Title: Missionary Work Among the Ojebway Indians
Author: Wilson, Edward Francis
Language: English
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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 down upon me as in pity; all was quiet,
all looked calm, serene, and peaceful,--the silence only broken by the
deep tolling of the bell. The little coffin had to be made in haste,
and was only just ready in time, for the steamship _Cumberland_
arrived at 10 a.m. My wife was carried on a mattress down to the
steamer. The boat could only stay a short time. The servants and the
other children were already on board. I gently lifted my child into her
last narrow bed, then Cryer and I carried it on board with our hats
off. Frost remained behind to take charge of the Mission temporarily.
The Indian children who had come from a distance were left with him and
the Matron until we could decide what to do. The captain and officers
were very kind. When we got to Bruce Mines, I went up to a store to buy
a great coat and other necessaries. My wife was still in her dressing
gown, being too ill to dress. We had special prayer on board for fine
weather, the captain and others joining with us. On reaching
Collingwood, we were most kindly received by Dr. and Mrs. Lett. They
were greatly distressed to hear of our sad misfortune, and my wife was
carried up with the greatest care to their house. They gave up their
own bedroom to her on account of its being warm and comfortable, and
would not hear of our going elsewhere. Late in the evening a vehicle
was engaged, and Dr. Lett, my two little boys, and myself went together
to the cemetery which is some distance off--taking the little coffin
with us. It was too late to read from the Service-book, but Dr. Lett
repeated some portions of the service from memory, and our little
girl's body was committed to the ground--"earth to earth, ashes to
ashes, dust to dust,--in sure and certain hope of the glorious
resurrection."

The telegram announcing our disaster was received at my father's house
in England at 8 p.m. Oct. 1st, three days after it happened, and a
reply expressing much sympathy was immediately telegraphed to us. A
week later came a letter saying that L250 had already been subscribed
towards the rebuilding: this simply in response to the telegram. Very
great sympathy was aroused, and letters came pouring in from kind
friends both in England and in Canada. By Oct. 16th the "fire fund" in
England had reached L518, and this before any letters with details had
arrived. Our friends up to that time knew only that "all was burnt
down." They were anxiously expecting letters, and hoped to hear that we
had at least saved some of our personal property. The following are
extracts from some of the earliest letters received in response to the
first detailed tidings of our calamity. "Your letter, giving the
details of that terrible escape and your great anxiety, only reached us
yesterday morning (Oct. 22). It made our hearts bleed for you. But how
comforting to know that you were kept in peace, even amid _such_
sorrow. I knew you would be helped and comforted, as God's children
always are, when their need is the greatest. And now our fears and
longings have been greatly relieved by the short telegram which arrived
at 4 a.m. to-day. We do indeed rejoice and thank God with you for this
great mercy. After your sad account of your dear wife and her falls in
escaping we feared much for her, but what a joy to have another living
babe in place of the sweet little one whom the Good Shepherd has folded
in His own arms.... How mysterious it seems that everything, just when
completed, should thus in a moment have been destroyed; and then, just
when the fire came, that the children should have been so ill: but if
trials like these do make us cling the more to the Mighty One shall it
not be well?... L550 is now in hand for you, and more keeps coming in."

Another writes:--"I cannot say how we all felt for you in your great
trial, such an overwhelming, overpowering misfortune; and then your
darling child's death too, it all seems to have come upon you like an
avalanche. Well, you have the best comfort. I came upon such a nice
verse for you this morning, 'David encouraged himself in the Lord, his
God.'"

On the 30th October, a large packing case and bale were despatched
from England containing full supplies of clothing and house requisites,
books, &c., and many handsome presents from our kind and sympathizing
friends.

But besides all this help from England we received also very much
sympathy and a great deal of substantial help from our friends in
Canada. The very first contribution I received towards rebuilding was
from the Methodist minister of the Sault, although I had never made his
acquaintance or spoken to him. One lady sold a diamond ring from her
finger and sent us the proceeds, and many others helped liberally. Dr.
Lett was indefatigable in his exertions for us. The following is from
our dear Bishop, who had been elected only a few weeks before the fire
occurred and was not yet consecrated.

"My dear Mr. Wilson,--I have only to-day been able to ascertain with
any probable certainty where I could hope that a letter, conveying my
deep and heartfelt sympathy with you and yours under the late severe
visitation which Our Heavenly Father, doubtless for wise and good
purposes, has seen fit to bring upon you, might find you.... I feel
assured that you have gone to the right quarter for comfort and support
in the trying hour; and that so doing you have experienced the
faithfulness of Him, who hath promised that He will never leave nor
forsake such as trust in Him, and have been comforted. If, in the midst
of all your cares, you can find time to send me a line, first to tell
how your dear partner is--whom I pray may be spared to you--as well as
how you are yourself, and then what your plans for the future are, I
shall indeed feel greatly obliged. Such trials as these must not
discourage us, but rather quicken our exertions and stimulate our zeal.
Praying that you may be strengthened and supported in this your hour of
need, and realize that it is _good to be afflicted_, believe me to
remain your affectionate and sympathizing brother in the Lord, F. D.
FAUQUIER."



