aspires to no
literary pretensions, but is just a simple and unvarnished narrative of
Missionary experience among the Red Indians of Lake Superior, in the
Algoma Diocese.

"The invaluable Institutions at Sault Ste. Marie still continue their
blessed work of educating and Christianizing the rising generation of
Ojebways. Founded in a spirit of faith, hope, and charity,--carrying
out a sound system of education, and in the past 'approved of God' by
many signs and tokens, the friends of these two 'Homes' may still rally
round them with unshaken confidence. Their history, like that of the
Christian Church itself, has been marked by not a few fluctuations, but
their record has been one of permanent and undoubted usefulness.

"Only a person deeply interested and directly engaged in the work, as
the Rev. E. F. Wilson is, can understand the force of the difficulties
to be encountered from the ineradicable scepticism of Indian parents as
to the disinterestedness of our intentions with regard to their
children; the tendency of the children to rebel against the necessary
restraints imposed on their liberty; the reluctance of parents to leave
their children in the 'Home' for a period sufficiently long for the
formation of permanent habits of industry, and fixed principles of
right; the constitutional unhealthiness of Indian children,
terminating, as it has here in a few cases, in death; the all but
impossibility of obtaining helpers for subordinate positions, such as
teacher or servant, who regard the question of the evangelization of
the Indian from any higher stand-point than the financial.

"Against this formidable array of obstacles Mr. Wilson has not only
struggled, but struggled successfully, till now these two Institutions,
over which he has watched with all the jealous vigilance of a mother
watching her first-born child, stand on a basis of acknowledged
success, as two centres for the diffusion of Gospel light and blessing
among the children of a people who have been long 'sitting in darkness,
and the shadow of death.' During the past year sundry improvements have
been made in the Shingwauk Home, which will largely increase the
comfort of the occupants. The most notable event, however, to be
recorded in this connection is the completion and consecration of the
'Bishop Fauquier Memorial Chapel,' a beautiful and truly ecclesiastical
structure, designed, in even its minutest details, by Mr. Wilson, and
erected by means of funds sent mainly from England, in response to his
earnest appeals for some enduring and useful memorial of the life and
labours of the late revered Bishop of this diocese. Long may it stand,
as a hallowed centre for the diffusion of Gospel light among hundreds
yet unborn, of the Indian tribes he loved so well."




MISSIONARY WORK AMONG THE

OJEBWAY INDIANS.




INTRODUCTORY.


The largest freshwater lake in the world is Lake Superior, through the
centre of which runs the boundary line between the United States of
America and the Dominion of Canada. The Indians call it the "Ojebway
Kecheguramee," that is--literally translated--the Great water of the
Ojebways, or as they are often called the Chippeways.

The Ojebways are an extensive Indian tribe spreading over a large part
of Canada, the Northern States, and the North West; specimens of their
language and customs appear in Longfellow's song of Hiawatha. Lake
Superior may be regarded as the centre of their ancient possessions.
Along its northern shores, and back into the interior they still roam
in wild freedom, hunting, and fishing, and paddling their birch-bark
canoes;--but in more civilized places, they are confined to reserved
lands set apart for them by the Dominion Government, and many of them
now gain their living by farming or by working for the neighbouring
white people.

The Ojebway Indians are now just in that transition stage in which
they particularly require a helping hand to lift them up to a
respectable position in life, and to afford them the means of gaining
their livelihood as a civilised Christian people. As one of their own
Chiefs has said, "the time is passed for my people to live by hunting
and fishing as our forefathers used to do; if we are to continue to
exist at all we must learn to gain our living in the same way as the
white people."

It is with the view of making the wants of these poor people known,
and of increasing the interest in a work which amid many difficulties,
has for the past ten years been carried on among them, that these pages
are written. The writer will tell what have been his experiences with
the Indians since he first came to settle among them as a Missionary,
and will describe how God in His providence gradually opened the way
for him, how dangers were met, and difficulties overcome, and how in
the end two Institutions for the Christian training and civilization of
Indian children were brought into existence; the one called the
_Shinywauk Home_, with accommodation for about seventy Indian
boys, and the other called the _Wavanosh Home_ with room for about
thirty Indian girls,--both of them built, and now in active operation,
at Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, at the south-eastern extremity of Lake
Superior.




CHAPTER I.

HOW IT CAME ABOUT THAT I WENT TO CANADA.


All things are wonderfully ordered for us by God. Such has been my
experience for a long time past. If only we will wait and watch, the
way will open for us.

Where shall I begin with my history as a Missionary? When I was a
child, it was my mother's hope and wish that I should bear the glad
tidings of the Gospel to distant lands. She was a Missionary in heart
herself, and it was her earnest desire that one of her boys would grow
up to devote himself to that most blessed work.

However there seemed little likelihood of her wishes being fulfilled.
I disliked the idea of going to Oxford as my brothers had done. A wild
free life away from the restraints of civilization was my idea of
happiness, and after studying agriculture for a year or two in England,
I bade farewell to my native shores and started for Canada.

Then God took me in hand. I had been only three days in the country
when He put it into my heart to become a Missionary. The impulse came
suddenly, irresistibly. In a few days it was all settled. Farming was
given up, and I entered upon my course as a theological student. That
same summer I spent a month or six weeks on an Indian Reserve, and
became, as people would say, infatuated with the Indians. For this and
other reasons, I preferred remaining in Canada that I might study for
the ministry, to returning to England; and whenever opportunity
allowed, I paid a visit to some Indian Reserve, or went on an exploring
tour up the great lakes.

After rather more than two years' preparation, I returned to England,
and in December, 1867, was ordained deacon at the Chapel Royal, by the
Bishop of London, Dr. Tait, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury.

Shortly after this, it was arranged that I should go out again to
Canada as a Missionary to the Ojebway Indians, under the auspices of
the Church Missionary Society, the Rev. Henry Venn being then Hon.
Secretary, and on July 1, 1868, accompanied by my wife and an old
faithful servant named Jane, we started for Canada.

My wife, accustomed to the refinement and comforts of a beautiful old
rectory home in Gloucestershire, knew not whither she was going--she
had never been out of England before, and all was new and strange to
her. Indeed, I for my part was going out also, "not knowing whither I
went." Whether our lot would be cast in one of the older and more
civilised dioceses of Canada, or whether we should find a home on the
very outskirts of civilization, I knew not. My instructions from the
Church Missionary Society Committee, were simply to go first to London,
Ont., where the late Bishop of Huron (Dr. Cronyn) then lived, and from
thence to travel around and select what might seem to be the best spot
to make the centre for a new mission. We had thought of Cape Croker on
the Georgian Bay, and we had thought of Michipicoten, on Lake Superior,--
but nothing could be settled until after our arrival in Canada, and as
for my wife she was content to go with me wherever I went.

We had a splendid view of icebergs on the eighth day of our voyage. It
was a clear, keen morning reminding one of Christmas time, the sailors
were washing the decks and all looked merry and bright, and around on
all sides were icebergs of every size and shape, some looking like
great sea monsters bobbing up and down on the water, others as if a
large extent of Dover Cliff were floating past. Twenty-seven we counted
at one time, and during the morning fully 150 must have passed us.
"Ah," said an old sailor, "if one of them had touched us, this ship
wouldn't be here." Then came the excitement of whales, spouting in the
deep, and at 10 a.m., on July 10th, the rocky coast of Belle Isle was
in sight.

When we landed at Quebec, the heat was intense, the glass standing at 99
deg. in the shade. My wife's first experiences of Canada are described in
a letter home, dated from London, Ont., July 22nd, '68. "At 4 p.m. we
left Quebec and started by boat for Montreal. The boats for the lakes and
river are simply splendid,--such large handsome saloons and everything
very nice, except that we had only one small towel between us and very
little water. After leaving Montreal we had to go through a succession of
locks which was slow work and made us feel the heat very much. On
Wednesday it was a little cooler, and we were able to enjoy the most
lovely scenery I had ever beheld, 'the thousand isles,'--that alone is
quite worth coming out for. From Hamilton we took train to London. No one
can remember such a summer before, for the last three weeks the glass has
been standing at between 103 deg. and 99 deg. except in the evening, when
we think it cold if it goes down to 80 deg. The boarding-house we are in
is cool and clean and quite English-like about a mile from the so-called
town."

Almost immediately after settling in at our London boarding-house I
started on my first Missionary tour, the object being to choose a spot
suitable for the centre of our Mission.




CHAPTER II.

FIRST MISSIONARY EXPERIENCES.


My first service among the Indians was held in a little log-house on
the Indian Reserve, at Sarnia (south of Lake Huron), on Sunday, July
26th. Twenty-two Indians of the Ojebway tribe were present. They all
seemed most anxious to have a Church of England Mission established in
their midst, as many of them, inclusive of their venerable old chief,
Wawanosh, were already members of the Church, and had been from time to
time visited by a Missionary. I promised to visit them again on my
return from other Indian settlements and see what could be done.

The following day, Monday, I took train to Toronto, and thence to
Collingwood, from which place I intended to branch off to Owen Sound
and visit the Cape Croker and Saugeen Indians. I had with me as
interpreter a young Indian named Andrew Jacobs, his Indian name being
Wagimah-wishkung, and for short I called him Wagimah. At Owen Sound we
met with some Cape Croker Indians, and engaged their boat and two men
to take us the following day to their settlement, about forty miles up
the Lake Shore.

Soon after four the next morning we were up and dressed, and an hour
later were on our way. It was fine, but rather foggy, and the sun
scarcely visible through the mist. Not a breath of wind was stirring,
so we had to keep to our oars, sometimes one and sometimes another
rowing. At noon we reached Commodore Point, and put in for about an
hour, spending our time in eating raspberries, which were growing in
the greatest profusion, and bathing in the bay. Then on we pushed
again, past Griffith's Island, White Cloud Island, and King's Point,
and arrived at length, after a voyage of eight hours, at Cape Croker.
We found that there were about 350 Ojebway Indians in the place, the
majority of whom were Roman Catholics or Methodists: they had good
houses, some log, but mostly neat little frame weather-boarded
buildings; the land, however, was much neglected, very little attempt
being made at farming. A Church of England service was conducted on
Sundays by an Indian Catechist named Angus. The Chief's name was
Tabegwun. On the day after our arrival I held a meeting with the
Indians, and explained to them my object in coming to visit them, and
began by reading the Scriptures, and preaching to them, and baptizing
one or two children. They gave me the names of twenty-six persons who
professed to belong to the Church of England, and were desirous of
having a Mission established among them. During our stay we were guests
at Mr. Angus's house, a clean, respectable dwelling, and were regaled
with venison and huckleberry pie.

The next Indian Reserve that we visited was Saugeen. To reach this
place we had to return by boat to Owen Sound, and then go across
country in a westerly direction to the shores of Lake Huron. The
journey was accomplished by "buggy." We started at 4 a.m. on the
morning of July 31st, and stopped to have our breakfast on the roadside
about 7 o'clock, sitting one at each end of a log facing each other,
our plates and cups in front of us. We reached the Indian village at
8.30 a.m., and went to the house of the chief whose name was Madwayosh.
Only his wife was at home, but we learnt all that we wanted from her.
There were about 250 Ojebway Indians on this Reserve, and nearly all
Methodists. They had a resident Methodist Missionary and a place of
worship in course of erection. I at once came to the conclusion that it
would be unsuitable for us to attempt any Mission work in this place;
and when we bade adieu to Mrs. Madwayosh we drove on to the Sauble
Reserve, five miles further. A most dreadful road it was the whole way.
We had both to get down and lead the horse more than half the distance,
and then our traps were in the most imminent danger of jumping out as
the buggy went jolting and rolling on over huge boulders and logs and
stumps. It took us over two hours to reach the place, and when we got
there, rain was coming down in torrents. We inquired for Waubesee's
house, he being a member of the Church, and after some trouble we at
length found it, but it lay back at a distance from the road, with only
a trail leading to it, so we had to take the horse out of the buggy and
lead him after us. The little house, made entirely of bark, stood in
the most picturesque spot, surrounded by lofty pines. Near the house
was a calf shed, into which we tried to squeeze our horse, but he would
not go, so we had to take him to a stable about a mile off.

Waubesee and his family received us very warmly. They said there used
to be a great many Church people among them, but no missionary had been
to see them for many years, and now all who had belonged to the Church
were either gone away into the States, or had joined the Methodists.
Waubesee, his wife, children, and grandchildren, numbered eighteen in
all, and he said that the whole number of Indians on the Reserve was
about 250. He seemed to be an intelligent man, and got out his Ojebway
prayer-book and Testament to show us. Before we left, the family and a
few others were called together, and we had reading and prayer, and I
gave them a short address, Wagimah acting as my interpreter.

We now had to drive to Southampton, a distance of eight miles, and it
was 6.30 p.m. when we reached it. My interpreter left me here to return
to his home by the way we had come, and I took steamboat to Goderich,
and from thence by train to London, where I rejoined my wife.

My next trip was to Brantford, and my wife accompanied me. We started
on the 5th of August, and on our arrival there, were hospitably
entertained at the Rev. Mr. Nelles' house. From there I went to visit
the Indians on the New Credit Reserve, a considerable distance off. I
called on Chief Sawyer, a tall, fine man, with a sensible-looking face.
He said there were about 300 Ojebway Indians on the Reserve, and that
many of them were most desirous of having a Church of England teacher.

The result of all these visits was, that after much earnest prayer for
Divine guidance, we finally decided upon making Sarnia our
headquarters, and on the 8th of August I paid a second visit to the
Indians there, and told them that I had decided to come and live
amongst them. We expected there would be a little difficulty at first,
as the Methodists were already in the field, and might oppose our
coming; but as the Chief and quite a large number of the people were
already professed members of the Church, having been frequently visited
by the Rev. Mr. Chase, the native minister at Muncy Town, it seemed
only fair that their oft-repeated petition to the Bishop of Huron
should be attended to, and that a Church of England Mission should be
established among them. On the 11th of August a Council was held, at
which some fifty Indians attended. They sat about indiscriminately on
benches, some smoking their pipes, others chewing tobacco. In a few
plain words I told them, how it was my own earnest desire to devote
myself as a Missionary to the Indians, and how I had been sent by a
great Society in England to search out and teach the Ojebway Indians of
the western part of Canada. I had already, I said, visited the Indians
of Cape Croker, Saugeen, Sauble, and the Grand River, and had now made
up my mind to make Sarnia my head-quarters, and to build a church in
their midst. We would not, I said, put up a large expensive one,--we
would begin with a small rough one, and see how we got on,--an Indian
had already promised us land, and now I wanted all Indians whose hearts
were in the work to lend us a helping hand and aid in erecting the
church; it should be a small log building, and cost not more than 200
dollars. Mr. Chase was also present, and spoke very nicely after I had
finished. After the council was over I proposed to Mr. Chase and a few
other Indians that we should kneel down and ask God's blessing, and so
we knelt down and laid our case before God and asked Him to guide and
direct us, and to incline the hearts of the Indians to favour our
undertaking. Next morning I returned to London, and on the 15th we
moved down to Sarnia, and took up our abode temporarily at Mrs.
Walker's boarding-house.




CHAPTER III.

OUR ARRIVAL AT SARNIA.


Mrs. Walker's boarding-house was a frame, white-painted house situate
in the town of Sarnia, a little way back from the main street. The
Indian Reserve almost adjoined the town, so that a quarter of an hour's
walk would take us on to their land. In front of the town and flowing
down past the Indian Reserve is the broad river St. Clair, connecting
Lake Huron with Lake Erie, its banks on the Canadian side dotted over
with the boats and fishing nets of the Indians.

I at once invested in a horse and buggy, and also engaged Wagimah as
my interpreter. I could already read the service in Indian, but
required an interpreter's aid for conversing with the people and
preaching. Our Sunday services were held in a vacant log hut, in which
we had a little desk rigged up and some forms arranged as seats. On my
first Sunday among them I baptized two children, an infant in arms
named Jacob Gray, and a child of four or five named Thomas Winter. Both
of these boys some nine or ten years afterwards became pupils at the
Shingwauk Home.

Our great object now was to build a log church and also a Mission
house for our own use with as little delay as possible. There was a
quaint old Indian, or rather half-breed, for he was partly French, with
whom I had some conversation in regard to our proposed operations.
"Well, Mr. Leviere," I said to him one day, "what do you think the
Indians will be willing to do? Will they cut down the trees,--square
and haul the logs?" "I have been thinking about it a good deal," he
replied. "You want a church forty feet long; this will take a great
many logs, not much black ash now in the bush. I don't think, Sir, you
will find enough trees. Why not build a frame church? If you build
frame, Indians get out logs, fit the frame one day, raise building next
day, board it next day, get done quick; not cost much money, cost
perhaps $100, not much money." "Now, supposing we were to do this,
what would the Indians be willing to give? Would they work without pay?
I want the white people to see that the Indians are really in earnest;
I should like to point to our church and say, 'The Indians built this
church without pay, because it was their wish to build a house to God.'
Do you think the Indians are ready to do this? Are you ready to give a
helping hand yourself?" "Oh, indeed, Sir, yes! I mean to work, and keep
on working till it is finished; I think there are many who will do so
too, perhaps ten or fifteen altogether; we shall want no pay, only
provisions."

Our chief source of discouragement at this time was the opposition of
the Methodist party, who were considerably in the majority on the
Reserve. As Indian land is held in common by all the members of the
band, we were at one time in fear that we might be prevented from
building. A petition was sent to Government, and correspondence entered
into with the Indian Department, and in the end we were permitted to
take possession of one acre of land on the lot of a Church Indian named
Antoine Rodd. The opposition, however, was very bitter and rather
depressing, and our opponents went so far as to threaten to deprive the
old Chief, Wawanosh, of his chieftainship.

On the other hand, we had every encouragement from the conduct of our
own Indians. The opposition that they met with only seemed to make them
more determined to stand by us and assist in the establishment of the
Mission. Directly the land question was settled, three or four of them
started back in the bush with their axes, to fell the trees and hew and
square the timbers for the frame-work of the church, and I heard that
the old Chief had been to the Indian Agent's office and borrowed ten
dollars of the Annuity-money to pay a professed hewer, as none of
themselves were good hands at such work. This, I told them, was more
than I expected of them; if they would give their labour, that was all
that I asked; but no, they would not be dissuaded; they were quite
determined, they said, to raise the frame-work unaided, and they would
much rather themselves pay for any labour they might have to employ.

The "Raising" took place on the 22nd of September. About fifty Indians
were present, and all took part more or less in the work. In the
afternoon two teams arrived from the town with a large party of ladies
and gentlemen, well supplied with baskets of provisions for a feast,
which they had kindly arranged to give the Indians at the conclusion of
their work. The roughly extemporised tables looked most inviting when
all was spread out, and two or three of the Indian women were most
active and clever in getting everything ready. When the feast was over
the Indians gathered in a circle, and I expressed to them my pleasure
that we had got thus far with our work, and told them that I hoped we
should soon now, with God's blessing, have our little church open and
ready for service. Joseph Wawanosh on behalf of his father, the old
Chief, then expressed his gratitude that a Missionary had at length
come among them, and that a church was in course of erection. After
this we concluded with a short service in the Ojebway language.

It was very encouraging to me to find that our cause was being taken
up in England; a little circular had been printed and distributed, and
by the middle of October L64 had been contributed towards the erection
of our Mission buildings.

In the meantime I was holding service regularly every Sunday in the
vacant log cottage with an average attendance of from twenty to thirty
Indians, and during the week I visited a good deal among the people, my
interpreter usually accompanying me. I had prepared a little pocket
companion containing passages of Scripture, copied from the Ojebway
Testament, sentences of familiar conversation, and Indian prayers and
collects. With the help of this little book I was able to make myself
understood by the Indians, and soon became almost independent of an
interpreter. I had a plan of the Indian Reserve, and usually steered my
way through the bush with my compass, taking little notice of the rough
corduroy tracks and Indian trails which never seemed to lead to the
right place.