CHAPTER XXIV.

PROSPECTS OF RE-BUILDING.


"Shingwauk--an announcement!" Such was the heading of a communication
which appeared in the correspondence columns of the "Church Herald" in
the Spring of 1874, between four and five months after our fire,--and
it ran thus: "A little more than four months ago the Shingwauk
Industrial Home at Garden River was burnt to the ground, and not a
vestige of it left. An appeal was then made to Church people of Canada,
England, and Ireland to assist in re-building it, and the sum required
being L2000; the building to comprise an Industrial School for boys and
girls, and principals residence. I am happy to announce that this sum
is, so far as I can ascertain, almost, if not already, secured. From
the Canadian Church, 1410 dols.; from Government, 1000 dols.; and the
balance from the Old Country. I mention this in no spirit of
boastfulness, but in humble gratitude to God the Father and our Lord
Jesus Christ, that the Holy Spirit hath thus inclined the hearts of His
people to give. All that has been contributed has been 'offertory
money' in the truest sense of the word. No expense (beyond printing)
has been incurred, and every contribution that has been offered,
whether of a hundred pounds or a penny, has I believe been given with a
full and grateful heart, as unto God and not as unto men."

It was indeed a very great cause not only for thankfulness, but for
deepened faith and more earnest trust in God, the Giver of all good
gifts, that a work which had seemed so completely destroyed should
thus, in the short space of four and a half months, without any effort
being made on my part, be in a fair way towards re-establishment on a
larger scale and on a more sure and permanent basis than before. Truly
can we say,

  "God moves in a mysterious way
   His wonders to perform."

If only we have faith in God, how much more may be accomplished than
we have any idea of. He is _able_ to do for us far more than we
can either ask or think.

I feel it only right, at this point, to place it on record, as an
encouragement to others who would fain trust simply in God, that the
effect on myself of that fire--I cannot call it that disastrous fire--
was to draw out fresh faith and trust in my heavenly Father. At that
time, when every earthly prop seemed to have given way,--when we
suspected incendiarism and knew not whom to trust, and my little
daughter was dead, and my wife seemed to be dying, and all things
seemed to be against me,--I was enabled in that hour of deep trial to
look above, to realize that God was my Father--my good Father--who
would not let me want; in my helplessness I just cast myself upon Him,
and rested on His strong arm. Before, I had often been anxious and had
worried myself about the future, but in this my hour of distress I felt
very deeply how insecure are all earthly investments, and that as His
servants,--"labourers together with God," our work not of earth, but of
heaven,--the truest happiness was to depend very simply on our heavenly
Father for the supply of all our daily needs.

Certainly it was wonderful how the money came in for re-building our
burnt Institution. The English fund kept mounting up. First it was
L250; that was a little more than a week after the telegram was
received, and before any details had arrived. Eighteen days after the
fire it was L518; a week later, L550. In four and a half months it had
mounted up to L1500; just double the amount we had collected for the
first Institution. And all without any great effort being made. It
seemed like a fulfilment of the verse, "The Lord shall fight for you,
and ye shall hold your peace."

And now we must return to Collingwood.

Spring has come; the Indian grammar and dictionary are completed, and
have been sent to Toronto for publication; the ice is moving out of the
bay,--the first steamboat preparing to start northward. We bid adieu to
our kind friends, and are off once more to Algoma!

On the second morning we pass the Garden River dock. Our poor
Institution is gone; and in its place stands a very desolate-looking
frame cottage, with only a door in front, and not a single window
facing the river. It has been built on the site of the burnt building,
and is occupied by Mr. Frost, the Catechist. The poor old church is
standing still, scorched on one side. Some of the Indians are waving to
us as we pass;--but we are not going to stop there,--the boat goes
gliding on, and an hour later we are landed on the Sault Ste. Marie
dock. [Footnote: Shortly after this the Rev. P. T. Rowe was appointed
by the Bishop missionary to Garden River. It was thought better for
many reasons to erect the new Institution at Sault Ste. Marie in
preference to Garden River.]

We had engaged a house for the summer, near the river, and here we
took up our residence on the 18th day of May. Early the next morning I
started off to look for land whereon to build the new Institution.
East, west, and north, high and low, land was looked at, but none
seemed sufficiently desirable to choose as a site for the new Shingwauk
Home; either it was too near the village, or too far away, or too far
from the river, or of too high a price. At length, however, the spot
was decided on. One sultry evening, almost the last day of May, my wife
and myself sauntered down the road along by the bank of the broad Ste.
Marie River, a distance of nearly a mile and a half from the village.
Here was a little open clearing, while all around was thick, tangled,
almost impenetrable bush, but in front was the beautiful sparkling
river, a mile and a half in width, and two pretty green islands just in
front of us. Cryer, the farm-man, had followed us with a spade, and we
got him to turn up the sod in several places that we might see what the
soil was like. We decided there and then to make this the site of the
Shingwauk Home. The soil indeed was somewhat stony, but the distance
from the village was just what we wanted, and the land was cheap (only
L1 an acre) and, best of all, it was close to the river, which meant
plenty of boating and fishing and swimming for the boys, and skating in
winter. We bought ninety acres, but it cost us nothing, as the
Municipal Council gave us a bonus of 500 dols. On the 3rd of June (our
wedding-day) I selected the spot on which to build, measured it and
staked it out, and assisted Cryer to chop out a clearing. The bush was
so dense that we could see nothing of the river from where we were
working; but after a few days' labour the clearing was extended to the
roadway, and we could then see where we were; we made some big fires,
and burnt up the brush-wood as fast as we cut it down. On the 24th June
the contract was signed, and excavations for the building were commenced.