One of these expeditions I will briefly describe:

I wanted to find old Widow Kwakegwah's house, which lay about two
miles back through the bush in a south-easterly direction. Wagimah was
with me and, leaving the river road, we plunged back at once into the
bush without either path or track, and steered our way by my compass.
Sometimes it lay through a thick growth of young saplings, which bent
aside as we pushed our way through; sometimes over a mass of decaying
logs and upheaved roots; sometimes through long grass and swamp up to
our knees; occasionally we came to a fallen tree, which we had to
clamber over or under. Once or twice we came upon a little log hut
standing in the midst of a small clearing, sometimes empty with door
bolted, at other times showing signs of occupation. Into one of these
we entered; it was a tiny log shanty, with a patch of Indian corn and
potatoes enclosed by a snake fence. We pushed open the door, a fire was
burning on the hearth, and in a corner was a blanket enveloping
something that might be human. I told Wagimah to touch it, he did so,
and the bundle moved, part of the blanket wriggled back and a woman's
face appeared. She said she was sick, and that no one had been to visit
her. We staid and had a little conversation, and then as it was getting
late, hurried on to Widow Kwakegwah's. The old woman, who had a very
pleasant, honest-looking face, gave us quite a hearty reception. I got
her to tell me the number of her children and grandchildren, and then
taking up her Ojebway Testament read a few verses from St. John iii,
and spoke a few words which Wagimah interpreted, after which we knelt
for prayer. After this we visited Peter Gray, with his wife and family
of eight children, they lived in a small log hut, and there was no
glass in the windows. It was now five p.m. and we started on our two
miles' trudge back to Antoine Rodds' house, where I had left my buggy,
and then drove back to the town.




CHAPTER IV.

KETTLE POINT.


Besides the four hundred Indians on the Sarnia Reserve, there were
about one hundred more living at Kettle Point, thirty miles distant, on
the eastern shore of Lake Huron. I had not been long settled at Sarnia,
when, in company with my interpreter. I started on a first visit to
these people. I will describe the journey.

Taking the railway as far as Forest, we had to walk on a distance of
eight or nine miles. Neither of us knew the country, but a couple of
Indians, whom we happened to fall in with, showed us the way.

It was nearly two o'clock when we reached David Sahpah's house. We
found the Indians most hospitable; some of them were Methodists, some
still pagans, and others members of the Church. They were most desirous
of having a Church Mission established among them, as there was no
school for their children and no regular services held. Not a single
individual, man, woman, or child, could read or write. They were very
anxious to have a school-house built and a schoolmaster sent to teach
them, indeed some of them had already got out logs with the view of
building a school. The Chief's name was Ahbettuhwahnuhgund (Half a
Cloud), a fine, broad-shouldered, intelligent-looking man, but still a
pagan, although he had had several of his children baptized in the
Church. There was also a large family named Shaukeens, all of whom were
pagans, and several others. They seemed, however, to have advanced more
in their farming operations than the Sarnia Indians. The Chief had a
capital house with several rooms in it, an orchard full of apples and
cherries, and well-cultivated fields. In the evening we had service at
David Sahpah's house, and then I spoke to the Indians and proposed that
we should at once commence a fortnightly school among them, myself and
my interpreter taking it alternately. There was an empty log-house
which they said we could use, and they all seemed pleased at the
proposal, and said that they would send their children to be taught.

We had to start at 3.30 a.m. next morning to catch the early train for
Sarnia. It was a clear starlight night when we emerged from the
hospitable shelter of an Indian's log-house and started on our
pilgrimage through the bush. There was no moon, and we had some
difficulty in groping our way. Wagimah went first, and slowly and
cautiously we proceeded, carrying our wraps and satchels with us.
However, with all our care, we had soon lost our way, and found
ourselves stumbling along over a potato patch, without having the least
idea where we were. For nearly an hour we were wandering about, when at
length we came once more upon a beaten track; but whether it was the
right one or not we could not tell. However we followed it, and almost
before we were aware we found ourselves out of the bush and standing on
a broad clay road, and at length we arrived at Forest Station in good
time for the cars to Sarnia.

After this we visited Kettle Point every fortnight, and many were the
amusing incidents connected with those trips. Sometimes I drove the
whole distance in my own trap, at other times took train to Forest or
Widder, and some of the Indians would meet me with a waggon or sleigh,
as the case might be, at the Station. It was on the 9th of September
that we commenced our school in the vacant log-house. We began with A,
B, C, as no one yet knew anything. There were eleven children and five
adults present. I was amused in the evening to see a game of draughts
going on, on a log outside the Chief's house; the draught-board was a
flat part of the log with squares carved out on its surface, the black
men were squares of pumpkin rind with green side up, the white men the
same with the green side down. That night we slept at Adam Sahpah's
house.

Our sleeping places on these Kettle Point expeditions were various. One
bitterly cold night in the late autumn, I remember, passing in a little
boarded shanty used as a workshop. We were nearly perished in the morning,
and were glad to get inside David Sahpah's comfortable log-house; a huge
fire was blazing on the hearth, and the Indian women all busy, some with
their pots and frying-pans, boiling potatoes and baking cakes, others
dressing and cleaning the children. Mrs. Ahbettuhwahnuhgund gave me a
chair, and down I sat by the blazing fire and gazed with a feeling of
happy contentment into the yellow flames. The scene was certainly a novel
one. In a dark corner by the chimney sat a dirty old couple on the couch
where they had been passing the night; they were visitors from Muncey
Town, and were staying a few nights only at Kettle Point. The old woman
lighted up her pipe, and whiffed away with her eyes half shut; after
enjoying it for about twenty minutes or so, her old husband thought she
had had enough, and taking it from her put it in his own mouth and had his
whiff. When he had done, he restored it again to his wife. Underneath
another old bedstead were a couple of large dogs, which occasionally let
their voices be heard in a dispute; some of the stones on one side of the
fire-place had broken away, making a little window through which the dogs
could reach the fire, and it was amusing to see how they put their noses
and paws through the opening and warmed themselves just like human beings.
Down in another corner sat an antiquated old woman enveloped in a blanket,
and in vain endeavouring to comfort a little fat boy of about ten months
who was crying, as only children know how to cry, for his mother. Finding
that she could not content the baby, she at length got up, and taking off
her blanket, put one end of it round the baby's shoulders, tucked the ends
under its arms, and then with one sweep placed baby and blanket together
on her back, and with one or two pulls once more got the blanket wrapped
completely round her, and the little fat boy snugly ensconced between her
shoulders; then she marched off to give him an airing. The bigger children
were set to clean themselves, a tin bowl of water and a towel being given
them in turns. I was wondering whether my turn would come, when Mrs.
Ahbettuhwahnuhgund, having once more filled the bowl, addressed me with
the words, "Maund'uhpe," which in polite English would mean, "Here you
are!" "Ah, meegwach, ahpecte"--"thank you kindly"--said I, and forthwith
began my ablutions, while the children stood around me in wonderment.

One night I slept with a pig. It was a vacant room in the Chief's new
house. After our services were over and we had had supper, Mrs.
Ahbettuhwahnuhgund took a clean blanket on her shoulder and a lantern
in her hand, and calling me to follow led me to the apartment. There
was a bedstead with a mattress on it in a corner, and on two chairs in
the middle of the room lay a pig which had been killed the day before.
Early next morning, before I was fully awake, the door opened, and Mrs.
Ahbettuhwahnuhgund appeared with a knife in her hand. What could she
want at this hour in the morning? I opened one eye to see. Her back was
turned to me, and I could not distinguish what she was doing, but I
heard a slicing and cutting and wheezing. Then the good lady turned
round, and closing the eye I had opened I did not venture to look out
again till the door was shut, and Mrs. Ahbettuhwahnuhgund departed;
then I peeped out from my rug--poor piggy was minus one leg! Next time
I saw the missing limb it was steaming on the breakfast table!

I must not make this chapter longer. By-and-bye I shall tell of the
baptism of the Chief and several other of the pagan Indians of this
place. Suffice it to say now that our little school kept nicely
together, and services were held either by myself or my interpreter
every fortnight. In a little more than a year's time we had the
satisfaction of seeing both a school-church and a master's residence
erected, and a catechist placed in charge of the station.




CHAPTER V.

INDIAN NAMES GIVEN.


It is a custom with the Indians to bestow Indian names upon
missionaries and others who come to work among them, in order to make
them, as it were, one with themselves. We had not been many months
resident in Sarnia before we received an invitation from the pagan
Chief at Kettle Point, to come to a grand feast which the Indians were
preparing in our honour at that place, and to receive Indian names by
which we should be incorporated into the Ojebway tribe.

It was one of the coldest of winter days when we started, the glass very
low, a high wind, and the snow whirling through the air in blinding
clouds. We went by train to Forest, and there Ahbettuhwahnuhgund met us
with his sleigh. It was just a common box sleigh with two seats, and the
bottom filled with straw, and two horses to pull us. We were all bundled
up in rugs and blankets and wraps; the Chief, who was driving, had his
head completely smothered up in a bright blue shawl belonging to his wife,
and wrapped so many times round that he was as wide at the top of his eyes
as at his shoulders. The only one of the party who appeared careless about
the cold was an Indian named Garehees, who had come with us from Sarnia,
and he sat with his feet hanging over the side of the sleigh; however,
when we asked him how it was that he did not feel the cold, he replied
with a grin, "Moccasins no cold,--white man boot cold,--ice!--two pair
socks under moccasins me--big blanket too!" In about an hour and a half we
arrived at the Chief's house; it was the first time my wife had been to
Kettle Point, and she was very much pleased to make acquaintance with the
Indians of whom she had often heard, and who had sent her presents of
apples and cherries from their orchards. She had brought with her a few
small gifts for the children, with which they were much delighted. A
little boy named Isaac had a sugar-dog given to him; he soon had its nose
in close quarters with his mouth, and the people laughed to see it
disappearing. Indians are nearly always very much behind time in their
arrangements; they do not appear yet to understand the value of time--
whether in their councils, their daily work, their feasts, or their
attendance at church, they are generally behind the appointed hour. If a
council is called to commence at noon, three or four Indians will have
perhaps assembled at that hour; others straggle in as the day wears on;
they sit or lie about, smoking their pipes, chewing tobacco, and talking;
and it will probably be three o'clock before the council actually
commences.

The Indian feast of to-day was no exception to the rule. It was
appointed to take place at noon, but hour after hour sped by, and it
was nearly four p.m. when they at length commenced. On entering the
room where the feast was laid out, we found two seats arranged for us
at the end of the apartment beneath an ornamented canopy decked with
cedar boughs, and we were requested to sit down. Then the Chief and
Shaukeens (both pagans) stood up, and the Chief made a brief oration to
the people, which John Jacobs, a young native, then studying for the
ministry at Huron College, interpreted for us. The Chief expressed his
pleasure in receiving us among them, and his desire that we should
become as one of them by receiving Ojebway names; and then, taking me
by the hand, he continued: "The name that I have selected for you is
one which we greatly respect and hold in fond remembrance; for it was
the name of an old and respected Chief of our tribe who lived many
years ago and whose name we wish to have retained; and seeing you are a
missionary to the Ojebway Indians, it is the wish of my tribe as well
as myself that you should be called after our late respected Chief; so
your name hereafter is 'Puhgukahbun' (Clear Day-light)."

The moment my name was given, "Heugh! Heugh!" sounded from all sides,
that being the Indian mode of expressing approval when anything is said
or done.

Mrs. Wilson then rose and received her name in the same manner. The
Chief, addressing her, said: "It is with great pleasure that I bestow
also on you, the wife of the missionary, an Ojebway name. The name I am
about to give you was the name of one of our sisters who has long since
passed away from our midst, and it is our wish that her name should be
retained among us. Your name therefore is 'Nahwegeezhegooqua' (Lady of
the Sky).

"Heugh! Heugh! Heugh!" again sounded through the room, and then the
Indians one and all pressed forward to have a shake of the hand with
their new brother and sister. We almost had our hands shaken off, and
from all sides came the cry, "Boozhoo, Boozhoo, Puhgukahbun; Boozhoo,
Nahwegeezhegooqua, Boozhoo, Boozhoo!"

As soon as order was restored, the feast began. I had the seat of
honour next to the Chief, and Mrs. Wilson sat next to me. The table was
well covered with eatables--venison, cakes, pork, Indian bread,
preserves, all in the greatest abundance. About thirty persons sat down
to the first table the others waiting with true Indian patience for
their turn to come; and a long time it was coming, for as soon as the
first set had finished, an intermission was made for music and
speechifying. Several very pretty songs were sung by the Indian choir,
some in English and some in Indian.

After the feast was over and the tables cleared, I was asked to address
the people, and Wagimah interpreted for me. I told them briefly hew much
pleased I was to receive an Ojebway name, and thus become one of their
number, and how Mrs. Wilson and myself would now feel that we could
shake hands with them and regard them as our brothers and sisters. God,
I said, had greatly prospered our work since I came among them. We had
already our church completed and our Mission-house nearly so at Sarnia;
the great Society in England had contributed five hundred dollars
towards the erection of these buildings, and our friends in England
about five hundred dollars more; so that there would be no debt. As soon
as we had money enough I hoped that with their help we should be able
also to build a little church and teacher's house for them here at
Kettle Point, and send a catechist to reside among them and teach their
children. It was late in the evening when we bade good-bye and drove
back to Forest, where we remained for the night and the next morning
returned to Sarnia. On our arrival I found a letter awaiting me from the
Secretary of the Church Missionary Society, authorizing me to place a
catechist in charge of the Kettle Point Mission.




CHAPTER VI.

CHRISTMAS ON THE RESERVE.


We were anxious as soon as possible to have both church and Mission-
house built on the Sarnia Reserve, so that we might move down among the
Indians and dwell in their midst. When therefore the matter of the land
was settled, and one acre of Antoine Rodd's farm had been given over
for the use of our Mission, we began preparations for the erection of
the two buildings. For the building of the church, I wished the Indians
to give as much in the way of labour and help as possible, so as to
show their earnestness in the cause; but for the erection of the
Mission-house, we had to depend largely on contributions from our
friends in England. However, the Church Missionary Society made us a
grant of L100, and friends helped liberally, so that we had no lack of
funds, and by the time the two buildings were completed and fenced
round with a board fence, all was paid for.

We moved into our new house on the 29th of January, 1869, just six
months after our arrival in Canada. It was a nice little frame cottage,
with a large room or hall in the centre, study and bed-room on one
side, and sitting-room and bed-room on the other; and at the back,
connected by a covered passage, were the kitchen and pantry, with
servants' bed-room over. We were close to the river, and from our front
windows could see in summer-time all the shipping passing to and fro,
which made it quite lively.

We were sorry not to get into our Mission-house before Christmas, but
this was impossible. Our little church, however, was opened for service
two days after Christmas Day, and was beautifully decorated for the
occasion.

I must go back a little, and tell how it all happened. I had bought
some pews from an old Scotch church in the town which was going to be
pulled down, and one day early in December we got them carried down to
our little church building, and the Indians assisted me in putting them
up; there were ten on each side, and as they would seat five each we
had room for a congregation of just a hundred persons. On Christmas
Day, thirty-four people assembled in the log-house, which had been
beautifully decorated by the Indian women with cedar branches for the
occasion. After service I took the opportunity to say something to them
about the arrangements in the new church. Among other things I
suggested that they should sit together in families instead of the men
on one side and the women on the other, as had been their custom. The
proposal was well received and caused some amusement Shesheet said
humorously that he would consider it a great privilege to be allowed to
sit by his wife. Just as we were coming away the old Chief's wife, Mrs.
Chief as we used to call her, came running after Mrs. Wilson with a
parcel, and pushed it into her hand, saying, in her broken English,
"Christmas, Christmas!" It proved to be a prettily worked sweet-grass
basket, and the old lady giggled and laughed joyfully as Mrs. Wilson
expressed her surprise and pleasure at the present.

Two clergymen besides myself assisted in the services at the opening
of the church, which on that occasion was crammed with about a hundred
and fifty people. One of the most interesting features was just at the
close of the service, when an Indian named Buckwheat, from the
neighbouring mission of Walpole Island, came forward, and, after giving
a short address expressing the sympathy that was felt by the Walpole
Islanders for the Indians of this newly-formed Church mission,
proceeded to loosen a belt from his waist, and to take from it a little
carefully wrapped up packet, which he brought forward and presented as
the offering of his brethren towards the erection of our church and
Mission-house. It contained nine dollars.

The next day was the children's treat and Christmas tree. It was held
in the hall of the new house, although we had not yet moved in. It was
amusing to watch the faces of the children as they gazed upon the
unusual sight of a Christmas tree lighted up with tapers. Not even the
older people had ever seen one before. There were thirty-one children
present, and there was some little gift for each of them. During the
evening we taught them to scramble for nuts and candies. It was absurd
to see them, at first all standing in mute astonishment and wondering
at my ruthless waste in throwing away such excellent sweatmeats all
over the floor; however, they soon learned how to perform their part of
the game, and began scrambling for the good things as eagerly as any
English children.

The Indians, although to all appearance so grave and stoical, have a
fund of quiet wit and humour about them, and are even sometimes quite
boisterous in their merriment. Joseph Wawanosh, the Chief's eldest son,
was a particularly quiet grave-looking man, and yet there was often a
merry twinkle in his eye, and sometimes he would come out with some
funny remark in his quaint broken English. He was our churchwarden, and
had a great weakness for making up large fires in the church, to which
my wife strongly objected, and they waged a chronic war on the subject.
Joseph, when spoken to used to pretend to shiver, and say he felt
particularly cold. One day Mrs. Wilson said to him, "How soon is your
wife coming home?" "Oh, about two weeks," he replied. "Why, you will be
starved before then; you have no one to cook for you." "Ah, no, I guess
not," replied Joe; "Indian never starve in bush." "Why not?" asked Mrs.
Wilson. "Oh," said Joe, shaking his head humorously; "lots of
squirrels." Old Antoine Rodd, or Shesheet, as he was more generally
called, was a huge portly man, and was often very comical in his
remarks, his good-natured face beaming with fun. One day Mrs. Wilson
nearly slipped into a large puddle while threading her way along the
ill-kept road, "What would you have done if I had been drowned?" she
asked jokingly, as the old man helped her out of her difficulty. "Oh, I
would, have dragged it!" he said.

We, were very glad when at length we moved into our new house, and we
soon had plenty of our Indian friends to visit us. Widow Kwakegwah
brought a black and white cat as a present for my wife. She threw the
cat into the kitchen in front of her, and then followed laughing. It
was amusing to watch the cat making a survey of the whole house with
true Indian curiosity. The Indians did not generally venture beyond the
kitchen part without invitation; in that part, however, they made
themselves quite at home, and Jane was somewhat taken aback when Joe
Wawanosh told her he was going up to see her room. Mrs. Chief also went
up, and was delighted with Jane's trunks. She said she would come again
another day to see what was in them!




CHAPTER VII.

MISSION WORK AT SARNIA.


After settling in at our new home on the Sarnia Reserve, a great part
of my time was taken up in exploring through the Bush and visiting the
Indians in their houses.

We found one very piteous case of a poor woman in the last stage of
consumption. The poor creature was worn to a skeleton lying on a most
miserable looking bed with nothing to cover her but a ragged strip of
black funereal-looking cloth. Although so very ill, she was able to
answer the questions that Wagimah put to her, and when I offered to read
the Bible to her she seemed very glad. She listened most attentively
while I read in Ojebway the eighteenth chapter of St. Luke, and told her
of the love of Christ in coming to save sinners. Then we knelt, and I
offered two prayers for the sick copied into my pocket-companion from
the Indian prayer-book. We visited the poor creature several times
again, and once Mrs. Wilson accompanied me and brought with her some
blanc-mange or jelly which she had made. She was much touched at the
sight of the poor creature's utter destitution. We were amused as we
went along to see a pair of babies' boots hanging on the branch of a
tree, evidently placed there by some honest Indian who had chanced to
find them on the road. This is what the Indians generally do if they
find anything that has been lost,--they hang it up in a conspicuous
place, so that the owner may find it again if he comes by the same way.

I had been told of a poor widow who was very ill and living with her
three children in a destitute condition. Jane went with me to find her
out, and we took, a supply of medicine and food with us. After wending
our way along a narrow foot-track in the snow, which twisted about
among the tall black trees, we came in sight of what looked like a heap
of dirty boards and branches of trees piled together, but the blue
smoke curling from the top told that it was a human habitation. It was
the first time Jane had seen an Indian wigwam, and she was horrified to
think that people could live in such a hovel. We drew aside the dirty
cloth which covered the entrance and crept in. Two dogs saluted us with
snarls, but were soon quieted, and crouching along by the smoky sides
of the cabin we shook hands with the poor woman and her daughter (a
girl of about fifteen), and then gazed round for something to sit upon;--
however, there was nothing but the earthen floor, so down we sat. The
little wigwam was just wide enough for a person of ordinary height to
lie down in, and in the centre was the fire, so that it may well be
imagined that there was not much room to turn round. On one side of the
fire lay the poor woman, doubled up in a dirty blanket, for she had not
been able to straighten herself for nearly two years, and was quite
unable to sit up; another blanket was fastened up against the side of
the place to shelter her from the wind. On the other side of the fire
crouched the daughter, listening to what I said about administering the
medicines. A little boy with bright eyes and a stock of uncombed black
hair was also crouching over the fire. This was Willie, the youngest of
the family, now about five years old, and little did I think then how
much I should have to do with that boy in his after life. Sitting down
by the poor woman, I uncovered my basket and displayed my medicines,
and explained to the daughter how the mixture was to be taken twice a
day, and the liniment to be rubbed on the affected parts. Jane then
changed places with me and applied some of the liniment, and the poor
creature immediately felt some relief and began talking about it to her
daughter. These poor people seemed to be entirely dependent on the
kindness of their neighbours; it was old Shesheet who first told me
about them, and I understood that he used often to send them food or
firewood. When I visited her on another cold day in October,
accompanied by my wife, we found her coiled up in her rags moaning with
pain, and only a few dying embers to keep her warm. Little Willie was
coiled up asleep in a sheepskin. While we stood, Willie roused up out
of his nest, and came to see what was going on; his sister, however,
motioned him to go back, and, like a discontented little puppy, he made
a low sort of whine, and buried himself again, head and all, in his
sheepskin. We went back to the Mission-house and brought some tea for
the poor woman, which she drank eagerly, and we provided her also with
a candle stuck in a bottle and some firewood, but she never smiled, or
said thank you. Her feelings as well as her features seemed to have
become hardened with constant pain and suffering. However, we were
agreeably surprised one day when she presented my wife with four tiny
baskets, tastefully made, and a smile for once actually played on her
lips. Some time after she was taken into a house by some friendly
Indians, and kindly cared for, the result of which was that she became
gradually better.

Very soon after our arrival at Sarnia we had proposed to the Indian
women that they should meet together once a week for needlework and
reading, but the scheme was not carried into effect until we had
settled in our new house on the Reserve. The first meeting was held in
our hall in the summer of 1869. On the hall-table were spread out all
the articles of clothing sent to us from England, and we had on view
patterns of prints, flannels, &c., from one of the dry goods stores in
the town, the prices being affixed, and discount allowed at ten per cent.

As soon as all were assembled I explained to them that the object in
meeting together was that they might provide clothing for themselves
and their children at as cheap a rate as possible, and at the same time
might have an opportunity for friendly talk and instruction. The plan
would be for them to engage in needlework for an hour and a half,
during part of which time I would read to them a story, which, my
interpreter had translated into Indian, and after that we would have
scripture reading, singing, and prayer to close the meeting. After all
who wished to become members of the meeting had given me their names,
they were invited to inspect the patterns and select the material with
which they wished to make a beginning. We found the plan answer very
well, and soon our "Mothers' Meeting" was thoroughly established.

But it was not always that everything went on so harmoniously and
peacefully. Unhappily there was a considerable amount of whiskey-
drinking among the men, and sometimes drunken fights would occur in
close proximity to the house. A son of Antoine Rodd's was particularly
vicious when under the influence of liquor; once he frightened us all
by making a murderous attack on his father with his tomahawk and gun,
and the old man had to escape back into the Bush for his life. Another
time the wife of this same man came rushing into our house with her
infant on her breast and another daughter following,--her drunken
husband running after and threatening to kill them. We dragged them in
and shut and locked all the doors, and soon the man was pounding away
and trying to get in. The two women in great alarm locked themselves up
in the pantry and remained all night under our protection. The saddest
occurrence of all was when a man named Winter was actually killed by
his own son while in a state of intoxication. We did what we could to
try and stem the tide of drunkenness by forming a Temperance Society,
which a large number of the Indians joined; but a more effectual check
has of late years been put upon the terrible practice by the action of
the Dominion Government; it is now against law for a white man either
to give or sell liquor to an Indian on any pretence, and the penalty is
very heavy.

I must finish this chapter with an account of an Indian funeral. The
daughter of one of our Indians, named Kwakejewun, had fallen sick and
died--died, as we hoped, trusting in her Saviour. As is usual among the
Indians, a large number of people gathered together to show their
sympathy with the bereaved parents, and to follow the body to the
grave. The coffin was first brought into the church. I read the usual
service, and a hymn was sung very sweetly and plaintively. Then we
proceeded to the cemetery, nearly a mile distant. The snow was deep on
the ground and sparkling in the sunlight. I drove in my cutter and
headed the long funeral procession. A sad and picturesque sight it was;
from eighty to a hundred people in all, some in sleighs, some ploding
through the snow on foot,--aged women in their white blankets, mothers
with their children, some of them in bright scarlet shawls, boys and
girls, all in their Sunday attire. Through the silent forest we wended
our way till we came at length to the wild little cemetery with its
rude snake fence encircling it. The coffin was taken from the sleigh
and carefully lowered into the grave; then the men took off their hats
and we sang another hymn. It sounded very sweet in that wild desolate
spot, and the poor mother stood enveloped in a blanket at the head of
the open grave, and, with her eyes fixed on her daughter's coffin,
joined in the singing. Then I read the remainder of the service, and,
having shaken hands with the poor father and mother, returned home. The
mother grasped my hand warmly, and met me with a happy smile. She
believed, I think, that her child was safe with the Saviour.




CHAPTER VIII.

THE BISHOP'S VISIT.


We were now well settled into our Indian home at Sarnia and my work
was clearly defined. The Sarnia Reserve was our head-quarters. Here
there were some 400 Indians, and at Kettle Point, thirty miles away,
were about 100 more. The out-stations were to be New Credit, Saugeen,
and Cape Croker, which places together contained about 1150 Indians.
The idea was to place a catechist at each of these distant settlements,
and for me to visit them twice or three times in the year. With the
view of providing catechists suitable for the work I was authorized by
the Church Missionary Society to receive and educate some young men;
and within a few months after we had taken up our residence on the
Reserve I commenced to teach two young Indians, named Wilson Jacobs and
William Henry, with the view of their becoming catechists.

The great event of the summer was a visit we received from the Bishop
of Huron and Mrs. Cronyn. The fact that twenty-five persons were
confirmed, and that forty-five came forward afterwards to receive the
Holy Communion, will show that our work among these poor Indians had
already made some progress. Among the candidates for confirmation was
poor old Quasind, who came up bare-footed, a great-grandfather, and, I
suppose, about ninety years of age. In the evening our own child,
Archibald Edward, was christened during the time of Divine service by
the Bishop.

The following day we had appointed to have a gathering of Indians, a
sort of social party, to meet the Bishop. When morning broke, however,
rain was pouring in torrents, and a picnic on the grass became
altogether out of the question. So, after early dinner, our hall was
cleared, and the business of cutting up bread-and-butter and cake and
preparing the tea began. Two or three Indian women had made their
appearance, and were soon hard at work with merry faces and busy hands.
About 6 p.m. the Indians began to arrive, and by half-past seven sixty
had collected. Tea being ready, we called in as many as we could pack
into our hall; others sat in the passage or on cordwood piles outside;
then each had a cup and saucer given him, and baskets full of bread-and-
butter, buns, and cake, and tea were carried round, and all ate their
fill.

The hall table was covered with books, illustrated magazines, maps,
&c., and as soon as the Indians had finished tea they took up these and
amused themselves with the pictures. There was a draught-board also,
which engrossed the attention of some of the young men, many of them
being very clever in playing the game. An old Indian, generally known
as "the Doctor," caused great merriment by singing one or two old
Indian songs in that peculiar tone of voice which only an Indian can
command. The great event of the evening was the conferring of an Indian
name on our little boy, only a few months old. The task was delegated
to old Shesheet. The old man came forward with his usual radiant face,
and after a few prefatory remarks, expressing his great pleasure in
meeting the Bishop and Mrs. Cronyn, he took "the pale-faced babe" into
his arms and conferred upon it the name of "Tecumseh," a great warrior
who many years ago fell in battle fighting under the British flag.
After I had thanked the Indians for making my little boy one of
themselves, the Bishop rose and gave a very nice address, which Wagimah
interpreted. He told them how anxious he had been to see these, his
Indian brothers and sisters, ever since he had heard of their becoming
members of the Church of their great mother the Queen. He was very
pleased indeed to see them, and so was his "squaw," who had come with
him, and he wished them every prosperity and happiness and the blessing
of God on the Mission. Before parting we sang a hymn, and then closed
with prayer and the blessing. The Bishop and Mrs. Cronyn stood up at
the end of the hall and shook hands with the Indians one by one as they
passed out.

In accordance with the instructions I had received from the C.M.S., I
made arrangements as soon as practicable for placing a catechist in
charge of the Kettle Point Mission, and about this time gave up
employing an interpreter, as his services would be no longer needed,
and I had now a good stock of sermons written in Indian which I could
use at my Sunday services. Before long, John Jacobs, the young native
student already mentioned, and who, after satisfactorily passing his
course at the Theological College, was ordained in July 1869, took up
his abode at Kettle Point as my assistant Missionary. Besides preaching
on the Sunday, he taught school during the week, so that his time was
well occupied.

It was just about this time that I had a severe attack of fever, which
for the time quite prostrated me, and my medical adviser ordered me to
go away for a few weeks' rest and change of air. So Mr. Jacobs came to
take my place at Sarnia and with two of his sisters occupied the
Mission-house during our absence. After spending a week with friends in
Toronto, we thought we would explore a more northern region, and visit
Mr. Chance's Mission at Garden River, which we had often beard of, so
we took train to Collingwood, and were soon on our way up the lakes in
the beautiful steamboat _Chicora_.

Thus was God gradually opening the way for us, and preparing for us a
larger and more important sphere of work.

It was on this visit to Garden River that I first felt drawn in spirit
towards the Indians of the Lake Superior region, that there first
entered into my mind the idea of an institution for training the young
Indians, and that I first made the acquaintance of the old Indian
chief, Augustin Shingwauk.




CHAPTER IX.

FIRST VISIT TO GARDEN RIVER.


We met with a hearty welcome from Mr. and Mrs. Chance, though we had
never seen them before. Their church and Mission-house and little log
school-house were picturesquely situated on rising ground quite close
to the river. The Mission-house, which occupied the centre of the three
buildings, was constructed of logs clapboarded over and whitewashed. It
had a verandah in front, over the trellis work of which hops grew in
profusion, and clambered upwards to the roof. In front of the house was
a neat little garden, with two or three fir-trees, some lilac bushes,
and well-filled flower-beds. There was quite a profusion of roses,
which, even at this late season of the year, scented the air
deliciously. Outside the garden fence with its green gate, was a field
of Indian corn which sloped down almost to the water's edge. The view
from the steps of the verandah was very pretty; one could see the broad
deep St Maria River, nearly a mile wide, and long lines of sailing
vessels towed by small tugs, occasionally passing and repassing on
their way from the upper to the lower lakes. Across the river were the
well-wooded hills of Sugar Island, with here and there a settler's
shanty and clearing. To the left hand could still be seen the broad
river winding its course down toward Lake George, the smaller stream,
called Garden River, joining it a short distance below. Then behind,
the scene was equally, if not more grand--high rocky hills scantily
clad with fir and birch-trees. We felt that we were now indeed in the
land of the Indian, far away from civilization; no railways, no
telegraphs, no omnibuses or street cars, no hotels or shops for many
hundred miles.

There was something very attractive and fascinating about this first
visit to the wilds of Algoma. We were entertained royally. Peaches,
cream, and preserved fruits were among the dainties which covered the
table. Where all the good things came from was a matter of wonder to us.
The meat, however, consisting of a hind quarter of mutton, had, we
found, come with us on the boat, and it just lasted out our four days'
visit. We were told extraordinary stories about the difficulty of
procuring the necessaries of life, and the manner of overcoming
difficulties. Until quite lately the steamboats in their passage up the
lakes had never deigned to stop at Garden River; now, however, through
Mr. Chance's exertions, a dock had been made and a Post-office erected;
and about once in ten days a steam vessel would stop to leave or receive
the mails. Mr. and Mrs. Chance were Postmaster and Post-mistress, and we
had many a joke with them on the subject. Their fresh meat was always
procured from the steamboats. Before this new arrangement was made, the
steward on the boat used to tie the meat to a log of wood, and haul it
overboard opposite the Mission-house, and Mr. Chance had to go out in
his boat to pick it up. They had a capital large sail boat, with two
sails, called _The Missionary_. It had lately been presented to the
Mission by the Cathedral Sunday School, Toronto. It was very interesting
to meet with the Indians of this locality. Many of them were tall, fine-
looking men; notably so Augustin Shingwauk and Buhkwujjenene, both of
them Chiefs, and very intelligent-looking men. Augustin was at this time
about 60 years of age, and his brother Buhkwujjenene eight or ten years
his junior. They could trace their ancestry back for four generations.
Their father's name was Shingwaukoons (Little Pine), and he appears,
from all accounts, to have been a very intelligent Chief. The father of
Shingwaukoons was partly French, but his mother, Ogemahqua (Queen), was
pure Indian, and daughter of a Chief named Shingahbawuhsin, and this
Chief again was son of a Chief named Tuhgwahna, all of them residents of
the Sault Ste. Marie district.

The Indians of Garden River were not nearly so far advanced in
civilization as those of Sarnia; very little was done in the way of
cultivating the soil, and very few of them could speak any English.
They, however, seemed to evince great interest in religion, the
services were well attended, the responses in the Indian tongue well
made, and the singing hearty.

I must relate one sad incident that occurred during our short visit.
It was a beautiful Sunday towards the end of September; we had had
service in the white frame church, and very attentive and orderly had
the congregation been while Mr. Chance read the service and interpreted
my preaching. I had been speaking on the subject of "Eternal Life"--
"This is life eternal, that they might know Thee, the only True God,
and Jesus Christ whom Thou hast sent." Very wrapt was the attention as
I endeavoured to unfold before my simple hearers the great and wondrous
subject of eternal life. Had they--sitting there before me--anything to
do with this eternal life? Perhaps their thoughts day by day were on
the things of this world--their fishing, their hunting, their basket-
making, or planting or digging potatoes. Did they ever think that they
had souls to be saved; that before another Sunday came round these
things which now took up their time and thoughts might have passed away
for ever, and they themselves have entered upon the eternal state? If
they were true Christians, they would then be meeting with God,
beholding Him face to face; they would be with the holy angels, with
Jesus. But if not prepared, where would they be? A great gulf would be
between them and heaven--a great impassable gulf; they would be with
the lost! Before another Sunday came round this great and wonderful
change might take place. Were they prepared?

Among my hearers were two women; one on the left hand side of the
church was a newly-married young woman wearing a scarlet shawl and a
hat with flowers. She could not have been more than twenty. The other,
who was her mother, sat on the opposite side; an old woman--a widow--
wrapped in a black shawl. The husband of the young woman was in the
gallery overhead.

Service was over, and we had wended our way back to the parsonage,
followed by several Indians, men and women with their babes, who had
come to shake hands or to ask for "muskeke" (medicine). All at once we
heard a shout from the garden, and a girl came rushing up, crying:
"Quick! help! there are people drowning." We all ran off with great
haste to the shore, the Indian women wailing in their own peculiar way,
some burying their heads in their shawls and sobbing with grief. Quite
a little fleet of boats and canoes were already off to the rescue; six
or seven in all. We could not at first make out where was the scene of
the disaster, but soon it became only too apparent. There, far out in
the very centre of the broad river, being carried away by the current,
were four or five specks, the heads of people struggling to save
themselves. The boats were still a long distance from them, and
breathlessly we watched as they made their way onward. Two, three of
the specks had disappeared; only two were now visible. "How many were
in the boat?" was anxiously asked. "Oh, there must have been eight or
nine;" and only two now above water. It was sickening to think of. The
wailing cries of the women on the shore increased each moment, and
great was the suspense as the foremost boat drew with all speed towards
the poor drowning creatures. I waited to see the two who were afloat
pulled into the boats, and then hurried up to the house to see if all
needful preparations had been made. Mrs. Chance had got everything
ready; a good bright fire, blankets, and brandy. When I went back to
the shore, the poor half-drowned creatures had just landed. Shaking and
shivering they were lifted out of the boat and supported up to the
house. Four had been saved: two men--and two women. One was still
missing, the young wife who had worn the hat and flowers! The children
who were supposed to have gone, it was found on inquiry had been
providentially left behind. As soon as we could get the poor creatures
up to the house, we set to work to revive them.

One of the men, the husband of her who had not yet been found, was on
the point of giving in when the boat reached him, and in a moment more
would probably have sunk. He was perfectly cold when we brought him in,
and being in a consumptive state at the time of his immersion, we much
feared that he would not survive the shock. The poor old woman's heart
seemed almost broken at the loss of her daughter, and she sat wailing
in the kitchen the whole afternoon. The house was of course crowded
with Indians who came in to help or sympathize. From those who went to
the rescue we learned that the poor woman who was drowned had her hand
above the water when the boat came up, but she sank before the people
could seize it. Her hat was afterwards found about two miles below the
place where she sank. In the evening the poor old woman described how
the accident had happened. She said the boat was small and rather too
heavily-laden. Just as they got to the middle of the river, a breeze
sprang up, and the waves began coming over the side. One of the men
jumped into the water to lighten it, but it was of no use. The boat
filled, and in a few moments they were all struggling in the water. The
poor old creature described how she sank to a great depth, and then
rose again; how she prayed to Kezha-Musnedoo (the Good Spirit) to save
her; how she sank again; and then, while under the water, saw the dark
shadow of the boat coming over her; how again she rose to the surface
and was saved.

We met again for service in the evening, and Mr. Chance preached very
solemnly to a large congregation from the words, "Prepare to meet thy
God."

A day or two after this we left the Garden River Mission and returned
to Sarnia.




CHAPTER X.

BAPTISM OF PAGANS.


There were not many genuine Pagans either at Sarnia or at Kettle
Point. Pagan practices had fallen altogether into disuse. There were
some Indians living who had been "medicine men," but we never heard
that they practised their charms. Still there were several families who
held aloof from Christianity. When spoken to about being baptized,
their reply was that they thought the Christian Indians behaved worse
than the Pagan Indians, and they were afraid that if they were baptized
they would become as bad. It was sad that such a thing could be said,
and sadder still that there should be any truth about it. Of course the
mere fact of the Indians being brought into contact with white people
would lead them into temptations from which, in their wild wandering
state, they had been comparatively free. It has been said even by white
travellers that they have found the pagan Indiana of the North more
honest and trustworthy than those in a semi-civilized and nominally
Christian state. The Indian when he mixes with the Whites soon learns
their bad habits, but is more slow to learn what is holy and good.

There were several families at Kettle Point who at the time when we
established our Mission were still nominally Pagan. Chief among them
were Ahbettuhwahnuhgund and his sister, and Shaukeens, with his wife
and family. Ahbettuhwahnuhgund's wife had been baptized, and so also
had his two eldest children. One of the first religious rites that I
was asked to perform when I began to visit Kettle Point was to receive
into the Christian fold the Chief's little boy and aged sister; and at
the same time the wife of Shaukeens, who had had several rather
dangerous attacks of illness, was baptized. We called the little boy
Cornelius, and Mrs. Shaukeens received the name of Tabitha.