The first week of June saw the arrival of Bishop Fauquier to take up
his residence at Sault Ste. Marie.

The first week of June also saw the first issue of our little
Missionary paper, at that time called the "Algoma Quarterly," but now
the "Algoma Missionary News."



CHAPTER XXV.

LAYING THE FOUNDATION STONE.


On Friday, the 31st of July, 1874, the foundation stone of the new
Shingwauk Home was laid by the Earl of Dufferin, Governor-General of
Canada.

It was fortunate that his Excellency had planned a trip to the Upper
Lakes just at this very time. Two days before his arrival a telegram
was received from Col. Cumberland, Provincial A.D.C. who was
accompanying his lordship--"I have his Excellency's commands to say
that it will give him much pleasure to lay the corner-stone of your
School on his arrival, which will probably be Friday afternoon." All
now was bustle and excitement, and great preparations were made;
triumphal arches erected, flag-poles put up and flags hoisted, and a
cold collation prepared in the carpenter's shop, which was the only
building at present erected. The ladies of Sault Ste. Marie most
liberally gave us every assistance, and the "spread" of good things was
complimented by the Governor-General, who remarked that he had never
before seen a luncheon so tastefully laid out in Canada.

On Friday, at 1 p.m., the steamship _Chicora_, which had been
chartered by the vice-regal party, drew up at the Sault dock. The
leading inhabitants of the place welcomed his Excellency on landing,
and presented him with a loyal address, to which he made a suitable
reply. During the procession a salute was fired by a company of
volunteers. The guns were two handsome brass field pieces, strongly
mounted, bearing the date 1776. An old Highlander who accompanied the
party remarked, "Captain Wilson's guns are twa sma' pieces, but they
make a tremendous noise;" and certainly the reports, as they followed
each other with the utmost regularity, justified the remark.

After some introductions to the Governor-General, he and Lady Dufferin
embarked for the Shingwauk Home. They were followed by quite a fleet of
other boats, and in due time all landed at our own newly-made dock.
Here we met the distinguished party, and accompanied them to the site
of the new buildings. Our Bishop being away, the responsibility of the
occasion all rested on myself. After a short service, conducted by the
two visiting clergymen, Lord Dufferin advanced and gave us the
following address:--

"It is with great pleasure that I have taken an humble part in the
interesting ceremony of to-day. I am always glad to have an opportunity
of showing the sympathy which I feel and the interest which I take in
the welfare of our Indian fellow-subjects. We are bound to remember
that we are under the very gravest obligations toward them, and that
the white race, in entering their country and requiring them to change
their aboriginal mode of life, incurs the duty of providing for their
future welfare and of taking care that in no respect whatsoever are
their circumstances deteriorated by changes which are thus
superinduced. It must also be remembered that, although we ourselves
have the advantage of living under Parliamentary institutions, and that
the humblest person in the land is able to feel that his representative
is in a position to plead his cause and watch over his interests in the
High Court of the Parliament of the Dominion, for obvious reasons these
advantages have not yet been extended to the Indian population. On that
account, therefore, if on no other, we are bound to be very solicitous
in our endeavours to advance civilization, to settle the country, and
to bring it under cultivation, that we do them no wrong or injury. I
must say that no better or surer method could be adopted to secure
those results than that which we have now assembled to inaugurate. It
is very evident that so great a change as that from the wild life of
the hunter to the occupation of the cultivator could scarcely be
effected at all, unless those who are thus invited to alter all their
habits of thought and life are educated with that intent. For this
purpose it is obviously the best method to lay hold of the younger
generation, by instructing them in the arts and habits of civilized
life, and to put them in a position to join with us on equal terms in
our endeavour to build up this great country, so that the various races
may be united by common interests and in a common cause. I am happy to
think that with this intent there is further joined the interest of
religion, which is even a greater and stronger means of cementing the
hearts of men together than that of patriotism. But when the two are
united and combined, as they are upon this occasion, it is impossible
but to anticipate the happiest and most successful results. I can
assure you, Mr. Wilson, on behalf of those (and there are, perhaps,
many more than you can imagine) who take a deep interest in this work,
and on behalf of your Indian friends, that you deserve our heartiest
and warmest sympathy. I can only conclude these imperfect observations
by saying, on behalf of Lady Dufferin and myself, that we both wish
this Institution and those engaged in promoting it all the success that
they themselves could desire."

At the close of this address, I, in a few words, tendered my grateful
thanks for the honour his Lordship and Lady Dufferin had conferred on
us by paying us this visit and laying the foundation stone of our
Institution, and then we repaired for luncheon to the carpenter's shop,
which was ornamented with flowers and scarlet bunting.