It was strange how superstitious the Indians continued to be even
after their acceptance of Christianity. They seemed never to lose
altogether their faith in witchcraft, especially in that form by which
it was believed that certain persons had power to cause sickness or
misfortune to others. They seemed also to have a firm belief in dreams.
Once I was visiting at a poor miserable little shanty on the Sarnia
Reserve, and found an old man and his son both lying very sick. The
poor creatures were in a wretched condition, the hovel they were in
consisting merely of strips of bark and old boards outside and inside
hung with rags and tatters and old cloths of every description. The
only person to tend them was an old woman--wife, I suppose, of the
elder man--who was crouching over the fire smoking her pipe. When we
came in, the sick man was gnawing a duck bone, some one having shot him
a wild duck. He said it was the first time he had eaten anything for
several days; his son was too ill to eat anything. The old man told
Wagimah that he had seen me before, a night or two ago in a dream. I
had made a garden, and divided it into four parts, and one of these
parts was very miserable and wretched. I was walking through this
miserable part one day, when I found this poor man. He was very sick
indeed, and I took him up and brought him into another part of the
garden which was very beautiful, and told him that he might stay there
and work, and be happy for ever. Such was his dream. I repeated some
verses of Scripture to the poor creature, and then we knelt and prayed.
I heard afterwards that the people around believed the old man to be
bewitched; some evilly-disposed "medicine man," they said, had brought
this sickness upon him by his enchantments.

It was a very interesting occasion, when the whole of Shaukeens'
family, consisting of seven children, were brought to me for baptism.

At 2 p.m. the horn was blown, and the people began to come together to
our little temporary school-house. About twenty-eight assembled, and we
began service with a hymn; then I read the evening prayers from my
Ojebway prayer-book, and at the close of the lesson began the baptismal
service. David Sahpah, his wife, and Adam stood sponsors for the
children. The names given to them were Stephen, Emma, Sutton, Esther,
Alice, Talfourd, and Wesley. Before their baptism, they had no names,
and I had to register them in my book as No. 1 boy, No. 2 girl, and so
on. It was curious to notice how Pagans attending our services never
made any change in their position as the service proceeded. This time
the mother, who had been baptized about two months before, kneeled, or
stood, or sat with the other people; but the father and children sat
quietly on their seats. After the service the children joined in the
devotions, and the father only remained sitting.

The Chief Ahbettuhwahnuhgund for a long time refused to be baptized,
although I very often had conversations with him on the subject, and I
felt that in his heart he fully believed the great truths of
Christianity. It was partly, perhaps, pride that kept him back, and
partly that he was waiting, as he said, to see the Church of England
Mission firmly established at Kettle Point.

In the first week of January, 1870, our new school-church and master's
house at Kettle Point were opened for use. Very pretty they looked as
we approached; three flags were flying, and there were crowds of
Indians around. Mr. Jacobs, who was now settled in charge of the
Mission, met us on the steps of the little church, and accompanied us
in. It was most tastefully decorated, and fitted up with a reading-desk
on each side, dark-stained communion rails, and crimson coverings.
Forty-five persons assembled at the opening service, and just filled
the seats. It was a cause of much satisfaction to the Indians to have
their little church, which they had worked so hard to build; at length
completed. They had themselves supplied all the saw-logs out of which
the lumber was made, and had put up the framework, so that it had been
but a very small expense to the Mission.

Shortly after this I received word from the Chief that he was anxious
to be baptized. His answer to my questions were very simple and
childlike, and I had every reason to hope that he was sincere in his
desire to be a Christian. "Many of these things that you tell me," he
said, "are new to me. I hear them now for the first time; nevertheless,
I believe them. I believe all that the Christian's book teaches; I
cannot but believe it. No man could have written that book. I receive
it all as true, and I trust that I may gradually learn all that there
is to be learnt about the Christian religion."

I gave him the name of Isaac, that being a name by which he had been
commonly known among the white people for some time past. It was very
interesting to kneel with that newly-baptized Indian Chief, and hear
him for the first time pronounce those sacred words, "Wayoosemegooyun
Kezhegoong ayahyun"--"Thou who art our Father, in heaven who art." The
Chief, his wife, his sister, and his children were all now Christians,
and could unite together in prayer and praise and Christian worship.




CHAPTER XI.

THE RED RIVER EXPEDITION.


The year 1870 was memorable in Europe for the great war between France
and Germany, followed by the loss of the Pope's temporal power, and the
establishment of secular government in Rome. Here in Canada the
excitement of the day was the Red River rebellion, to quell which a
military expedition was despatched under the command of General (then
Colonel) Wolseley. I had arranged to make a Missionary tour to Lake
Superior during the summer, and it so happened that I fell in with the
troops on their way up the lake and did service for them as chaplain
while they were encamped at Thunder Bay.

It was a busy scene in the dock at Collingwood just prior to starting.
There were about a hundred Iroquois Indians who had been engaged as
guides and boatmen, and these were to precede the expedition and
arrange for the portaging and crossing the rivers before the arrival of
the troops. The steamship _Chicora_ was moored to the dock, the
whole vessel from stem to stern being heavily laded down, and there was
considerable delay before we started, but at length the ropes were let
go, the planks drawn in, and we were off. This was the _Chicora's_
first trip of the season, and large crowds gathered about the docks at
the various places where we stopped on our way up the lakes, the
general expectation evidently being that the troops would be on board.
The disappointment was great when it was found that we had only an
advanced guard of Indian Voyageurs with us. One old lady, accosting one
of the passengers, in her enthusiasm exclaimed, "Have ye got the army
on board?" Above Manitoulin Island the channel becomes very narrow and
is sprinkled with little rocky islets clad scantily with fir and birch
trees. On one was living an old grey haired man in charge of a
lighthouse; he had been there the whole winter shut in by ice and snow,
and was so full of delight at witnessing "the first boat of the season"
that he saluted us by firing his gun, to which we responded by a
grunting whistle. At last we reached Garden River, and stepping on
shore, I was soon exchanging hearty greetings with Mr. and Mrs. Chance.
The _Chicora_ was detained four hours at this place, as all the
boats for the expedition were to be taken off before they proceeded
further and to be rowed by the Indians to Sault Ste. Marie, a distance
of twelve miles. It was necessary to do this because the only way for
the _Chicora_ to get into Lake Superior was through a canal on the
American side of the river, and if the boats were left on board they
might be regarded by the American Government as munitions of war and so
be refused passage. So the Indians were to take charge of the boats and
pole them up the rapids, while the _Chicora_ expected to go
innocently through the locks as a boat of peace. However the plan did
not answer; the _Chicora_ even though divested of her boats, was
refused passage, and having unloaded everything on the Canadian side
was obliged to return whence she came. Then a road had to be cut along
the Canadian shore, the red-wheeled waggons brought into use, and
everything conveyed a distance of some three miles to a point above the
rapids, where a dock was constructed and another Canadian vessel, the
_Algoma_ employed to carry the things on to Thunder Bay on the
shore of Lake Superior.

As there was likely under these circumstances to be considerable delay
before I could continue my journey, I passed my leisure time under the
hospitable roof of Mr. and Mrs. Chance, and was glad of the opportunity
to renew my acquaintance with the Indians whom we had met last fall. I
had hoped that Mr. Chance would have been able to accompany me on my
expedition up the Lake; indeed it had been his own wish to do so, and
in that case we should have taken his own boat _The Missionary_
and a crew of Indians, and so have been independent of the steamboats.
Circumstances however occurred to prevent the carrying out of this
plan, and in the end I started alone by steamboat, with my tent, camp-
bed, a good stock of books, provisions, &c., and a Garden River Indian
named James as my attendant. Col. Wolseley and his staff and a large
detachment of troops were on board the steamboat, and on arrival at
Thunder Bay, about 300 miles distant from Sault Ste. Marie, we found a
scene of the greatest activity and excitement. The troops, about 1200
in number, were encamped on a wild bare spot with only a few rough
shanties and houses, about three miles from the Hudson Bay Company
Post, Fort William. The Bush had been burnt over, and it was a most
desolate, uninviting looking place, although the distant scenery around
was grand. There was considerable difficulty in disembarking, as the
water near the shore was shallow and there was no dock, so everything
had to be taken from the steamboat to the land in a flat scow hauled to
and fro by a rope. We pitched our tent on the shore, close to the
soldiers' camp, other tents of explorers and travellers being close
around us. From this point the troops were to start on their journey to
Winnipeg. First, forty miles of road had to be constructed, and boats
and everything had to be carried on waggons till the first water in the
chain of lakes and rivers was reached. This had to be done for the
whole of the 700 miles to Winnipeg; wherever possible the troops went
by boat, and where there was no water on the route, a road had to be
constructed and the waggons used. It was no easy task that Colonel
Wolseley had before him in this wild, uninhabited and rocky country.

Very soon after my arrival at Thunder Bay I began to look about for
Indians, that being the primary object of my visit. I found quite a
large settlement of them at Fort William, but was disappointed to
discover that they were all Roman Catholics. The Jesuits, it appeared,
had been among them for more than a century. They had a priest resident
among them, an old man, I was told, gentlemanly, courteous, and
generally beloved and respected both by Indians and Whites; they had
also a little church decorated with flowers and images. However, I
managed to draw a few people around me, and scarcely a day passed but I
had Indian visitors to my tent. The Indian Chief, whose name was
Mungedenah, did not seem to be at all bigoted in his religion. Pointing
to the sky, he said, "I know there is only one God, and I do not think
Christians ought to be divided." He seemed most anxious to have an
Ojebway Testament. I told him that the Garden River Indians could
nearly all read the Testament for themselves. Tears came into his eyes
and he said he wished indeed it could be the same with them. When he
rose to leave, he thanked me, and pointing up to heaven said God would
bless me.

After the visit of their Chief the Indians got quite friendly, and used
often to come and see me in my tent. One of them remarked once that he
thought there must be a great many white people in the world, to judge
by the large number that had come together that summer in such a short
space of time. Some of the poor creatures were evidently afraid of being
reported to their priest when they came to visit me; they generally
squatted at the entrance of the tent, and appeared to be keeping a watch
all the time, so that it was very seldom that I had an opportunity of
reading to them. Perhaps the most interesting incident that occurred was
an interview that I had with some wild pagan Indians from the Interior.
Some one put his head in at my tent door, and said, "Have you seen the
Indian Chief from Rainy Lake?" "No," I replied, "where is he to be
found? I should like very much to see him." Indeed I was most anxious to
meet some Indian from that quarter, as I had heard that there was a
large settlement there of some thousand Ojebway Indians all in the
darkness of paganism. I was directed to a store where the Chief had gone
in, and immediately went in search of him. There he stood, a fine,
upright, muscular man, with sharp set features, and a fierce forbidding
eye; long shaggy black hair straggled down his back, a mink-skin turban
graced his forehead, into which were stuck four white eagle feathers,
and behind it hung an otter skin appendage like a great bag, and covered
with little pieces of bone or metal, which rattled as he walked. I
addressed the Chief in Indian, and he turned and shook hands with me,
and after a little conversation he agreed to accompany me to my tent,
where I prepared a meal for him. He was very ready to converse, and told
me that his name was "Makuhda-uhsin" (Black Stone), that he had arrived
at Midday, that he was accompanied by four other men, two boys, and a
woman, that they had come by canoe, and had camped six nights on the
way. Koojeching, he said, was the place where they had come from, and
there he had left a thousand warriors.

While he was talking, the rest of the party arrived, seeking their
Chief. They all squatted down, and I had to feed them all, and then
give them tobacco for a smoke. They were all wild-looking creatures,
their countenances as thoroughly unchristianlike as could be conceived.
As soon as their hunger was satiated, and they had filled their pipes,
they were rising to go, but I asked them to remain as I had a few words
still to say to them. I then told them briefly who I was, where I had
come from, and my object in coming to Thunder Bay. I had heard, I said,
that they were all pagans at Koojeching. I was very sorry for it, and
very anxious that they should embrace Christianity. A change came upon
their faces as I spoke; they shuffled uneasily, eyed me suspiciously,
and were evidently impatient to get away. They probably thought that I
had got them into my tent with the idea of using some enchantments or
exercising some witchcraft upon them. I did not understand all they
said, but James told me afterward that they were all very angry. They
said they were all pagans, and intended to remain so. When I asked
whether, if I were to visit them some day, they would listen to me, and
if they would like me to come to see them and tell them about God,
Black Stone replied, "Come if you will, but as for my people they will
never become Christians" I heard afterwards that a Jesuit priest once
visited their settlement, and after he had left the small-pox broke
out. In then superstitious ignorance, they attributed the disease to
the priest's visit, and so determined never to accept Christianity.

I had arranged to visit the Lake Neepigon Indians on my way back down
the Lake, and took my passage on board a steamboat which was to call at
Red Rock at the mouth of the Neepigon River. But my purposes were
frustrated; the steamboats were under the direction of the military
authorities orders were changed at the last moment, and instead of Red
Rock I found myself at Michipicotun. At this place there is a Hudson Bay
Company Post and a small settlement of Indians. The approach to the Post
is very picturesque, the river being bordered by high-wooded banks, and
the clean-looking white-washed buildings of the Company presented a
striking contrast to the wild scenery around as we approached, rowing up
the river in one of the ship's boats. We pitched our tent in a cleared
spot just across the river, opposite to the Post and near to some Indian
wigwams. During our stay, which lasted about ten days, I visited every
day among the people, and at nightfall we would meet together in one of
their wigwams for reading the Scripture and prayer. The name of the
Chief was Tootoomenaun; he lived like the rest of his people in a simple
wigwam made of a circle of sticks sloping to a point, and covered with
birch-bark; and there, with his family and his dogs, he lay by the fire
and smoked his pipe, while I read or talked to them, the smoke
circulating about our heads and then finding its escape among the
blackened pole-ends at the apex of the little domicile. Another Chief
from the neighbouring settlement of Batcheewanig, about 90 miles
distant, was on a visit, and I had many a long talk with these two red-
skinned brethren. They said they had had no minister to visit them,
either Jesuit or Protestant, since the previous summer, and they seemed
very anxious to be taught, and listened very attentively when I read or
expounded the Scriptures. Finding the people all so anxious to learn, I
opened a little day-school in the Chief's wigwam. I had a box for my
seat, and the young people squatted round on mats. There was an
attendance of eleven scholars. Two of the young men I found already knew
the alphabet, so I set them on to commence the first book while the
others were kept busy with the A, B, C. They were sharp at learning, and
nearly all of them, with the exception of one or two of the youngest
children, knew the capital letters and figures from 1 to 10 by the time
the two hours of study were over. This school teaching was continued
every day until the steamboat arrived which was to take us the remainder
of our homeward voyage to the Sault.

It is interesting to me to recall this, my first missionary visit to
Lake Superior. Certainly it did not seem that much was accomplished
during my tour, and I was a little disappointed that there was not a
larger number of pagan Indians among whom I might look forward to
establish Missions in the future. Still I had gained, at any rate, some
insight into the condition of the people; there were the obdurate
pagans from Rainy Lake, Blackstone, whom I was destined to meet again
at a future day, the Thunder Bay Indians all seemingly under Jesuit
influence; then these more accessible Red men of Michipicotun and
Batcheewanig. Some Pic River Indians also I had chanced to meet on my
travels, and had some conversation with. The Neepigon Indians I was
sorry to miss seeing. I was obliged to leave them for another time,
together with the people belonging to several other settlements on the
North shore.

Altogether, the result of my trips to Garden River and to Lake
Superior was that I felt inwardly drawn to come and labour among the
people of these more Northern regions in preference to remaining among
the semi-civilized Indians of Sarnia. How the way would open I could
not at that time foresee, or how soon it might be my lot to move into
these wilder regions I could not tell. It was merely an unshaped
thought, the beginning of a desire created in my breast.




CHAPTER XII.

CHANGES IN PROSPECT.


It was at the end of June that I arrived at Sarnia. Very glad was I to
be at home again after my long, rough journey, and very glad too was my
wife to see me, for it was but seldom that we had had an opportunity of
writing to one another during my absence. In the autumn our second
child was born--a boy--to whom the Indians gave the name of
Suhyahquahdung (proclaimer), and shortly after this we gave up our
cottage on the Indian Reserve to Mr. Jacobs, and moved to a larger
house in the town, where we should have room to take two or three
Indian pupils as boarders. This seemed to be a judicious step, as of
all things it appeared to be the most important, to commence preparing
young men who might afterwards act as catechists and school teachers
among their people.

And so Mr. Jacobs, who had recently married, settled in at the Mission-
house as Pastor of the Sarnia Indians, and an Indian from Walpole
Island was appointed to take his place as catechist at Kettle Point.

Our readers will not have forgotten poor Shegaugooqua, the poor
decrepid bed-ridden creature whom we found in such a pitiable condition
in an old wigwam back in the Bush. They will remember also the mention
we made of her little five-year-old boy, with his shock of rough, black
uncombed hair, and his bright intelligent eyes. This little boy, Willie
by name, we now took in hand. I arranged that the catechist who had
been appointed to the Kettle Point Mission should take two little boys
into his family, and train them up to a Christian and useful life. One
of them was to be Willie, and the other a grandchild of the unfortunate
man who was murdered--Tommy Winter. So, a few days before Joshua
Greenbird was expected, we brought Willie and Tommy to our house in
Sarnia to prepare them for entering upon their new life. The first
thing was to divest them of their dirty rags, and give them each a
thorough good scrubbing; then they were put into two new little suits
of grey cloth which my wife and I had each taken a share in making with
the sewing machine. Thus, clean and neat, these two little fellows of
six years old were shipped off to their new home. Walpole Island, where
Joshua the catechist was coming from, was some 40 miles south of
Sarnia, and Kettle Point was 30 miles or more to the north, the road
lying direct through the town; and as Joshua had arranged to drive in a
waggon the whole way with his family and baggage, he made our house his
stopping-place on the road, and we gave him and his wife and four
children all a lodging for the night; then in the morning they started
on again, taking Willie and Tommy with them. For the first week or two
the two little boys were quite happy and contented in their new home,
and went regularly to school with the other children who lived at
Kettle Point; but after a time they got home-sick, and then they did
what Indian boys often do when first taken in hand and put under
restrictions--they ran away. However, they did not get far on their
thirty mile journey homeward before they were accosted by a farmer who
was driving along in his waggon. Willie, always ready with his tongue,
and already knowing a little English, called to the former, "Say, you
going Sarnia?" The farmer immediately guessed what was in the wind, and
cried, "Yes, come along, boys; jump in." So in they jumped; but were
somewhat mortified--poor little fellows--to find themselves, half an
hour later, back again at the catechist's house. The lesson was a good
one for them, and from that day forward they had the impression deeply
printed on their minds that farmers were everywhere on the watch for
them, ready to bring them home if they tried to run away.

It was during this winter (1870-71) that we began making plans for
building a church for the Sarnia Indians. The little building that we
had put up on our first arrival had never been intended as a permanent
church; so now that the Mission was fairly established and was
beginning to show good signs of prospering, it seemed to be only right
that a more substantial building should be erected for the purpose of
Divine worship, and that the little frame building should be kept
simply for a school. The first thing was to trundle the old building
out of the way; so a "bee" was called, and a number of the Indians
assembled, and with levers and rollers, and after working hard for a
couple of days, the school was twisted round and removed to the far
corner of the lot. Then the foundations were dug for the new church. It
was decided that it should be a brick building, with a spire, to cost
about 1500 dollars. Mr. Jacobs, my assistant, busied himself in the
matter, and together we managed to raise the requisite funds; and early
in the spring building operations were commenced.