All passed off most agreeably, and there were many hearty cheers when
the little steamboat crossed the great river under a salute to deposit
her noble freight on the other side.

Twenty men were at work at the foundations of the new Home the day
after this visit, and all went forward with vigour. It may be well here
briefly to describe the general plan and appearance of the building.
The main building has a frontage of 75 feet, facing the river; it is
built of stone, and is three stories high; there was a wing at the
eastern extremity, and other additions have been added since; the
original cost of the building was 7000 dollars, and the additions have
made it worth about 3000 dollars more. At first all was swamp and
stumps, but the earth taken from the excavations helped to fill up the
low spots, and in time, after considerable labour, the place began to
look quite presentable, and a picket fence was put up along the roadway
in front. On the side nearest the river were the carpenters cottage and
shop (in one), which have already been mentioned, on the right, and on
the left another cottage of the same dimensions, intended at first for
an infirmary, but afterwards used as a laundry. These two cottages were
quickly erected at a cost of about 600 dollars each, and were found
very useful while the larger building was gradually rising into
existence; indeed, we were enabled, by making use of these cottages, to
re-open the Institution in a small way that very same autumn.



CHAPTER XXVI.

A TRIP TO BATCHEEWAUNING.


Besides the Indian Home which was being built I had various other
objects to attend to. There were the Garden River Indians to visit from
time to time, and I wanted, if possible, to make another trip up Lake
Superior. One Indian settlement, about fifty miles up the lake, called
Batcheewauning, I had already visited, and the Bishop had consented to
my building a school-church there and placing a catechist in charge. So,
as soon as the new Institution was fairly started, I arranged to pay a
visit to this place, accompanied by Mr. Frost. We took with us a tent
and a good supply of provisions, also lesson books and slates, and a
voyage of some ten hours brought us to the saw mills, where we were to
land. It was a dark night and raining a little. The outline of the saw
mill and a cluster of small buildings was just visible. The inhabitants
of Batcheewauning consisted of about twelve men and three women--white
people, and some sixty or seventy Indians, whose village was six miles
off across the bay. We landed our things, a sack of camp kettles and
provisions, our bedding and tent. Jacob, the Indian boy who had come
with us, was left in charge, while Frost and I went off to look for a
suitable place to camp. The owner of the saw mill directed us to an open
spot on the shore, and we bent our steps thitherward; but after
wandering about for some time, searching in vain for a smooth spot, we
espied a man approaching with a lantern, and, accosting him, inquired
whether all the land around were as rough. "Yes," he replied, "it is
only lately cleared, but you will see better in the day-time where to
camp,--and to-night you had better turn into the shanty here." To this
proposition we agreed, and following our guide, were led into an old log
shanty with crevices in its sides and roof. He lighted us a dip, and
pointed to an unoccupied corner, where he said we could fix ourselves
for the night. The accommodation, certainly, was rude, and the place by
no means clean; yet we were glad of the shelter. We laid our blankets on
the floor, and, oiling our faces and necks to keep off the mosquitoes,
were soon asleep. At first streak of dawn we awoke. The mosquitoes would
not let us rest. They became exceedingly voracious, as always, just at
sunrise. It was a fine morning, the water in the bay sparkling in the
sunlight, and the thickly wooded mountains looking soft and blue in the
far distance. Frost and myself set out again to look for a place to
camp. There was not much choice. About eight acres had been roughly
cleared around the saw mill, and beyond this on all sides was the thick
bush. We overcame the roughness of the ground by borrowing some old
boards from the mill, with which we made a floor, and erected our tent
over it. Frost kindled a fire, and I made some oatmeal porridge for
breakfast, after which we strolled along the shore, and were surprised
to find an encampment of Indians quite close to us. They belonged to the
Indian village six miles off, and were camping here for the summer for
the sake of the fishing. They occupied the ordinary conical-shaped
wigwams made of poles covered with birch bark, a tire in the middle, and
an aperture above for the smoke to escape. We spoke to several, and they
said that there were no Indians now in the village; most of them were
camping here, and others had gone to Point aux Pins. We told them the
object of our visit, which was to ascertain their condition and wants,
and, if they appeared desirous to have their children taught, we
intended building a school and sending them a teacher in the summer. All
to whom we spoke appeared much pleased by this intelligence. Many of
them knew me, as I had visited them once before, and they seemed very
glad that we could both speak to them in their own language and
understand what they said. These people were nearly all Christians. Some
had been baptized by Mr. Chance, some by myself, and others by the
Methodists; but they had no school for their children and no regular
services, and they appeared to be delighted with our proposals to build
a school and to send them a teacher. By way of proving their sincerity
we invited them to begin sending their children at once to school, and
said that while we remained we would teach every day in our camp. This
proposal was readily accepted. We commenced at once with twelve
children, but found that unfortunately we had come without any alphabet
cards. However, this difficulty was soon overcome. We cut the letters of
the alphabet out of a newspaper, and pasted them on to a sheet of paper.
Mr. Frost taught the children to sing several Indian hymns--"There is a
happy land," "Here we suffer grief and pain," &c. They learned the hymns
readily, and soon began to join quite nicely in the singing. On Saturday
evening we held a council of the people, and I propounded all our plans
to them. I told them of the "big teaching wigwam" which we were building
of stone at Sault Ste. Marie for Ojebway children from all parts, and
told them also of the appointment of a Bishop to reside at the Sault,
who would take an interest in them, and would come round in the course
of the summer to visit them. Then we spoke of the school-house which we
proposed to build for them, and agreed on the spot which seemed to be
the most suitable for the site, just at the mouth of Batcheewauning
River, near to the Indian village. On Sunday we had three services, and
Sunday-school twice. The morning service was in an Indian wigwam, for
Indians only. In the afternoon at the saw mill, in English; all the
settlers and some Indians attended--in all about thirty. In the evening
we held an informal meeting at our own tent. The Indians came together
about sun-down, and, it being cold, we all sat round the camp fire. We
sang several hymns and I read the latter part of the I Thess. iv,
dwelling on the subject of the death of Christians as distinguished from
that of unbelievers, and then offered prayer, asking God's blessing upon
them and their children, and upon Missionary effort among them and their
heathen brethren. After the service I was asked to baptize a child,
which I did, and then the people returned to their camp.

We chose a very pretty spot for the school; the soil was good, and I
purchased 120 acres at 2s. per acre to be the property of the Algoma
Diocese; I made a rough plan of the proposed school-house, with rooms
for the Catechist overhead,--pointed windows on either side to light
both floors, which, with a bell-tower, would give a church-like look to
the little building. The cost I estimated at about 500 dollars. We
intended to return to the Sault by steamboat, but none came, so we got
some Indians to take us back in their boat,--a man, a boy, and two
squaws,--and a leaky old tub it was with old rags stuffed in between
the boards. Happily we had fair weather. We camped one night on the
road, and got home in about twenty-two hours from the time of starting,
after ten days' absence. Very soon after my return I engaged a
carpenter, and the following week sent him up with a couple of men to
begin erecting the building. Within a month afterwards a Catechist was
engaged and placed in charge of the Mission.



CHAPTER XXVII.

THE WINTER OF 1874-5.


By the time winter set in, the walls of the new Shingwauk Home were
erected and the roof on, but beyond this nothing could be done until
spring. However, we could not wait for the new building to be completed
before re-organizing our work. The two frame cottages, already
mentioned, had been finished and furnished, and these we intended to
utilize for the present. The first pupil to arrive, singularly enough,
was named Adam,--Adam Kujoshk, from Walpole Island. We had eighteen
pupils altogether, boys and girls; a lady was engaged to act as matron
and school teacher; they had lessons and meals in a large common room
in one of the cottages, and in this one the matron and the girls
resided. The other was occupied by the laundress and the boys. For
ourselves we had engaged an old house at the Point, not more than half
a mile distant across the bay; so all fitted in very well.

It was a hard winter, but the children kept well, and they had a merry
and a happy Christmas. On Christmas morning we all drove in to the
Sault to church; such a sleigh load--twenty, I think, altogether,--some
sitting, some standing or hanging on, and two brisk ponies to pull.
Then there was the Christmas dinner of roast beef and plum pludding, to
which all the children did ample justice; and in the evening they came
over to our house, and we had a few amusements for them, and sang some
Christmas hymns. New Year's night was the time fixed for the Christmas
Tree and the prize-giving. Prizes were to be given not only for
reading, writing, and arithmetic, but also for laundry work, sewing,
baking, cutting wood, carpentering, &c. Such of the children's parents
as lived near enough were invited to be present, and a general
invitation had been given to our friends at the Sault, so we had a good
gathering both of whites and Indians, and the room was crowded. In the
building occupied by the matron and girls, coffee and refreshments had
been prepared for our guests, and in the other cottage was the
Christmas Tree. Passing from one building to the other, a pretty sight
was presented by the new Shingwauk Home, illuminated with half-a-dozen
candles in each window. The Christmas Tree was loaded with presents, a
large proportion of them being gifts from friends both in England and
in Canada, and prizes were given to the successful children. We had
several Christmas Carols and hymns during the evening, and all passed
off pleasantly and happily.

After these festivities were over, I thought the matron needed a rest,
for what had been play to others had been in a great measure work and
anxiety to her. So I offered to take charge myself while she went to a
friend's house for a couple of days.

I was curious to see how the children would manage after three months'
training in the ways of the Whites. Our principle was to teach them to
_do everything for themselves_, and so we kept no servants; the
matron superintended, and every week the children were appointed to
their various duties--two cook girls, two laundry girls, two house
girls, and so on; and the boys in like manner, some to farm work, some
to carrying water, some to chopping wood. Every Saturday the workers
received pocket-money from two to five cents each--that is--if they had
no bad marks. Well, as I have said, I was curious to see for myself how
these rules would work, and how the children would manage, and in no
way could I do better than by becoming at once their visitor, teacher,
and quasi-matron. Another point, too, I was anxious to ascertain, and
that was how "the four cents a meal" plan could be made to answer.