However, it was not my destiny to be the pastor of this little brick
church among the Sarnia Indians. God was calling me to other work. It
so happened that, in the providence of God, the Garden River Mission
just at this time fell vacant. The Rev. Mr. Chance, who had laboured
there so faithfully for the past 18 years, was called away to another
sphere in a more southerly district. Great were the lamentations of the
poor Garden River Indians when he left. Both he and his wife had become
much endeared to the people. Mrs. Chance was the schoolmistress and
doctor, and what would the poor children and the poor sick people do
without her? and what would they do without their Missionary who had
laboured so long and so faithfully among them: who had baptized their
children, and united their young people in marriage, and buried their
dead, and preached to them the glad tidings of the Gospel, and visited
them, and sympathized with them, and helped them in their homes? Mr.
Chance's children had all been born and brought up at Garden River;
Indian nurses had attended them and cared for them during their infant
days; the Indian women had learned to look upon them almost as their
own; and one dear little girl--Alice--had died after a short illness,
and was buried in the Indian Cemetery. It was a terrible wrench for
these poor Indians one and all to be separated from their Missionary
and his family. And the worst feature of all was that there seemed to
be considerable fear lest the Mission might be given up altogether. The
New England Company, under whose auspices Mr. Chance had worked, had
determined on withdrawing from that portion of the field; and unless
some other Society saw fit to take them up, there seemed but little
prospect that the work among them would be continued.

All these things weighed with me, and I earnestly sought the guidance
of Almighty God in prayer, content to follow His will and to be led by
His hand.

As Mr. Chance intended to leave Garden River early in the spring, and
it was a part of my duty to make extended tours among the scattered
Indians, and minister to their spiritual wants, I decided on making
another trip northward as soon as possible after navigation opened. My
wife accompanied me, and we took an Indian boy with us, named Aleck
Bird, as cook and general servant.




CHAPTER XIII.

ROUGHING IT.


We expected that when we got to Garden River we should find an empty
house, and have to do everything for ourselves; so we came well provided
with a supply of flour, salt meat, etc., etc. Quite a crowd of Indians
came running down to the dock when we landed, and all were eager to
shake hands, crying, "Boozhoo, boozhoo," the Indian mode of address.
Then one seized a bundle, another a portmanteau, and, all laden with our
baggage and supplies, accompanied us up to the Mission-house. Chief
Buhkwujjenene was most warm in his greetings. "Would that you could
always remain with us!" he exclaimed. On arriving at the little white-
washed Parsonage, we were very glad to find that, although Mr. Chance
had been gone for more than a week, Mrs. Chance and two of the children
were still there; the furniture also had not been removed.

Mrs. Chance taught me to bake bread before she left, which was very
useful, as I still often have to make camp bread. After a few days we
were left alone with our boy Aleck. It was a primitive style of living,
but we both enjoyed it immensely. The Indians were all so pleased to
have us with them, and the attendance at services both on Sundays and
Wednesday evenings, was very satisfactory. There was something quite
enchanting about our little log cottage, with the hops clambering up
the verandah, the garden-beds full of flowers, the broad river in front
of our windows, and the little sail-boat moored to the dock, which we
could use at our will and pleasure. Then there were plenty of fish in
the river, which the Indians brought to us, and an accommodating old
duck laid an egg every morning just beside the door-step. Aleck was a
capital boy; always cheery and ready, and would do anything he was
asked to do. During our month's stay we only had fresh meat twice--once
when a bear was killed, and again when we killed our drake. Among other
duties of a new and peculiar kind, that of Post-master devolved upon
me. The position was not an enviable one, and it took up a good deal of
time; but it was convenient to get the mail without having to send
twelve miles to Sault Ste. Marie for it. One day the boat arrived at
the dock while we were at Church, and I had to set the people on
singing a hymn while I ran down to change the mail. Another day an
Indian came shouting at my window at 6 o'clock in the morning that the
_Chicora_ was just coming in. Half awake and half asleep I turned
out of bed, seized the Post-office key, and in frantic haste rushed
down to get my mail ready.


My wife sent Aleck running after me with my boots, which I had
forgotten in my hurry! I was by this time able to preach to the Indians
in their own tongue. On the first Sunday after our arrival we had an
attendance of thirty-two persons at the Holy Communion, and among them
were a good many young men. The offertory collection amounted to just
one pound English money.

The first week in July we went on a little camping expedition to Echo
River, where the Indians were making their birch-bark troughs ready for
the next year's sugar-making. It was a fine bright morning when we
started, and we went in _The Missionary_, with Aleck and two other
Indian boys to row us. Echo River is a deep, narrow stream, scarcely a
stone's throw wide, with the thick foliage of many and various trees
overhanging its banks. The only sounds which broke the stillness were
the notes of birds and the croaking of the bull-frog, mingled with the
measured splash of the oars. At length, after about two hours' pull, we
reached a little creek, and the Indian boys told us that their
encampment was a short distance up it. It seemed scarcely possible to
take the boat in, for the stream was very narrow, and nearly choked up
with floating saw-logs. However, we pushed along with poles, and
succeeded at length in reaching our destination. A good many of our
people ran down and welcomed us heartily to their camp. It must have
been strange to them, I suppose, to see a lady in so wild and out-of-
the-way a spot.

A little clearing was cut with the axes, on which our tent was to be
placed, and a path cut up to it from the creek; poles and tentpins were
then made, and in a very short time our dwelling was ready for our
reception. Meanwhile the fight with the lords of the Bush had
commenced. While we were rowing we had not been much troubled with the
mosquitoes, but now that we had invaded their dominions, they evidently
regarded us as their lawful prey, and commenced the attack in good
earnest. My wife, with a very serious face, drew on my large mackintosh
coat, and sitting down on a heap of blankets, hid her hands, having
first guarded her head and face with a thick veil. I filled the frying-
pan with hot ashes, and covering them with green leaves, carried it in.
The place was soon full of smoke, and after a vigorous whiffing I
succeeded in making it habitable. Now we began to breathe a little more
freely. Later in the afternoon we ventured on a short walk to see our
neighbours. There were several wigwams all belonging to our own people.
They were not conical, but had, generally, rounded roofs, over which
were placed large sheets of birch-bark and Indian matting.

The people were very busy at work, the men drawing out saw-logs with
two or three yoke of oxen; the women very busy with the birch-bark or
basket-making. We found the Chief's wife sitting in a very airy
apartment, there being nothing over her head but a few twisted sticks,
on which the bark had not yet been laid. When we returned to our tent
we found that good Aleck had already got the kettle boiling, and we
made a capital supper off fried fish and potatoes. All was very
comfortable. The Indians had put a thick layer of maple branches for a
floor; on these were laid first a couple of Indian reed mats, and then
our scarlet rugs and table cloth. After supper I sent Aleck to ask the
Indians to come together for some singing. A great many collected, and
we sang the "Te Deum" and several hymns in Ojebway. Then we sat round
the camp fire, which blazed up cheerily and gave light enough for us to
see our books. I was pleased to find how many of the people had their
Ojebway prayer-books and testaments with them, carefully wrapped up in
a pocket handkerchief. Each little knot of people lighted a small
smouldering mosquito fire in the midst, so that smoke was rising on all
sides. About ten o'clock I concluded with prayer; the people shook
hands and departed. Rain was beginning to fall heavily. This and the
clanging of cow-bells close outside the tent, and the music of
mosquitoes trying to make their entrance through the net suspended over
us, drove sleep from our eyelids. In the morning we had other enemies
in the shape of minute sand-flies, smaller than a pin's head, which
attacked us fiercely. It was no easy matter to light the fire in the
morning in the drenching rain. One of the good people came up with an
iron pot full of potatoes, which he hung over the fire to be cooked for
our breakfast. When it ceased raining I went out to visit some of the
people, and then we prepared to start homeward. We had only one Indian
to help Aleck at the oars, and a head-wind to row against, so that it
was late when we reached home; but, notwithstanding these drawbacks, we
had enjoyed our trip.

The time for leaving Garden River was now drawing near, and the
American steamer _St. Paul_ was daily expected to pass. It would
not stop at Garden River, but we should have to run out to it in our
boat, so Aleck took up his position on the ridge of the roof to keep a
look-out, and the first appearance of smoke round the point would be
the signal for the boat to be got ready. I had frequently requested the
stewards on the boats to bring me fresh meat from Collingwood on their
up-trip. They at length complied with my request, and just the day
before we expected to leave came a big joint of thirteen pounds--the
first we had seen since we came up. So we had beef for breakfast, beef
for dinner, and beef for tea, and beef between times in the vain hope
of getting through it. At last we called in our Indian friends and
neighbours to partake, and they cleared off nearly all the food in the
house. Evening came, and our boat had not arrived.

The next day was Sunday. Morning service was over, and the Indians,
remembering the good feast of yesterday, came sniffing round, thinking
to get another. We had a very spare luncheon, and we had to tell the
Indians that we were quite out of victuals. Then we sent Aleck to the
Jesuit priest to ask him if he would kindly send us a little butter and
milk. In the evening the good man came down himself, and expressed the
greatest distress at our laughable condition. He was a German by birth,
but spoke English very well. "I think I have a leetle cock," he said,
"and I will give him to you, and if you have some rice, you may make
some soup; that will be better than to starve." We thanked him warmly,
and Aleck went and brought the "leetle cock," and an Indian gave us a
pint of huckleberries, and we scraped the flour-barrel and made a
huckleberry pie, and so had quite a feast. On Monday morning the
steamboat arrived, and we bade adieu to our Indian friends, and
returned to Sarnia.




CHAPTER XIV.

CHIEF LITTLE PINE.


Chief Little Pine (Augustin Shingwauk) was following his work in the
lonely bush, his heart was sad at the thought of the black-coat
(missionary) leaving them. Suddenly a thought entered his mind, it was
as though an arrow had struck his breast; "I will go with him,--I will
journey with this black-coat where he is going. I will see the great
black-coat (the Bishop of Toronto) myself, and ask that Mr. Wilson may
come and be our teacher, and I will ask him also to send more teachers
to the shores of the great Ojebway Lake, for why indeed are my poor
brethren left so long in ignorance and darkness with no one to instruct
them? Is it that Christ loves us less than His white children? Or is it
that the Church is sleeping? Perhaps I may arouse them, perhaps I may
stir them up to send us more help, so that the Gospel may be preached
to my poor pagan brethren. So I resolved to go. I only told just my
wife and a few friends of my intention. I felt that the Great Spirit
had called me to go, and even though I was poor and had but a few
dollars in my pocket, still I knew that the great God in heaven, to
whom forty years ago I yielded myself up, would not let me want. I felt
sure that He would provide for my necessities. So when the raspberry
moon had already risen, and was now fifteen days old (July 15), and the
black-coat and his wife stepped on board the great fire-ship, I stepped
on also. I had not told him as yet what was my object in going and at
first he left me to myself, thinking, I suppose, that I was going on my
own business. I was a stranger on board; no one knew me, and no one
seemed to care for me.

"When we arrived at Ahmejewunoong (Sarnia), the fire-waggons (railway
cars) were almost ready to start; so I still had to fast, and not until
we had started on our way to Pahkatequayaug (London), did the black-coat
know that I had been all that time without food. Then he was very sorry
indeed, and from that time began to take great care of me, and I told
him plainly what was my object in coming. It is not necessary for me to
say anything about London. The black-coats met together in council to
elect the great black-coat Chief (Bishop Hellmuth), and I went to the
big church to see them all. But I had nothing particular to say to them,
for their great black-coat had nothing to do with my people. I was
impatient to get on to Toronto to see the chief black-coat who has
authority to send teachers to my people on the great Ojebway Lake. We
arrived in Toronto on the sixth day of the week when the raspberry moon
was twenty-two days old. I was glad to see the great city again, for I
had seen it first many years ago, when it was but a papoose, and had but
a few houses and streets. We went to the place where the black-coats who
have authority over missions meet, and I opened my heart to them and
divulged its secrets. I said that at Garden River we were well content,
for we had had the Gospel preached to us now for forty winters, and I
felt our religious wants had been well attended to; but when I
considered how great and how powerful is the English nation, how rapid
their advance, and how great their success in every work to which they
put their hands, I wondered often in my mind, and my people wondered
too, why the Christian religion should have halted so long at Garden
River, just at the entrance to the great Lake of the Ojebways; and how
it was that forty winters had passed away and yet religion still slept,
and the poor Indians of the great Ojebway Lake pleaded in vain for
teachers to be sent to them. I said that we Indians know our great
mother, the Queen of the English nation, is strong, and we cannot keep
back her power any more than we can stop the rising sun. She is strong,
her people are great and strong, but _my_ people are weak. Why do
you not help us? It is not good. I told the black-coats I hoped that
before I died I should see a big teaching wigwam built at Garden River,
where children from the great Ojebway Lake would be received, and
clothed, and fed, and taught how to read and how to write, and also how
to farm and build houses, and make clothing, so that by-and-bye they
might go back and teach their own people. The black-coats listened to
what I said, and they replied their wish was the same as mine.
Afterwards I saw the Bishop of Toronto (Strachan), and he said that it
was his own wish that Mr. Wilson should become our Missionary. My heart
rejoiced more and more, and I felt now that the great object of my
journey was accomplished, and I could return again to my people. But
they did not wish me to go home yet. It was to be arranged that the
white people should meet together to hear me speak on the third day of
the following week.

"Many were the thoughts that filled my mind at that time, as I walked
along the streets of Toronto, and looked at the fine buildings and
stores full of wonderful and expensive things. 'How rich and powerful
is the English nation! I thought. 'Why is it that their religion does
not go on and increase faster?' When I entered the place where the
speaking paper (newspaper) is made and saw the great machines by which
it is done, and by which the papers are folded, I thought, 'Ah, that is
how it is with the English nation, every day they get more wise, every
day they find out something new. The Great Spirit blesses them and
teaches them all these things because they are Christians, and follow
the true religion. Would that my people were enlightened and blessed in
the same way!'

"The next day was the day of prayer, and I went to the big wigwam
where the children assemble to be taught. I stood up and spoke to them,
and told them how much I desired that my children should be taught in
the same way, and have such a beautiful wigwam to assemble in, where
they might hear about God and His Son Jesus Christ. It rejoiced my
heart to hear them sing. After this I entered the great house of prayer
(the cathedral). I was in Toronto when the first one was there. Since
that time it had been burnt down and rebuilt, and then all burnt down
again, and yet now it stands here larger and grander than before. 'The
white people,' I said to myself, 'have plenty of money; if they knew
how poor my people are, surely they would give more of their money to
build a house for us where our children may be taught.' I could not
understand the words of the service, but my heart was full of thoughts
of God, and I thought how good a thing it was to be a Christian, and I
rejoiced that I had heard of the love of Christ, who died for His red
children, as well as for the pale faces, for He is not ashamed, we know
now, to call us brothers. During the few days we remained in Toronto I
was out nearly all the time with Mr. Wilson, collecting money at the
people's wigwams. I am an old man of seventy winters, and I cannot walk
about as much as I could when I was young; so he got a waggon, and we
drove from house to house. I thought some of the people were very good.
One woman gave us ten dollars, but many of them gave us very little,
and some would not give us anything at all.

"When we reached St. Catharine's Mr. Wilson and myself went from
wigwam to wigwam, asking for money to help the Indians on the great
Chippeway Lake. In the evening the white people met together in the
teaching wigwam, and there were so many of them that they had no more
room to sit, and I spoke to them and told them the thoughts of my
heart. This time I spoke more boldly than I had done before. I told
them that as an Indian chief I had a right to speak on behalf of my
poor people, for the land the white men now held was the land of my
fathers; and now that the white man was powerful, and the Indian was
weak, the Indian had a right to look to him for help and support. As I
closed my speech I looked around last of all upon the children; for I
wished my eyes last of all to rest upon these white children who had
received the benefit of education and Christian instruction; and I gave
them my beaver-skin to keep in their school, so that they might always
remember my visit and think upon my words.

"On the second day of the week, early in the morning, we entered the
fire-waggon to go to the river of the Mohawks. I was greatly rejoiced
to see Mr. Chance once more, and also his wife and children. I remained
with them three days.

"When the day came for me to leave, the black-coat, Chance, took me in
his waggon to the place where the fire-waggons start, and sent a wire-
message to Mr. Wilson to be ready to meet me when I arrived.

"I sat in the fire-waggon, and smoked my pipe, and rejoiced in my mind
that my work was now over, and I should soon return to my people. For
many hours I travelled, and the sun had already sunk in the west, and I
thought I must be nearly arrived at Ahmujewunoong, when the fire-waggon
chief came to look at my little paper; and then he looked at me and
shook his head, and I understood I had come the wrong way. Presently the
fire-waggon stood still, and the chief beckoned me to get out, and he
pointed to the west, and made signs by which I understood that I must
now wait for the fire-waggons going towards the sun-rising, and in them
return part of the way back. By-and-bye the fire-waggons approached,
coming from where the sun had set; and a man told me to get in. It was
midnight when I reached Pahkatequayang (London), and they let me go into
the wire-house and lie down to sleep. I slept well all night, and early
in the morning a man beckoned to me that the fire-waggons were ready to
start for Sarnia, and showed me which way to go.

"Thus I at length got back to Sarnia, and was glad to lie down and
rest in Mr. Wilson's wigwam; and now I am waiting for the fire-ship to
come, and as soon as it comes I shall go on board and return straight
home to my people.

"The black-coat, Wilson, has asked me to let him write down all this
that I have told him, so that it may be made into a book and read by
everybody. And I hope that by-and-bye all the white people will see
this book, and that their hearts will be warmed towards the poor
ignorant Indians who live on the shores of the Great Ojebway Lake.

"We have collected three hundred dollars, but three hundred dollars is
not enough to make religion increase. If we had but the worth of one of
those big wigwams, of which I saw so many in Toronto, I think it would
be enough to build a teaching wigwam at Garden River, and enough to
send teachers also to the shores of the Great Ojebway Lake. I must have
something done for my people before I die; and if I cannot get what I
feel we ought to have from the Great Chiefs of this country, I am
determined to go to the far distant land across the sea, and talk to
the son of our Great Mother, the Prince of Wales, who became my friend
during his visit to Canada, and gave me my medal, and who, I believe,
will still befriend me if I tell him what my people need."




CHAPTER XV.

OUR FIRST WINTER IN ALGOMA.


Shortly after making this tour with Chief Little Pine, arrangements
were made for our finally leaving Sarnia and removing our head-quarters
to the Indian Mission at Garden River; the Committee of the Church
Missionary Society agreed to the change as an experiment, and undertook
to support the Mission for one year; but the withdrawal of the New
England Company and the fact of so many of the Indians having already
been converted by the Roman Catholics, made them a little doubtful as
to whether it would be a suitable spot for establishing one of their
Missions permanently.

Before leaving Sarnia we had the satisfaction of seeing the little
brick church on the Reserve completed and opened for use. This,
together with the Kettle Point Mission, was now handed over to the
charge of the native pastor, the Rev. John Jacobs.

I must mention one little incident that happened at this time. It was
in the evening, and I had called to see Mr. Jacobs. He met me with his
usual geniality, and we sat conversing for some time. Near the sofa was
a large clothes-basket with a blanket over it. By-and-bye some little
faint cries came from the neighbourhood of the basket. "What have you
got there, Kesheg?" I asked. Mr. Jacobs was a little confused, and
laughingly muttered something about an "arrival." The blanket was
removed, and there lay two little mortals nestled together, one fair
like his English mother, and the other dark like her father. The
Indians afterwards gave them Indian names--"River Prince" and "River
Princess."

It was the end of September when we left Sarnia. A little girl had
been added to our family three weeks before. We had great difficulty in
getting servants to go to so wild and out of the way a place as Sault
Ste. Marie and Garden River were conceived to be. After many fruitless
endeavours we were obliged to give it up, and took no one with us
except our faithful Jane as nurse. There were no Canadian boats at that
time running from Sarnia, so we had to take passage on an American
vessel. We went well supplied with provisions sufficient to last us
through the winter, and had all our furniture with us, besides horse,
buggy, sleigh, and two cows. At that time there was but one clergyman
in all the Algoma district, and he was located on the Manitoulin
Island, 150 miles east of the point to which we were bound. To the west
and north our nearest clerical neighbours would be the Missionaries of
Hudson Bay and Rupert's Land, 500 or 600 miles away. It had been
arranged that we should spend the winter at Sault Ste. Marie, a village
of 300 or 400 people, twelve miles above the Garden River Mission, and
a house had been engaged there for us to live in; the Church people at
Sault Ste. Marie were anxious that we should do this,--a little stone
church, St. Luke's, had just been built, and they, of course, were
desirous to have regular services held; and I expected every Sunday to
hold one service at Garden River, besides visiting the Indians during
the week.

It was late on Saturday night, about 10 p.m., when we reached Sault
Ste. Marie. The captain had kindly promised to put us off on the
Canadian side, but it being so late and dark, and the channel not a
safe one, he was unable to do so, and we were hurried off, boxes,
tables, cows, horse, and all on the American dock. This placed us in a
dilemma. Ten o'clock, Saturday night, and ourselves and our things all
in the wrong place,--the right, place being a mile and a-half across
the water. The first thing to do under the circumstances was to take my
family up to the hotel, after which I returned to the dock, and
fortunately found a friend in need, Mr. Church, the owner of a sawmill
on Sugar Island, a short distance below Garden River. He most
obligingly undertook to put all my things across to the Canadian side
for me. His men set to work with a will--several of them were Garden
River Indians--and in a little time all was packed on board his scow,
and we were steaming across the Ste. Marie River. Fortune, however,
seemed to be against us,--we were about one-third of the way across
when one of the cows who was tethered to a parlour stove jumped
overboard, taking the stove along with her. Happily the rope broke, the
stove sank, and the cow swam. A boat was put off, the cow taken in tow,
and rowed back to the American side. However, in due time she was once
more safely got on board and made fast, and in a little while we had
reached our destination, and everything was landed at the Canadian
dock. It was about one o'clock in the morning when I arrived there, and
I went up to the empty Mission-house which we had occupied in the
spring, and found a bed on which to snatch a few hours' rest.

On Sunday morning the Indians came round, all delighted, to see me
again. After holding service in the church, I engaged two young
Indians, and getting into _The Missionary_, we started for Sault
Ste. Marie, as I was to have service there in the evening.

During the next day or two we were moving our furniture, &c. into this
house which we had rented for the winter. It was roomy enough, but
close to the river, and intolerably damp; so after a week or two of
great discomfort we resolved on changing our quarters, and one fine
morning, almost before light, saw _The Missionary_ and another
boat, loaded with our household effects, and running before a stiff
breeze to Garden River. The Indians were delighted at the change, and
all welcomed us warmly; but now fresh difficulties arose: the little
log parsonage was so cramped and small that we had nowhere to bestow
our goods, and a considerable proportion of them had to be stowed away
in the stable until two additional rooms could be built. It was rather
late in the year for building operations, the winter being just about
to commence; nevertheless we managed to secure the services of a couple
of workmen, and in a little time a "balloon frame" was run up and two
new rooms added to the house.

A terrible winter it was--one of the worst winters that had been known--
the glass being sometimes from 30 to 40 below zero, and the snow very
deep. One great snowdrift completely blocked the east end of the
parsonage--it was about fifteen feet deep. The lower room was entirely
dark, and we had to make a tunnel through the snow bank to let in the
light. Some mornings it was so cold that we could not sit to the
breakfast-table, but had all to huddle round the stove with our plates
on our laps, and the empty cups that had been used when put back on the
table froze to the saucers. Bread, butter, meat, everything, was frozen
solid, and we began to realize what an Algoma winter was. But, apart
from these discomforts, we had a very pleasant winter with our Indian
friends; the services at the church were well attended, and there were
generally upwards of thirty at the Holy Communion. At Christmas time we
had a great feast; nearly a hundred of the people came, and after
partaking of the good things, we gave them a magic lantern exhibition,
which pleased them greatly. Then we always had service in the
schoolhouse every Wednesday evening, at which there was an exceedingly
good attendance; and on Friday evenings we held a cottage lecture,
sometimes at one house, sometimes at another. Perhaps the most
discouraging thing was the day-school. It is so hard to induce the
Indians to send their children regularly to school. There may be thirty
names on the register, but the average attendance is probably not more
than nine or ten, possibly at times twelve to fifteen. It seems to be
the same everywhere. The old people do not sufficiently realize the
advantages of education themselves, and so seem to care little whether
their children are in their place at class or roving about the bush with
a bow and arrow. The Indians are great people for medicine. I had a good
stock of it, and they were constantly coming to me with their ailments.
They make medicines themselves from roots and herbs, but prefer
generally to get the White man's physic. There was an old white-haired
woman, an aunt of the chief's, who used to come stumping along with a
thick stick, and caused some consternation in our nursery; she never
knocked at the door--Indians rarely do--but would come in and sit
herself down in the middle of the floor, the children scampering away to
hide. She was a good-natured old creature, and of course would do no
harm, but she frightened the children nevertheless.

We had one rather narrow escape while driving on the ice. It was on
Christmas Day; I had been taking Morning Service at Sault Ste. Marie,
and was driving back to Garden River with my wife and a young lady who
was coming to stay with us; the wind was blowing, and the glass was in
the neighbourhood of zero. All went well till we were within four miles
of home; we had just passed a log cottage on the shore, and were
striking out to cross a bay; we fancied we heard a shout behind us, but
it was too cold to stop and look back; however it would have been
better if we had done so, for a few moments more and our horse was
plunging in the water, the rotten ice having given way beneath his
feet. As quick as thought we all hurried out at the back of the sleigh
and made for the solid ice. There were two or three inches of water on
the ice, and our feet got wet, but otherwise we were safe from danger.
In the meantime some Indians had seen us from the shore, and came
running to us with a rope and some rails. It was twenty minutes before
the poor horse was extricated; he was down in the water up to his neck,
his eyes looked glassy, and I was afraid the poor thing was dying.
However the Indians evidently knew what to do, they got the end of a
rail under him as a lever to raise him up, and put a noose round his
neck; then, having first loosened the harness, they pulled with a will,
and in a few moments had him out of the hole kicking on the ice; they
then gave him a good rubbing, and soon he made a plunge and was on his
legs again, trembling and shaking; one of the young fellows took him
off for a sharp trot to restore the circulation, then the sleigh was
fixed up, and after a delay of about an hour we were enabled to
continue our journey.

During the winter our mail was brought by men on snow-shoes with a dog
train; they had to travel about 150 miles to a distant station, where
they were met by other couriers, who exchanged bags with them and took
them the remainder of the distance. The men go along at a jogging pace,
and at night camp out in the snow.




CHAPTER XVI.

CHIEF BUHKWUJJENENE'S MISSION.


It was sugar-making time, and Buhkwujjenene was at work three miles
back in the bush collecting the sap from the maple-trees, and, with the
assistance of his wife and a large family of daughters, boiling it down
in huge black kettles to transform it into maple-sugar. It was rather a
labour getting out there, and I had to take my snow-shoes. About two
miles back from where our parsonage stood is a long range of low, rocky
hills, about 300 feet high, nearly parallel with the course of the
river, and for the most part bare and naked, only sprinkled with a few
ragged balsams, pine, and birch. It was April, and the snow was gone
from the exposed parts of the hill, but beyond, in the valley where
sugar-making was going on, it was still a couple of feet deep.

Wandering along through the bush, the first sign of your approach to a
sugar-camp is generally the sound of an axe or the barking of a dog;
these help to direct your steps; then, in a little while you see snow-
shoe tracks, and then--here are the little birch-bark troughs, one or
two to each maple-tree, and a slip of wood stuck in the tree about two
feet from the ground, which serves as a spout to convey the sap from the
tree to the trough. It does not run fast, about a drop in every three or
four seconds, or sometimes much slower than that; however the little
trough gets full in time, and then the Indians come round and pour it
into birch-bark pails and carry it to the camp to be boiled. The sap is
very nice when you are thirsty--slightly sweet and very cold, as the
nights must be frosty during sugar-making time, and there is generally a
little ice in each trough. Cold frosty nights and clear sunshiny days is
what the Indians like for their sugar-making. As soon as the weather
gets too warm the sap becomes bitter and is no longer of any use.

Well, after my walk of course I took a draught of sap from the first
trough I found, and then wended my way on to Buhkwujjenene's camp. The
sugar camp is made of poles about four inches thick, laid horizontally
for walls, and fitted into each other at the corners, the crevices being
filled with moss. The walls are only about four feet high, and they
enclose a space about ten or twelve feet square; the roof is also made
of poles placed like rafters and covered over with sheets of birch-bark,
an opening being left the whole length of the ridge for the escape of
the smoke. In the centre of the earthen floor is the fire, over which
are suspended five or six large sugar-kettles, holding perhaps twenty or
thirty gallons each, and into these the sap is poured as it is brought
in from the trees. Along the inside of the wigwam on either side of the
fire is a raised floor of boards or sticks, covered with fir branches,
on which the Indians recline by day or sleep at night. The door is
generally an old blanket hung over the opening. In just such a camp as
this I found Chief Buhkwujjenene, for though chief of his band he yet
has to hunt and fish and make sugar for his living, the same as the rest
of his people.

"Ah-ah-ah boo-zhoo boo-zhoo!"--That's the way we Indians greet one
another. Very warm and hearty, is it not? There they all were, busy
over their big pots--Isabel and Susette and Therese and Liquette, and
the old mother, who is very stout and comfortable-looking.

I told Buhkwujjenene that I wanted to have a little talk with him, so
as soon as I had some maple syrup, and my pockets filled with sugar
cakes to take home to the children, he came with me out of the wigwam,
and we sat down on a log together for a pow-wow. Of course he lighted
his pipe the first thing, for Indians can't talk without smoking. I
told him I had been thinking that I would cross the great salt water to
the land of the pale-faces, and try to collect some money to build the
big teaching wigwam that we had been talking about, and I suggested the
idea of taking him with me, if he would like to go. I said his brother
"Little Pine" had already done a good work by addressing meetings in
Canada and thus giving a start to the scheme, and now it would be for
him, the other chief, to carry the work on and help to raise funds
sufficient to erect the institution. Buhkwujjenene listened attentively
while I spoke, and then, laying his pipe down, replied as follows:

"It is true I have often thought that I would like to visit the great
country across the great salt water, and I have sometimes thought that
the day would come for me to do so; still, I am getting advanced in
years now. I am no longer young as I used to be. I am not always well,
and it is a long way to go. Nevertheless I am willing to accompany you
if the Great Spirit wills it. I committed myself to the hands of the
Great Spirit when I became a Christian forty years ago. If it is His
will that I should go, I will go; if it is not His will I will stay
here."

A few days after this the Indians held a council in the school-house,
when it was definitely arranged that Buhkwujjenene should accompany me
to England, and the Indians agreed to sell an ox, which belonged to
them in common, to assist in defraying his expenses.

The party who were to make the trip across the Atlantic consisted of
Mrs. Wilson, our little boy Archie (whom the Indians call Tecumseh,
after the celebrated chief who fought under Sir Isaac Brock in 1812),
Chief Buhkwujjenene, and myself. We started on a bright Monday morning
towards the middle of May, the first part of our journey being
accomplished in the steam-boat _Waubuno,_ which took us as far as
Collingwood, a distance of 300 miles. From Collingwood we took train
about 100 miles to Toronto, where we staid a few days; then from
Toronto we took train _via_ Niagara and Buffalo to New York. Our
train arrived a few hours only before the steamship _The India_
was to start.

So far Chief Buhkwujjenene had seen nothing more than he had seen
before in his life, for he had already on more than one occasion
travelled through Canada. Now however that he was embarked on an ocean
steamer, all would, for the next few months, be new to him. One of his
first experiences was the qualms of sea-sickness, and I verily believe
he thought he was going to die. However, as with the white man so with
the Indian, a few days on the salt water set him all right, and
strength, spirits and appetite returned. One evening on deck he told me
a dream he had had shortly before I proposed for him to accompany me.
"I thought I was working outside my house," he said, "when I heard the
note of a loon. (The loon is a favourite bird among the Indians, and
they regard it with superstitious reverence.) The sound came from the
Western sky, and I gazed in that direction to try if I could see the
bird. In another moment I heard the sweep of its wings over my head,
and there it flew sailing majestically along and drawing after it an
airy phantom ship with three masts; it sailed away off east, still
uttering its monotonous note till it was lost to view. Thus my dream
has come true," he said, "for this is the three-masted vessel that I
saw in my dream, and the loon is dragging us along!"

At length the north coast of Ireland came in sight, and then the
Scotch coast, and finally we came to anchor in the harbour at Greenock.
It was late in the evening, about 8 p.m., when we arrived, and we heard
that there was a through train to London at 8.30, so we made a great
effort to catch it; we succeeded in boarding the train at the very last
moment, and were off by the night mail to London.

The next morning there appeared the following interesting, though not
very truthful, notice in the _Glasgow Herald:_--"An interesting
stranger has arrived in this country, and it may possibly turn out that
the 'Coming Man' has come at last. His name, we understand, is Chief
Buhkwujjenene, which signifies 'a man of the Desert,' and he landed in
Greenock from the Anchor Line steamer _India_. The man was dressed
in the full costume of the Chippewa tribe, to which he belongs, namely,
skins, feathers, &c. He is described as being tall and handsome, with a
frank but thoughtful face, and appeared to be about thirty years of
age. It is understood that this chief, who proceeded immediately per
mail train to London, has been converted to Christianity, and has been
brought over to England under the auspices of the Church of England
Missionary Society, in order that he may be instructed in Christian
truth, fitting him to return as a native teacher and preacher among his
tribe in the backwoods of America. A more appropriate lodging for 'a
man of the Desert' cannot be found in the whole world than Leicester
Square; though whether he would receive much Christian truth in that
locality is another question. If he would send for his tribe, and
encamp there permanently, a picturesque effect might be produced at a
very trifling outlay."

We travelled all night, and were due at Euston Square the following
day. Early the next morning we sent on the following telegram to
announce our arrival to our unexpecting friends:--"Myself, wife,
Archie, and Indian chief have arrived; shall reach Euston at 3 p.m."
This was the first intimation that our friends had of the certainty of
our paying them a visit, as we had come away by the first boat down on
the opening of navigation, and our letters sent by dog-sleigh a week or
two before that were still on the road. Still less had they any
expectation of an introduction to one of the natives of our wild
backwoods.

Our train steamed into Euston Square punctual to the time after its
long run of 400 miles. And now familiar sights met our eyes after a
four years' absence from our native land; there were the cabs and the
running porters and the dense crowd of people filling the station; and
there--still more familiar sight--was my father's carriage and the well-
known figure of our coachman on the box. Then came hearty shakes of the
hand from my father and brother who had come to meet us, and Chief
Buhkwujjenene, who seemed quite lost, poor man, among the excitement
and bustle, was introduced and shook hands with the venerable English
Black-coat.

It was strange the affection that Buhkwujjenene conceived for my
brother from the first; he misunderstood his name (Arthur), and
thinking it to be Otter, always called him _Neegig._ Upon my
father he conferred the name of _Pashegonabe,_ the great eagle,
and one of my sisters he was pleased to call _Wabausenooqua,_
which title he explained to mean a little spot cleared by the wind;
though for what reason he gave this name we could never quite make out.
_Neegig_ and he became great friends; they had one thing in
common, and that was a love for tobacco, and in the summer evenings
after dinner the young white man and his grown companion would recline
on rustic seats in the garden, and smoke pipe after pipe, the red man
mixing his "baccy" with some savoury bark from his native land which he
produced from the depths of his martin-skin tobacco-pouch. They could
not understand each other's speech, but by dint of signs and a few
broken words of English occasionally introduced by the Chief, they
managed to carry on some conversation.

Quite a sensation was caused not only in the house but in the
neighbourhood by the new-comer's arrival. It was strange to see him
sitting in his blanket coat in an easy chair beneath the gas-lights in
the drawing-room, strange to see him conducting a lady in to dinner and
sitting at table awaiting the arrival and removal of the various
courses, strange to see him walking the streets with his medals on his
breast, his skunk skin and leggings and feather in his hat, or riding
in the same attire on the top of an omnibus; and yet amid it all he
bore himself with such perfect grace and self-possession that every one
admired and wondered at him. People thought he had a very pleasant
expression and agreeable manner, and they were astonished at his
politeness and the cool self-possessed way in which he accepted the
many new experiences which kept crowding upon him. A photographer in
the neighbourhood soon heard of his arrival and asked him to sit for
his portrait. Several likenesses were taken--representing him as a
Christian Chief in his ordinary dress; and as a Chief of former days in
feathers and Indian costume. As he could scarcely speak a word of
English I was obliged to be tied rather closely to him as interpreter,
and assist him in receiving visitors, numbers of whom came almost
daily. We also had a visiting-card prepared for him on which was
inscribed Chief Buhkwujjenene, Garden River, Canada. At morning and
evening prayers and in church on Sundays he was most devotional, and
whenever the Lord's prayer was repeated he joined audibly in the Indian
tongue--"_Wayoosemegooyun keezhegoong ayahyun, tah keche-
ahpeetandahgwud kedezhenekausoowin_" &c.




CHAPTER XVII.

AN INDIAN CHIEF IN ENGLAND.


We were not long in setting the Chief to work. It was Friday when we
arrived, and on the following Thursday our first meeting was held in
Bishop Wilson's Memorial Hall, Islington. Notice was given of the
meeting in church on the intervening Sunday, the Chief occupying a seat
in one of the pews, and a circular was also issued headed:--

"A RED INDIAN CHIEF'S VISIT TO ENGLAND."

The result was an overflowing meeting. The vicar occupied the chair
and a number of clergy were on the platform. Chief Buhkwujjenene
seeming to be just as much at his ease as if he were addressing a
council of his own people, stood forth and in simple eloquent terms
told his story, myself interpreting for him every time he paused.

"My brothers and sisters," he began, "I salute you. I have come all the
way across the great salt water to see you, and it does my heart good
to see so many pale faces gathered together before me." He then
recounted what had led him to take the journey. It had not been his own
wish, but he felt that God had led him to do so; God had preserved him
amid the dangers of the ocean, and he trusted that God would prosper
the cause for which he came to plead. "Many years ago," he said, "I and my
people were in a very different state to what we are now: we had no
teaching, no churches, no missionaries, our medicine men taught us to
believe in good and bad spirits and to depend on dreams. I, when a boy,
was obliged by my father to blacken my face and fast for many days
together, and while doing this it was believed that whatever I dreamed
would come true. But now we Indians at Garden River are no longer
heathen, we have all now accepted Christianity and we have our church
and our missionary. The desire of my heart is to see our religion
spread among the other Indians; we want more Missionaries to be sent to
us, and greater efforts made to extend the blessings of the Gospel. We
want our children to be taught to follow civilized trades as the white
people do. We feel that the time is past for the Indians to live by
hunting and fishing as our forefathers used to do. We wish to give up
our old habits and adopt the customs of the pale faces. In order to
accomplish this we propose that a big teaching wigwam should be built
at Garden River where our sons may be taught to carpenter and make
boots and other such things as are useful, and where our daughters may
learn needlework and knitting and spinning. This is the desire of my
heart, this is the cause for which I have come to plead. We Indians are
too poor to help ourselves, and so we look to you white people who now
occupy our hunting grounds to help us. We know that our great Mother
Queen Victoria, loves her Indian subjects; often have we fought for her
and we are ready to fight her battles again. We have readily given up
our hunting grounds to you, and all that we ask of you is that you will
help us in improving ourselves and in educating our children."

After this the Chief put on his Indian dress and sang a war song. Much
interest was stirred up by his address and the collection which was
made after the meeting amounted to upwards of L11.

The following Sunday the Holy Communion was administered at the old
parish church of St. Mary's, and among those who knelt at the rails to
receive the sacred emblems of our Lord's passion and death, was the
Indian Chief Buhkwujjenene. I repeated the words to him in his own
tongue as I administered the bread and wine.