For three months now had these children been fed, and by dint of
wonderful care and economy, the matron had managed to keep within the
mark. How she could do it had been rather a puzzle to me. The only time
that I had undertaken to cater for them, was in the Fall, when I took a
number of them down to Garden River, to dig potatoes on our land there,
and on that occasion I remember I gave them bread and jam for tea, and
found that the jam alone which they devoured cost more than four cents
a head, leaving out the bread and the tea.

Well, it was half-past two when I arrived at the cottage. The matron
had just left, and it was time to commence afternoon school. The
children sat on benches round a long table, Eliza Jane and Betsy, and
Benjamin, David, Adam, eighteen of them altogether,--some of them
rejoicing in long Indian names as well: Menesenoons, the little
warrior; Puhgoonagezhigooqua, hole in the sky; and so forth. In ages
they ranged from the eight-year-old little warrior up to Adam and
Alice, the two eldest, who were both turned sixteen. And as regards
education, one (_not_ the little warrior) was still stumbling over
the Alphabet; while one or two who had attended school before they came
to us had advanced as far as the Fourth Reader, and were learning
English Grammar and Geography.

School was over at 5 p.m., and then the workers fell to their duties,
and the non-workers went forth to play. Alice Wawanosh (grand-daughter
of the old Chief at Sarnia) was girl monitor for the week, and Mary
Jane and 'Hole in the Sky' the cook girls. I was interested to see how
very systematically they set to work: Alice got the scales and weighed
out the bread half a pound to each child; Mary Jane set the table with
a bright array of tin mugs and plates, and 'Hole in the Sky' put the
kettle to boil and measured out the tea. Then the bread and butter was
cut up, and in a very little time all was ready. At another table a
cloth was laid for me, and everything placed ready in the nicest order.
When the big bell rang the children all mustered and got themselves
tidy, and the small bell was the signal to take their seats. They stood
while I said grace, and then quietly and orderly took their evening meal.

After tea came the washing up. Each one, without being told, fell to
his or her duty. The boys brought in wood, and filled up the kettle and
boiler with water; the girl monitor weighed out the oatmeal for to-
morrow's breakfast and handed over to the cook girls, who in their turn
carefully stirred it into the big iron pot on the stove. A wise
arrangement this to insure breakfast being in good time in the morning,
as the porridge has only to be heated up with a little fresh water, and
is none the worse.

By seven o'clock everything was in order, books were got out, and the
children seated themselves quietly round the table, not for school, but
just to amuse themselves, as best they liked. I sat in the Matron's
rocking chair by the cook-stove, and was amused to hear them puzzling
over the English words, spelling, and helping one another; some of them
had copies of my Ojebway grammar, and were teaching themselves the
English sentences translated from the Indian.

At half-past seven I suggested they should sing a few hymns before
prayers, so the monitor got the hymn books, and they started the tunes
themselves, and sang very prettily "Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,"
"Beautiful River," and "Hark, hark my soul, angelic songs are
swelling." Then we had prayers. I read a short passage from the Gospels
in English, and explained it in Indian. Kneeling down, they all joined
audibly in the general confession and the Lord's prayer. After prayers
all went off to bed, the boys over to the Carpenter's Cottage, and the
girls into the three dormitories. The monitor and cook, girls, however,
had to stay up another hour, for bread had been set and was not yet all
baked. There was the large wooden kneading trough by the stove, and the
scales, and as fast as one batch of bread came out of the oven another
went in, one girl cutting the dough, weighing it--four pounds to a loaf--
and another making up the bread and placing it in the tins. I think
twenty loaves altogether were baked that evening, and very nicely baked
too.

John Rodd was the wood-cutter, and his task was to light the fire in
the morning. He was early to his work, and by 6 a.m. a bright fire was
burning up, lamps were lighted, the bell rung, and soon the occupants
of the dormitories began to make their appearance, shivering,--and so
indeed was I--for it was a cold morning, twenty degrees below Zero, or
thereabouts: the smoke seemed to freeze in the chimney, the window
panes were caked with ice, and nearly everything in the house frozen
solid. It was just as well that the porridge had been made over-night,
even though it was frozen; a little hot water soon brought it to, and
it did not take very long to heat up. "Hole in the Sky" stirred it, and
kept her fingers warm, and we all huddled round the stove, wishing the
wood would stop crackling and smoking, and begin to glow with a red heat.

At last, by seven o'clock, breakfast was ready, the bell rang, and
each child sat down to his tin basin of steaming porridge, with a
tablespoonful of treacle in the middle. This, with a cup of tea, and a
hunch of bread, was their breakfast, and I don t think they fared by
any means badly. After breakfast the "workers" went to their house
duties, and the boys to their out-door work till half-past nine, when a
bell called them to prayers. Then books and slates were got out, and
school commenced. All were kept steadily at work till twelve, the cook
girls only occasionally getting up to poke the fire or peep into the
pots. Dinner was at half-past twelve, pork, beans, turnips, potatoes,
and bread; and then there was intermission until half-past two, when
they assembled again for school.

Thus all went on very satisfactorily during my two days' visit to this
embryo Institution. Merry enough they were, chasing each other about,
laughing, talking, and singing, and yet all did their duties regularly
and systematically--no jarring or disputes, and no shirking of work,
all seemed kind and ready to help one another.

Of the Indian children who were with us that first winter we know the
after-record of some. Adam Kujoshk and Alice Wawanosh married May 31st.
1878, and are now living comfortably in Sarnia. Adam is a first-class
carpenter, and can command high wages. He was employed in the cabinet-
work department, making and fitting the cabins on board the splendid
new steamship _United Empire_, which was launched at Sarnia in the
Spring of 1883. There is a young Adam, who we hope will one day be a
pupil at the Shingwauk Home. Mary-Jane died at her home in Sarnia,
trusting in her Saviour. "Hole in the Sky" has been out to service, is
a very respectable girl, and gives satisfaction to her employers. David
Nahwegahbosh married Sophia Esquimau, another of our pupils, and they
are living on the Manitoulin Island. Benjamin Shingwauk, "the Little
Warrior," is still with us, studying, and will, we hope, shortly pass
the public examination and receive a teacher's certificate. John Rodd
died at the Shingwauk in 1877, and was buried in our little cemetery;
he died trusting in the Saviour. Joseph Sahgejewh is still with us,
working at our sash and door factory, and receiving wages.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE NEW SHINGWAUK HOME.


Our new Shingwauk Home was formally opened on the 2nd of August, 1875,
by the Bishop of Huron and the Bishop of Algoma. There was a large
attendance including several friends from other dioceses; the day was
very fine, and all passed off most auspiciously. After partaking of a
sumptuous repast in the dining-hall, which was beautifully decorated
for the occasion, the guests assembled in the school-room for the
opening ceremony. A Special Service, prepared for the occasion, was
conducted by the Bishop of Algoma, who then offered a few interesting
remarks relative to the object of the Institution and the manner in
which it had come into existence. He reminded the friends present how
the original building had been destroyed by fire six days after its
completion, and that the present one, in which they were assembled, had
been erected to take its place; that the object was to train young
Indians to a Christian and civilized life, and to offer them all the
advantages which their white brethren enjoyed. His Lordship then called
upon the Bishop of Huron to formally open the building. Bishop
Hellmuth, on rising, said that it gave him great pleasure to be present
at the opening of this Institution, in which he felt a deep interest.
He was persuaded that the true way to do any permanent good to the poor
aborigines of this country, was to take their young, and train them. If
this had been done forty years ago, he felt assured that there would be
many a man now from among them holding high official position in the
country. In his own diocese he had at the present time three native
Missionaries and a considerable number of native school teachers, male
and female, all of whom worked to his entire satisfaction, He trusted
that children leaving this building would become centres for the
increased spread of Christian truth, and he felt no doubt but that the
blessing of God would rest upon a work which had been undertaken in
faith and with earnestness of purpose.

The audience then rose, and the Bishop solemnly declared the building
open for its intended purpose as an Industrial Home for Indian
children, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy
Ghost.

After the Doxology had been sung, short addresses were given by Mr.
Simpson (formerly Member for the district), and Mr. Dawson, our
Parliamentary Representative at Ottawa.

Then, at the Bishop's request, I added a few remarks relative to the
system upon which we proposed to carry on the work of the Home. Forty-
one children, I said, were at that time present, and we were expecting
several more. My experience thus far had been that it was a somewhat
difficult matter to train Indians to a civilized life, still I had
great hopes that our present undertaking would, under God's blessing,
prove successful. The first thing, I felt, was to draw the children
around me, and let them feel that I cared for them and really sought
their good. I regarded them all as my children. A good proof that I had
in some measure gained their affection and confidence was, that many of
those who had been with us the previous winter, and had been home
during the summer for their holidays, had of their own accord come back
again, some of them from a great distance, and all seemed anxious to
get on and learn all they could. We keep no servants, I said, but,
every child is appointed to his or her work, and, as the company might
see, wore badges on their arms, indicating their employment for the
week. In regard to funds, all was prosperous. Ever since the fire God's
blessing had, in a most marked manner, rested upon our work. People had
given liberally, without any of the means usually used for raising
funds being resorted to. All was paid for, and a little balance in hand.

At the conclusion of the speaking the clerical party retired to
disrobe, and then the Bishops, with a number of friends present, were
conducted over the various parts of the building. On arriving outside,
the Indian children were found drawn up in a line in front of the
building, each holding a flag; the National Anthem was sung, and then
all marched forward, two and two, in very tolerable order, singing the
hymn, "Onward, Christian soldiers." They were followed by the company,
and made a complete tour of the grounds. In the evening tea and coffee
were served to the assembled guests, and the day's entertainment
concluded with a display of fireworks and a bonfire on one of the
islands opposite the Institution.

The whole cost of the Institution, with land, cottages, &c., in round
numbers, came to L2325.