The following day we visited the Rev. Henry Venn, the venerable
Secretary of the Church Missionary Society. He received us most kindly,
and for his own part he hoped that the Committee, whom we were to meet
on the morrow, would agree to continue their support of the mission at
Garden River, and to assist us in our proposed scheme for the
advancement and civilization of the Indians; he feared, however, we
might have some difficulty in the matter, on account of our proposed
plans not being strictly in accordance with the main object of the
Society, which is to carry the Gospel to the heathen.

Among the earliest plans made for the edification and amusement of the
Chief was a visit to the Zoological Gardens at Regent's Park. Among the
birds the Chief quickly recognized the Canadian thrush, and doffed his
hat with evident pleasure at the rencontre. We went the regular rounds,
as every one does, through the monkey-house, through the parrot-house,
down through the tunnel and alongside the canal to the house of the
reptiles, then back to where the elephants and giraffes are kept. The
hippopotamus was on land so we saw him well; the giraffes walked round
and round and bowed their necks to the visitors as they always do; the
elephant obeyed his keeper, stood up on his hind legs, elevated his
trunk, trumpeted and consumed biscuits. Then we saw the lions and
tigers fed. The Chief had a ride on one of the camels, and looked very
picturesque in his white blanket coat, though scarcely oriental enough
in his appearance to produce a natural effect.

Another day we had an interview with his Royal Highness the Prince of
Wales. It was not brought about in the way such things are generally
accomplished, but still it did very well. The occasion was the opening
of the Bethnal Green Museum. We had gallery tickets for the Chief and
myself. It was an imposing display. The centre of the hall was occupied
by all the great grandees in brilliant dress including natives of many
a foreign clime. The arrival of Royalty was signalized by a clarion
blast which thrilled through one's veins and set one on the tiptoe of
expectation. The Royal party entered, the necessary ceremonies for the
opening of the building were gone through, and then commenced a tour of
the galleries. The Prince and his suite would pass close to us. This
was a chance not to be thrown away. I had a photograph of Buhkwujjenene
in my pocket. Buhkwujjenene on his breast wore a silver medal presented
to him in common with other chiefs by the Prince on the occasion of his
visit to Canada some years before. I stepped up to one of the managers
of the Institution--Here was an Indian chief, a medal on his breast,
given him by the Prince of Wales. Would it be out of place for the
Chief to present his _carte de visite_ to the Prince? The manager
good-naturedly said that he would speak to one of the suite when they
approached and ask if it could be done. Soon the word came that the
Prince would be pleased to have Chief Buhkwujjenene presented to him.
So space was made for us by a policeman in the front ranks of the crowd--
and we awaited His Royal Highness's arrival. The moment came. His
Royal Highness greeted the Chief most cordially and pleasantly,
examined the medal on his breast, and said that he remembered his face
among the Indian chiefs who had been presented to him in Canada. "Tell
him," said the Prince to me; "tell him I remember his face perfectly."
We were then permitted to join the Royal procession and make the round
of the building.

But our time was not all taken up in sightseeing. We had plenty to do,
and only a little time to do it in. Nearly every night there was a
meeting, and often we had two or three engagements in the course of a
day. Never did an Indian chief have such a hard time of it. Wherever he
went, he wore his blanket coat, his feather in his hat, his leggings
and moccasins, and the skunk skin on his arm. Very seldom was any
attempt made to treat him rudely, though occasionally it was necessary
to hurry him through the streets to avoid a crowd collecting. Wide
guesses were made at his nationality; one would take him for a New
Zealander, another for a native of Japan.

One of our best meetings was a garden-party at Mitcham Vicarage. There
was a large gathering of ladies and gentlemen beneath the dark
spreading cedars on the soft lawn. The Chief put on his feathers and
ornaments, and at once became the centre of attraction. I think it was
on this occasion that he narrated the Indian tradition of the Flood:

"Nanaboozhoo," said the Chief, "had a son. He loved his son. He told
his son never to go near the water lest evil should come to him. The
son disobeyed his father: he went out in a canoe and was never seen or
heard of more. Nanaboozhoo then vowed vengeance against the gods of the
water, who had destroyed his son. There were two of these gods, and one
day they lay sleeping on the shore. Nanaboozhoo was looking everywhere
for them, determined to kill them. A loon offered to show him where
they were sleeping. He followed the loon till he found them, and then
he made short work of them with his tomahawk and his war-club. But lo,
and behold, no sooner were the gods dead than the waters of the great
lake rose up in vengeance; they pursued Nanaboozhoo up on to the dry
land, and he had to run for his life. He sought the highest mountain
and climbed to the top of the highest pine-tree. Still the waters
pursued him. They rose higher and higher. What could he do? He broke
off a few of the topmost branches, and made a raft upon which he got
and saved himself. He saved also a number of the animals that were
kicking and struggling in the water all around him. At length he
bethought himself of making a new world. How should he do it? Could he
but procure a little of the old world he might manage it. He selected
the beaver from among the animals, and sent it to dive after some
earth. When it came up it was dead. He sent the otter, but it died
also. At length he tried the musk rat. The musk rat dived. When it came
up it was dead. But in its claws was clenched a little earth.
Nanaboozhoo carefully took this earth, rubbed it in his fingers till it
was dry, then placed it in the palm of his hand, and blew it gently
over the surface of the water. A new world was thus formed, and
Nanaboozhoo and all the animals landed. Nanaboozhoo sent out a wolf to
see how big the world was. He was gone a month. Again he sent him out,
and he was gone a year. Then he sent out a very young wolf. This young
wolf died of old age before it could get back. So Nanaboozhoo said the
world was big enough, and might stop growing."

About L80 was collected on this occasion.

We paid two visits to the Archbishop of Canterbury, at Lambeth. On
both occasions he was most cordial and kind, and appeared to take much
interest in the work of evangelizing the Indians.




CHAPTER XVIII.

A TRIAL OF FAITH.


After this, meetings were held at Hastings, Reading, Eynsford,
Bayswater, Hampstead, Tooting, Wimbledon, Coleshill, Kensington, Ware,
and many other places; all much of the same character--money was
collected, and photographs and articles of birchbark sold. The Chief
excited much interest by recounting the circumstances of his own
conversion to Christianity. "When I was a little boy, not older than
that little fellow there," he said, pointing to a child in the
assembly, "I was very badly off. My mother was dead, and my father
loved the fire-water. I was often cold and hungry, and at night would
sometimes crawl into the wigwam and lie down beside my drunken father.
After I was grown older, a preacher came into our neighbourhood and
began to preach the Gospel to the Indians, and I used to go sometimes
to listen to him. I thought the words he spoke were very wonderful, and
I was so much impressed by them that I took every opportunity I could
of going to listen. As for my father, he would not go to hear the
preaching, and he did not wish me to go, but I used to go secretly
without telling him. One, evening I was going as usual to hear the
Missionary speak, wending my way alone through the dark lonely bush. My
path led me out into a clearing where I could see the distant horizon,
and the sun was setting in great splendour, the heavens all lighted up
with gold and crimson. Suddenly, like an arrow, there darted into my
breast the words which I had heard the preacher use about the last
great day when the Saviour would return again in glory surrounded by
all the holy angels. I sank upon my knees, and there and then offered
up my first prayer to God. The next morning I called on the Missionary,
and told him that I wished to become a Christian, and a short time
after that I was baptized. Some time after this I was very sick, and my
life was despaired of. My father, though disapproving of my having
accepted Christianity, was nevertheless very fond of me; he was much
grieved that I was sick, and I noticed that he had begun to think more
seriously of the Christian religion, for I had often spoken to him and
urged him to become a Christian; I had also prayed constantly to God
that He would change my father's heart. One day my father came to me as
I still lay sick upon my bed, and he said to me, 'My son,
Buhkwujjenene, I do not know whether you will get well again or not,
for I know you are very sick indeed, but I wish to tell you this, that
I have resolved to become a Christian, and to-morrow morning myself and
all your brothers and sisters are going to the Missionary to be
baptized.'"

It was a sore blow to us when word came from the Secretary of the
Church Missionary Society that the Committee had decided not to
continue the Garden River Mission.

It was to me a great trial of faith to be told that my choice lay
between accepting a more lucrative post in Rupert's Land or
relinquishing connection with the Society under whose auspices I had
first gone forth. What was I to do? How could I break the distressing
news to my poor friend Buhkwujjenene? I went down upon my knees, and
laid the matter before my God in prayer. And very soon the answer came.
A letter was put into my hand which said, "A friend will guarantee you
L100 a year if you will remain at your post at Garden River." How I
thanked God. I felt it was His hand directing, and I at once accepted
the offer. The Colonial and Continental Church Society guaranteed a
yearly grant, and I was sure that we were being led by God, and that
all would be right. I could meet my poor Chief now with a bright face
and a light heart. I could tell him that all was well; that the Garden
River Mission would be permanently established, and that the "big
teaching wigwam" should (D.V.) be built.

The next thing was to organize an English Committee and to open a
subscription list for the support of the proposed Institution. Among
them were the late Ven. Archdeacon Hunter, of Bayswater, and the Rev.
J. Halcombe.

A circular which was issued stated that the Chief had been greatly
encouraged by the sum of money (L740) already collected towards the
object he had so much at heart, and that the object of the Committee
was to further the good Chief's wishes by the erection of an Industrial
School at Garden River, where children both of Christian and of pagan
parents from all parts of the Ojebway territory, would be received,
clothed, boarded, educated, instructed in Christian truth, and also
taught to farm and to follow useful employments. The Committee did not
expect to do anything great at once, but to begin with small things,
and gradually extend their work as the way might open. The amount
required for the annual support of the Mission would be at least L600.
It was expected that the Canadian Government would make a grant towards
the support of the Institution when once fairly started, and the hope
was expressed that many friends would be found both in England and in
Canada to assist, so that the poor Indians might not be left destitute
and uncared for, but rather learn that it was the wish of their white
friends, while sending them the good tidings of salvation, also to help
them to become prosperous and happy in this life, and enable them to
maintain their rights as original owners of the soil.

These steps having been thus satisfactorily taken and money sufficient
collected to make a commencement, it seemed unnecessary to keep the
good Chief away any longer from his home, and one day in the first week
in August we put him on board a steamboat in London Docks and started
him off for Quebec. He preferred thus to go alone rather than wait to
accompany our party a month later, as he wanted to get home to see to
his cattle and crops and make provision for the winter. I gave him a
letter, with full directions as to time of trains, &c., which he could
show to any one, and Indians are always clever in finding their way
about, so that I felt no anxiety about him. When I met him afterwards
at Garden River, he pointed to his little log cottage, and said that
was better than all the great houses in England. However, he retained
very pleasing recollections of his visit, and often has he since asked
me to write a letter for him to one or another of the good friends whom
he made while in the country of the pale faces.

When we started on our homeward voyage, about a month later, we took
with us a young man from the Rev. D. B. Hankins' congregation at Ware,
named Frost, to be school teacher at the Institution when built, and
also a man and his wife from a farm in Kent as servants. On board the
steamboat we fell in with a family of emigrants, and persuaded them to
accompany us to Sault Ste. Marie. The man was a carpenter by trade, and
helped us in many ways, but the following year he fell ill and died. We
then took the widow into our employment as laundress, and she is with
us still. Our two younger children who had been with their nurse at
London, Ontario, during our absence, now rejoined us, and we were soon
once more settled and ready for a second Algoma winter.




CHAPTER XIX.

LEARNING TO KNOW MY PEOPLE.


The Indians are a people requiring a good deal of patience on the part
of their teachers, as, those who have tried working among them have
generally found. There is on the one hand a charming fascination about
their simple manners and habits, their readiness to receive and accept
Gospel teaching, the bright winning smile that lights up their faces
when pleased, their stoical behaviour under adverse circumstances,
their gentleness and politeness, the absence of that rough manner and
loud talk which is so common among white people of the lower classes;
and yet on the other hand we must admit that there are certain strong
points in their natural character which are anything but pleasing; and
it is, I believe, these points coming to the notice of people who are
not inclined to befriend them that have earned for them the character
of an idle, ungrateful people. Many a time has it been said to me, "How
can you waste your time working among those Indians? They will never
get any better for all you can teach them or do for them." And yet I
have continued labouring, and do still labour among them, believing
that it is God's will that every wandering sheep should be sought out
and, if possible, be brought into the Good Shepherd's fold. If at times
I have found them trying, yet, after all, I doubt if they are much more
so than many a community of white people.

I will now give a few extracts from, my journal of the winter 1872-73.

_Oct._ 21, we were up at 5.30 a.m., preparing for the "Bee;" I
rang the church bell to bring the Indians together, and hoisted the
Union Jack. Mrs. Cryer got tea made, and pork and potatoes cooked, and
about 7.30 a.m. twelve stalwart Indians sat down to breakfast. Then
axes were shouldered, the oxen yoked, and we started for the farm land
a little way back from the house. We mustered twenty-two in all and had
a good days' work--chopping down trees and brush-wood, grubbing up
roots, and making huge fires to burn all up. About twelve acres were
cleared sufficiently for ploughing, and this will be fenced round. In
the evening, when the men all came in for supper, I showed then my
plans for the new buildings, and they seemed very much pleased with
them. Later in the evening I was asked to come in to Bubkwujjenene's
house, as they wished to settle the matter about the ox.

_Nov._ 21.--The Indians held a great council in the school-house
this evening. Chief Buhkwujjenene was the principal speaker. He spoke
very eloquently, feelingly, and quite to the point,--describing his
journey to England and his kind reception by so many friends there.
Then he spoke of the proposed Institution, for which money had been
collected, and told the people that an opportunity was now given them
of improving themselves and their children, and he urged upon all to
support the movement and to give up their children to be educated.
Chief Little Pine spoke of the increasing value of their land and the
desire of the white people to purchase it from them. Our wealth, he
said, is our land. As long as it lies idle it is worthless. We must
clear our land and farm it, and then it will be of the greatest value.
He also spoke of the Institution, and advised the people to send their
children. Misquaubuhnooke and Shabahgeezhik also spoke, and each found
fault with the Indians for not exerting themselves more; they said the
congregations were not large enough on Sundays, and that many of the
people who had families did not send their children to school.

_Dec._ 1, _Advent Sunday._--Heavy snow falling, but good
congregations. I preached from Rom. xiii. 12. "The night is far spent,
the day is at hand; let us therefore cast off the works of darkness,
and let us put on the armour of light." We have commenced a weekly
offertory, and it amounts to nearly two dollars a Sunday. Two
churchwardens have been appointed, and one of them has charge of the
Church funds and is supposed to purchase all that is necessary in the
way of fuel, oil, &c. The collections ought to be ample to meet all
expenses besides paying the sexton; but if not constantly watched the
Indians are apt to spend the money on things not really wanted, while
we are shivering for want of fire, and blinding ourselves for want of
light.

_Dec. 27._--Evening Communicants' meeting at William
Shabahgeezhik's; about twenty-five present. I spoke very plainly to the
people, and urged none to come forward to the Sacrament without due
preparation. I said I would rather see ten persons kneeling at the rail
and feel that they were truly in earnest, than thirty people who had
come forward without thinking of what they were doing. I invited them
to come and talk with me individually in private. I said God had
brought me to this place to be their friend and counsellor, and to help
them on their road to heaven, and I hoped that they would regard me as
such.

_Dec. 28._--Our first winter mail arrived to-day. The first mail
we hear was lost and one of the couriers drowned, so this must be the
second that has now arrived. I had only just brought up a large packet
of letters and papers to the house, when I was called away three miles
distant, to see a man who had been taken suddenly ill and was supposed
to be dying. I went in the sleigh and administered medicine to him.
Then came a call in an opposite direction to see Chief Little Pine, who
is also sick. He has no serious symptoms, but is very weak, and eats
nothing. He says he does not wish to say anything about his illness,
and wants no medicine. "The great God," he said, "knows a11, and He can
take care of me."

_Dec. 29, Sunday._--We had twenty-seven at Holy Communion to-day,--
little over half the number that assembled last year. I take this for
a good sign. I trust that our people are beginning to think more, and
to realize how solemn is this Holy Feast. The offertory collection was
nearly four dollars. This I take for the relief of the sick. On the
other Sundays the money is used for church expenses.

_Jan._ 3, 1873.--Meeting to-night at Peter Jones'--about twenty-
four present. After it was over I told the people that the meeting next
week would be at Misquaubuhnooke's, on Sugar Island, and we had made a
plan for Mr. Frost to go over and teach school there three times a
week. I also made some reference to the dancing, in which they so much
indulge at this time of the year,--exhorting them not to keep up their
parties late at night, to finish with reading and prayer, and not to be
ashamed for the Bible to be seen on the table; also not to let the
whiskey bottle appear. I said God willed that we should enjoy
ourselves, but in our enjoyment we must remember Him, and not give way
to sin.

_Jan._ 4.--Yesterday, while out, I was called in to see a poor
boy in a very suffering state, a large piece of cord-wood having fallen
on his arm and created some internal injury. The accident happened five
days ago, and nothing yet had been done. I immediately applied a
cooling lotion. The poor little-fellow, who is only about thirteen
years old, was in great pain. His home is some three miles off, on
Sugar Island, and his mother had only heard of the accident to-day, and
had just arrived when I was called in. This morning I have brought him
up in the sleigh to my house and placed him on a bed in the little old
school-house; there is a nice fire in the stove, and we have given the
mother cooking utensils and food, so they will be quite comfortable.

_Jan._ 5.--About eleven o'clock last night the poor boy's mother
came knocking for me at the window; so I went over to see him. He
seemed much worse, and was screaming with the pain; his arm was quite
black and the inflammation extending to the hand. The mother seemed in
great trouble, and being Roman Catholics, I told her I would go over to
see the priest, and perhaps he would send some one to the Sault for the
doctor. The priest came back with me, but seemed to think it no use to
send for the doctor, as, if mortification was beginning, he could do no
good, I then left the priest alone with him, while I went to prepare a
soothing draught. While walking with the priest, I took the opportunity
to say a few words to him about my visiting his people. I told him I
was often called in by has people to visit their sick ones, and
hitherto had made it rather a point of honour not to speak to them
about religion, as I thought he would not like it, and only on one
occasion had done so. I however, did not like this plan; as a clergyman
I felt that I ought to have the privilege of speaking to those whom I
was called on to visit, especially the dying; so, if he objected to my
doing so, it would be best for him to tell his people not to send for
me. The priest said he certainly should not like his people to be
talked to; still he would be sorry for me to give up visiting the sick,
and "if I wished sometimes to offer words of consolation I must do so."

At the close of my sermon to-day I mentioned this circumstance to our
people, showing them first of all the difference between our religion
and that of the Roman Catholics--the latter shut the Bible up, we give
it to all; the latter teach people to depend on the priest for
everything, we point only to God and to Jesus Christ. I said I indeed
desired to see all the people on this Reserve members of our Church;
still I felt that this would not be effected by strife and quarrelling,
but only by love. I wished, I said, to try and copy the Saviour, who
loved all men alike. For this reason, when called to help Roman
Catholics or to give them medicine, I was willing to do so, as I
thought it was right to do so. Still I had long felt dissatisfied that
my tongue should be tied when visiting these people, for fear of
offending the priest. For that reason I had now had a talk with the
priest, and told him that in future, if I visited his people, I must be
allowed to talk to them. If he did not like me to do this, he must
forbid them sending for me. A good many of our people went in after
service to see the poor sick boy. I took Archie in also to see him. The
boy seemed much pleased to see him, saying, 'Kagat minwahbumenahgooze'
(he is very pretty), and afterwards repeated the same words to his
mother when she came in.

_Jan. 7._--This evening I had quite a nice talk with my poor boy-
patient. I told him the story of God's love in sending His Son to die
for us; also about the penitent thief on the cross being saved in his
last hour of life. The child listened very attentively, and appeared to
drink in all that I told him, and I then knelt by his bed-side and
prayed for him.

_Jan. 10._--My poor boy is, I hope, getting a little better. His
arm gives him less pain. I again had a little talk with him, and
prayer. I asked him if he thought God treated him hardly in sending him
so much suffering, and he replied, "No." I then told him that God had
certainly sent it all in love for his soul, so that he might be led to
think and prepare for the future life: God had already heard our
prayers for him, and if he should get quite well, I hoped he would
always love and serve God.

_Jan._ 19.--Frost has begun his school on Sugar Island. The first
day he had thirteen children and the second day fourteen. He is getting
on wonderfully with the Indian language, and can read the lessons in
church.

_Feb._ 2, _Sunday._--To-day we had about seventy at at
morning service, and twenty-seven communicants. Chief Little Pine came
yesterday to see me about the Holy Communion. He said that recently I
had spoken so strongly about the danger of receiving it unworthily that
he was afraid. I knew, he said, that he owed Penny over twenty dollars;
also that he had not yet paid his promised subscription of ten dollars
to the school. I told him God knew the secrets of all our hearts. If he
really intended to pay what he was owing as soon as possible, it was
not sin for him to be in debt, and he might partake of the Sacrament
with a clear conscience. I was rather glad, however, to see him turn
away at the end of the service. It is the first time that he has done
so, and I trust he is really beginning to think more of what it all
means.




CHAPTER XX.

A WEDDING AND A DEATH.


_Feb_. 3, 1873.--To-day William Buhkwujjenene, the Chief's only
son, was married to Philemon Atoosa. The wedding was appointed for 10
a.m., and early in the morning William was off to fetch his bride and
her party, their house being about four miles off, on Sugar Island. It
was long past the hour when Buhkwujjenene, Atoosa, and several other
Indians came to me in a rather excited state, and Buhkwujjenene, as
spokesman, explained that, although Atoosa, the father, was willing for
his daughter to be married in our church, the mother and brother were
opposed, and wanted the priest to marry them. I replied briefly that
there were two religions, Roman Catholic and Church of England. When
marriages took place between parties of different Churches, agreement
must be made in which Church they would be married; this agreement had
already been made in this case, banns had been published, and the bride
and her father were both willing, so there was no need for any trouble.
Chief Buhkwujjenene said that was enough, and he would go for the
party. However, I waited on and on, and at length went over to
Buhkwujjenene's house to ascertain the cause of delay. I found that he,
Atoosa, and his son, had gone over to see the priest. They soon
returned, and brought word that the priest raised no objection to the
marriage being performed in our Church, and had even said, "If you do
what is right in the Church of England you will go to heaven the same
as if you belonged to the Roman Catholic Church;" rather liberal
language for a Jesuit priest.

It was now past noon, and still there came one cause of delay after
another, so that was 1.45 p.m. before the party had actually assembled
in the church. All passed off very well. Bride and bridegroom put their
marks in the register, and then all repaired to Chief Buhkwujjenene's
dwelling. The bride wore a blue merino dress with green trimmings, a
smart crimson necktie, gold brooch, chain, and locket, her hair in a
net with blue ribbons. The bridesmaids were Isabel, Nancy, Sophy, and
Therese Weesaw.

The feasting began at 2.30 p.m., the table very well spread--wedding-
cake, wine, turkey, goose, rabbit, beef, tarts, buns, and preserves.
About twenty-five sat down at a time, the bride and bridegroom at the
head. Two tables were cleared before the speeches began. Chief Little
Pine made a capital speech, relating the happiness of his own married
days, and wishing for a like blessing on the young couple just united.

_March_ 15.--Last evening our cottage reading was at
Buhkwujjenene's. I had just given out the first hymn when a message
came that I was wanted immediately at George Pine's, for Eliza was very
ill, and, they feared, dying. I got my medicines and jumped into the
sleigh. George Pine had gone away last Monday beaver-hunting. Only
Sarah was in the house. Eliza was lying on a couch on the floor, her
head to the wall, her feet toward the stove,--Sarah sitting about two
yards from her on the floor by the wall, with Eliza's baby on her
knees. The other two little children, Benjamin and Esther, were lying
on some blankets, on the floor at the other side of the room. While I
was taking off my cap and muffler George Angisteh bent down and looked
at Eliza, and then said to Sarah, "She is dead!" He then got up
quickly, and went out to summon the neighbours. In the meantime I felt
her pulse and heart, but her eyes were fixed, and she evidently was
dead; the women who came in tried rubbing her arms and legs, but
without any effect. Gradually the room became crowded with persons, the
two chiefs among the number. I gave a short address, expressed my
belief that Eliza was fully prepared for death, and was now happy; and
told the people her words about the eight true Christians whom she
thought might be found in Garden River. I pitied, I said, the three
little orphan children, and I trusted that God would care for them. I
spoke to Benjamin, the eldest (six years old), and told him his mother
was in heaven, and that he must try and love God, and then he would go
to see her again by-and-bye.

_March_ 18--To-day was the funeral. The church was crammed. I
gave a short address after the lesson, and we sang a hymn. The coffin
was opened in the church that all who wished might take a last look.
This is a prevalent custom with the Indians. There was no road cut to
the cemetery, so I had to go on snow-shoes, and the sleigh, with the
coffin, was drawn by four men. Again at the grave I said a few words,
and commended the three little orphan children to God's care.

_May_ 28.--A very satisfactory meeting to-night. After the usual
evening service was over (in the school) I asked all the people to
remain, so that we might have a little talk together about the
Institution which I hoped would be built during the summer. The
Indians, I said, had now transferred the land to us by deed, so that
there was nothing to prevent our commencing the buildings at once. It
was necessary, however, to consider what children would be received
into the Institution when it was completed. Many friends were ready
with their money to pay for the support of pupils, but they wanted
first of all to know their names and ages, and other particulars. I
felt, I said, that this was an important matter, and it was time now
for me to ask them whether they were willing to give up their children
to be trained in our Institution. I knew that it was a great
responsibility for me to undertake the charge of their children; if it
were not that I was persuaded that our whole undertaking had been from
first to last ordered by God, I should consider it too heavy a burden,
but I was sure God would be with us and bless us--it was His work, and
not mine. Chief Buhkwujjenene replied. He alluded briefly to our visit
to England, spoke of the generosity of the English people in
contributing, and ended by saying that he should gladly send two of his
daughters to our Institution. Chief Little Pine then rose. He addressed
himself specially to the women, and told them a great work had been
done for their children, and they must make up their minds now to give
them up. In a humourous tone, be said, all the _weaned children_
must be sent to the Institution at once, and the infants be kept until
they were old enough. Their Missionary, he added, seemed to think it
would be a heavy burden on him, and so indeed it would be if he were
alone: but he was not alone, God would help him, and so it would be
light. He concluded by urging on the people to listen to the good
counsel they had received. All that had been spoken was truth--it was
all truth.




CHAPTER XXI.

THE OPENING OF THE FIRST SHINGWAUK HOME.


On June 3rd, 1873, the contract for the erection of the new Industrial
Home was signed. It was to cost 1550 dollars, and to be completed by
August 25th. The specifications showed that it was to be a frame
building, having, with the old parsonage, a frontage of 100 feet, two
stories high, with verandah in front for each flat; suitable farm
buildings were also to be erected on the land in the rear.

It was interesting to us to watch the progress of the work day by day,
to see the walls rising up, the partitions made between the rooms, and
at length the roof put on and shingled.

The plastering was not yet done when the first batch of children
arrived. They came from our old Mission at Sarnia, and were accompanied
by Mr. Jacobs. Their names were Mary Jane, Kabaoosa, Mary-Ann Jacobs,
Betsey Corning, Eliza Bird, John Rodd, Tommy Winter (who was at Kettle
Point); also Nancy Naudee and Jimmy Greenbird, from Walpole Island. It
was difficult to find accommodation for them all, as the rooms were not
ready; however, we managed to pack them in.

It was just at this time that the district of Algoma, with Parry Sound
and Muskoka, was set apart by the Church as a Missionary Diocese, and
on the 10th September,1873, Archdeacon Fauquier, of the Huron Diocese,
was elected our first Missionary Bishop. His consecration was appointed
to take place October 28th.

And now I must tell about the opening of our Home, which took place on
Monday, the 22nd of September.

It was a fine bright day, and preparations began early in the morning
with the hoisting of flags, ringing the church bell, and firing of
guns. A string of flags--blue, yellow, red, and white--adorned the face
of the building, and a large Union Jack, given by Mrs. Buxton, was
hoisted on the centre of the roof. Men on the Reserve met first, early
in the morning, for a "clearing bee" on the farm; and at 4 p.m. a
general gathering of all the people was appointed to take place at "The
Home" for the opening ceremony.

We had at this time the promise of twenty-three pupils, but only
sixteen had as yet arrived--eight boys and eight girls. Six came from
Sarnia, two from Walpole Island, two from Manitoulin Island, and six
belonged to Garden River. Among the latter were Eliza Pine's little
orphan boy Benjamin. They all seemed very happy and contented in their
new home. Those who came from a distance had their travelling expenses
paid by their band; and we thought, if anything, it was rather an
advantage to get them, as their homes were too far off for them to be
likely to run away if they became home-sick. Both boys and girls worked
very well, helping the matron (Mrs. Shunk) and schoolmaster to get
everything ready by 4 p.m. The dining hall was prettily decorated with
stag-horn, moss, and flowers, and laid out with tables bearing, on one
side of the room, a "heavy dinner" for those who had been toiling at
the "Bee," and on the other side a light repast for other visitors. The
hall was soon crowded with people, and all came in for some share of
the feast. Then we had croquet and other games in the garden until 6
p.m., when a bell was rung, and all gathered in the hall.

The two Indian Chiefs, Buhkwujjenene and Augustin Shingwauk (Little
Pine), Mr. Frost, and myself, sat at a table at one end, with the boys
and girls of the Home ranged on our right and left, the rest of the
room being occupied by the people.

The opening ceremonies were conducted in a very simple manner, with a
short service, a special prayer for the occasion, hymns, and the
declaration that the building was now open, and was to be known by the
name of "The Shingwauk Industrial Home," Shingwank (a pine tree) having
been the family name of the Garden River Chiefs, for several
generations back.

Then I invited the whole crowd of people to follow me in order through
the building, that they might see every part of it. I went first, with
a lamp, and was followed by the Chiefs and all the Indians, and the
schoolmaster, with another lamp, brought up the rear. We ascended the
boys' staircase, through the master's bedroom into the boys'
dormitories, looked into the clothing store well supplied from English
and Canadian Sunday-schools, then down our own staircase, into the
dining-room, out again into the hall, through our kitchen and the
Institution kitchen, and the matron's sitting-room, into the girl's
work-room and dormitories, and so back to the dining-hall. Then all
again took their places, and the meeting was continued. I read over the
rules which had been placed on boards and hung up in the dining-hall;
read over the names of the children already admitted, gave a few
particulars about our work, and then invited the Chiefs each to give an
address. They spoke very warmly, and expressed themselves as highly
gratified with all that had been done and was being done for their
advancement, and thanked God that this "big teaching wigwam," which
they had so long wished for, was now built and opened for use. We then
concluded the meeting with another hymn and the blessing.

I had been very successful in getting support for my Indian children.
Several Sunday-schools in Toronto and elsewhere had kindly undertaken
the support of individual children, and Tommy and Jimmy were provided
for by kind friends in England. We thus had much reason to be hopeful
and to thank God.

During the remainder of the week our Indian children attended
regularly every day at school.

At last, Saturday night came; tea and prayers were half an hour
earlier than on other days. Mr. Frost played the harmonium, and the
children sang sweetly "Shall we gather at the river?" Then they had
their baths, and all retired to rest, looking forward to a happy day on
the morrow, the first Sunday in our new Institution.




CHAPTER XXII.

FIRE! FIRE!


At 10 o'clock that Saturday night (September 27th) I went my rounds as
usual to see that all was well. Earlier in the evening we had fancied
that we smelt burning, but it was accounted for by the matron, who said
that she had put some old rags into the washhouse stove. Everything
seemed to be safe and comfortable, and at 11 p.m. I retired to rest.

About 3 o'clock in the morning Mrs. Wilson and myself were
simultaneously awakened by the running to and fro of the boys in the
dormitory overhead, and the shouting of the schoolmaster. We were both
up in an instant. I lighted a candle, put on a few clothes, and opened
the door leading into the nursery. The cause of alarm was immediately
apparent. Flames were leaping up at the back of the house, seeming to
come from the cellar, which was entered by a staircase from the
outside, just under the nurseries. Every one now was crying "Fire!" and
all seemed to be rushing about frantically. Mrs. Wilson called to the
servants to wrap our children in blankets, and escape with them. I ran
from the nursery to the kitchen, where was a door that led out to the
back; there I found Cryer and Frost vainly endeavouring to stifle the
flames by throwing on buckets of water. It was raining in torrents. Not
a soul was at hand to help us. I sent Cryer and Frost to the river for
more water. It was pitch dark, and the river a considerable distance
off, so that by the time they returned, the flames had made great
headway. It was evidently too late to save the building. Mrs. Wilson
and the servants had collected the children; I caught up one of them,
and we all ran to the church through the vestry. I rang the church bell
hard for some minutes; still no one came. The children were wrapped in
blankets, all four of them ill with coughs; the youngest, Mabel Laurie,
very ill with inflammation of the lungs. I ran back to the wash-house;
the flames now were leaping up madly, and lighting all the country
round. I collected the Indian children in the garden, and counted them
over; two were missing. Frost said he was sure they were all out; but
we could not tell. We shouted into the burning building; afterwards we
found that they were all right. I ran into my study, keeping my head
low to avoid the smoke, unlocked three or four drawers, and rapidly
collected important papers; then, half smothered, groped my way back to
the hall. Mrs. Wilson had followed me, and held the door closed while I
was in to keep the fire from drawing outwards; the staircase was on
fire, and my hair and whiskers were singed. All our watches, jewellery,
&c., were lost. My wife had collected and put them together in a basket
on the floor, but it was too late to save it. Some of the Indians had
now arrived, and I told them to save what they could, but every room
was full of flame and smoke. The harmonium in the dining-hall might
have been saved, but no one thought of it; it had only been brought in
the day before, and was a gift from a lady in England. The church was
now in danger; it was only 20 feet from the burning building; where
should we go? We took up the children, and ran back to the farm
buildings. It was still drenching with rain; the fire looked terrible,
and we feared it would reach us even here. We must beat another
retreat. Should we go to the Jesuit priest? He was a hospitable man,
and would surely give us shelter. "Take up the children again," I said,
"we must go at once." My wife persisted in carrying little Laurie, the
youngest; I took the other little girl, and the servants carried the
two boys. Thus we went through the pelting rain, the women with only
shawls wrapped round them; my wife in her dressing-gown and slippers. I
hastened on to the priest's house, and after a good deal of loud
knocking succeeded in rousing him. He expressed the greatest sympathy,
and invited us in. The rain had drenched us to the skin. I left Mrs.
Wilson in charge of the priest's housekeeper, and ran back for the
other children. If I did give way at all it was just now when, for the
moment, I was alone. I felt that all my hopes and prospects were
dashed; still I could pray, and God was not far off. I was comforted.
Man might fail me, but God would not. If anything, it was good to feel
every earthly prop give way, and to cling alone to the Mighty One.

On the road I met the servants with two of the children. The flames were
advancing on the barn; they had already seized on some out-buildings
which lay between, and a pile of cordwood. Archie, our eldest boy, of
four years old, was sitting under the fence, not crying, but a smile was
on him lips, his blue eyes gazing calmly on the flames, his sunny locks
wet with the falling rain. I took him up, and ran back with him to the
priest's house. "Naughty fire to burn down papa's house," he said.
"Papa, shall we go away in the big boat now our house is burnt?" Leaving
the little fellow safely with his mother, I returned quickly to see
after my Indian children. The Indians, had already taken some of them
away to their houses, and the rest I sent into an empty log house which
Shunk had occupied. Then I turned my attention to the church. The people
were standing round doing nothing. I saw the church was in imminent
danger; part of the bell-tower had caught, and the roof was smoking with
the heat. I called aloud to the Indians to bring wet blankets and put
them on the roof, then I seized a rail, told some of the Indians to do
the same, and together we pushed over the burning end-wall of the doomed
building, and it fell with a crash into the glowing embers. Thus the
church was saved.

When I got back to the priest's house I found Mrs. Wilson very ill;
but the housekeeper, a kind-hearted French woman, was doing all she
could for her. The sexton, an Indian, came to know if he should ring
the bell for service. I was scarcely aware it was Sunday, but I said,
"Yes and I would come myself." I had no hat, but the priest lent me his
fur cap, also his boots. I would not go into the reading-desk, but
knelt in the church, and read the Litany. All the people seemed greatly
affected. I spoke a few words to them, comparing our position to that
of the Israelites when, on setting forth, full of hope and joy, on
their road to the Promised Land, found their way suddenly barred before
them by the Red Sea. I told them that the events that had happened
seemed sad and distressing to us, but who were we that we should
understand God's purposes? We must believe that it was all for the
best; we must wait on God; He would make the way clear for us. If it
were His will, no doubt these ruins would be built up again, and we
should all rejoice once more. Buhkwujjenene then said a few words, and
spoke very feelingly. When this little service was over, I returned to
the priest's house, and sat down at his table to write a telegram.
There was telegraphic communication with the outer world through the
United States, the wires having been extended to the American Sault
only a few months previously; thus I was enabled to telegraph to
England. I wrote, "All is burned down; no lives lost; nothing saved."
The priest, who had been most kind throughout, sent it for me to the
telegraph office, thirteen miles off. He sent also at the same time for
the doctor and medicines, and a message to our friends at the Sault
telling of our sad plight.

We now determined to go as soon as possible to Collingwood by the
steamship _Cumberland_, which was due on her way down. Poor little
Laurie was very ill, and we anxiously awaited the arrival of the
doctor. During the afternoon, I poked through the ashes with a stick,
and found the remains of our watches and two sovereigns welded
together. We also collected a quantity of silver, all welded together,
scarcely a spoon or fork retaining its shape; still it was valuable,
and I disposed of it afterwards in Toronto. Among the chief valuables
destroyed were our piano, recently brought from England, the harmonium,
a library of 500 volumes, and all our stores for the winter which had
just been laid in. The whole loss was estimated at about L1300. The
carpenters had only been out a day or two, and I was intending to
insure the building the following week.




CHAPTER XXIII.

AFTER THE FIRE.


Late in the afternoon Dr. King, of the American side, arrived. He was
very kind and did all he could both for my suffering wife and our sick
child; there seemed but little hope that the latter would live, in her
weak state the shock had been too great. After tea I went over to see
my poor Indian children. All were lacking in clothing more or less.
Jimmy Greenbird, who ran into Frosts' room after the fire began and
saved his coat for him, was rolled up in a counterpane. Little Nancy,
eleven years old, had her hand to her head and looked ill. She said,
"My brain pains me." She seemed inclined to faint, so I took her in my
arms and gave her some restorative. All night our little Laurie was
very ill, and Mrs. Wilson never slept at all. Next day, Monday, the
Indians held a council to hear from me what I proposed to do. They
asked me whether I felt "weak or strong about it," whether I would
collect money to re-build again, or whether I should give up the
Mission. I reminded them of what I had said in the church. I could only
wait on God till I saw my way. Some of them said it was unfair to ask
me just now when the calamity was but just over, and my wife and child
sick; it would be better for them to set to work and try and repair the
damages and leave me more time to think: they then talked of putting up
a house at once for our school-master, as he would remain and take my
place this winter. Old Chief Little Pine, spoke very nicely; addressing
me, he said, "The destruction of these buildings and property is not
loss. Were you to lose your wife and children it would be loss, for
they cannot be replaced. I have just lost a son, and I know what that
is." Our friends at the Sault were most kind and sympathising; they
sent us a portmanteau full of clothing and food.

One more sad event has to be recorded. Tuesday was a clear cold
morning, and the stars were still shining brightly, undimmed as yet by
the streaks of dawn in the East, as I wended my way to the church. I
was going to toll the bell, for our little daughter Laurie was dead.
The soft morning star beamed

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