We soon got into regular working order. School hours were from 9 to 12
in the morning, and from 2.30 to 5 in the afternoon, every day except
Saturday. We had fifty pupils, twenty-five boys and twenty-five girls,
varying in age from six or seven years up to seventeen. Some of them
were very poorly clad when they came to us, and very dirty; and the
first thing was to give them a bath and burn all their clothes, and rig
them out afresh. It was of course a great change to them to commence
regular habits, to run when they heard the bell ring, and do all that
they were told; and some of them began to pine under a sense of
captivity. Some of them, when home-sick, seemed to lose all control
over themselves, and made an unearthly noise; others would watch their
opportunity and run away. In the next chapter we shall tell about three
run-away boys, and their capture after ten days' absence. On the whole,
however, the children seemed to be wonderfully contented and happy, and
all went merrily and cheerfully day after day. The fish-boys used to go
out after their nets each morning, and bring in plenty of fish; the
water-boys had their grey pony, which they called "Muhnedooshish"
(Little Evil Spirit), because it had such a bad temper and was always
backing up and upsetting the water, instead of going forward with its
load. The baker-boys made and baked the bread, in the brick oven. The
sailor-boys, in their blue serge suits, had charge of _The
Missionary_, and did all commissions by water. All were willing to
work, and seemed to enjoy their life, and on Saturdays we gave them a
few cents pocket-money as an encouragement to good conduct. True, the
matron was sometimes at her wit's end, with so many to provide for and
such raw young hands to do the work, and it was doubtless a task of
considerable difficulty to keep everything in order, and to have meals
in time and well cooked, with only these young girls as her assistants,
the greater number of whom could scarcely speak a word of English; and
great credit I felt was due to her for her patience with them. However,
they really did try to do their best, and were quick enough when they
could understand what was wanted of them.

On Sundays the children used all to walk to the Sault to church in the
morning, and in the evening we had service in the School-room. On
Sunday afternoons there was Sunday school, and on Wednesday and Friday
evenings Bible-class. Every morning at prayers the children would
repeat a verse of Scripture after me, so as to know it by heart at the
end of the week. This plan has been continued uninterruptedly, and the
children who have been with us have thus a good store of Scriptural
knowledge. They were also taught the Lord's Prayer, the Creed, the Ten
Commandments, the Catechism, and the Collects in English, their lessons
being of course varied according to their capacities. Our great desire
was that they might all prove themselves to be true Christians--
servants and soldiers of the Lord Jesus Christ.

The industries which we taught at the first outset were capentering,
boot-making, and farming.

It was of course a great object to make the children talk English.
Twice a week I had an English class, and taught them to repeat English
words and sentences, to point to their eyes, nose, ears, &c., and to
bring me things I specified. In order to induce them to keep a check
upon one another during play-time, I dealt out to each a certain number
of buttons of a particular pattern each Saturday, and if any of them
heard a companion speak Indian he was to demand a button, and the
following Saturday the buttons were exchanged for nuts. We certainly
have been very successful in teaching our pupils to talk English. It is
an understood thing in the Institution that they must do so, and no
Indian is allowed except for about an hour each day. Boys who come to
us unable to speak a word of English in September, by the following
June can generally manage to make themselves well understood.

For the support of our pupils we looked chiefly to the Canadian Sunday
Schools, many of which undertook each a _protege_ at L15 per
annum. This would cover the cost of food and clothing for an individual
child; and for the general expenses of the Home we depended on the
contributions of our friends in England and a grant from the Canadian
Government.



CHAPTER XXIX.

RUNAWAY BOYS.


One day three boys were missing; nobody could tell what had become of
them; the bush was scoured, the roads searched, and messengers
despatched to the Sault to try and gain some clue to their whereabouts.
After a time it was discovered that some bread and other things were
missing, and it became clear that they had decamped. Their home was 300
miles away, and the idea was that they had probably gone to Garden
River, about ten miles below us, with the intention of getting on board
the first steamboat that might pass, and so get home; so we made up a
crew, and late the same evening despatched the schoolmaster and some
boys in _The Missionary_ to Garden River. They arrived back the
next day, bringing word that a boat had been stolen from one of the
Indians there during the night, and that, moreover, an Institution
button, with "Shingwauk Home, Sault Ste. Marie" imprinted on it, had
been picked up in the sand near the place from which the boat was taken.

Nothing more was heard of these boys for ten days, except that one of
the steamboats brought a report that they had seen three boys in an
open boat near Bruce Mines, and that they had been hailed by them and
asked for bread. Ten or eleven days after these boys decamped, we were
preparing to start on an expedition up Lake Superior to Batcheewauning;
our four sailor boys were ready, dressed in their new blue serge suits
and straw hats from England, _The Missionary_ was well loaded with
camp-kettles, tent, and provisions. We got as far as the Sault, when
the wind, which had been favourable, suddenly veered round and blew a
heavy gale in our faces, accompanied by thunder and heavy rain. As it
was already between 3 and 4 p.m., it was plain we could not start that
day, And just at the critical moment word came that those three runaway
boys were on an island forty miles below. Our informant was a Garden
River Indian. The boys, be said, had turned adrift the boat they
escaped in, which was a small one, and had taken a larger one belonging
to a Sugar Island Indian. This Indian finding his boat gone, pursued
the boys in his canoe, overtook them, took his boat away from them, and
left them alone to their fate on an island. Shabahgeezhik did not think
the boys would be in distress, as there were a few settlers on the
island who would feed them if they worked for their board. As soon as
we heard this news, we immediately decided to head our boat round and
run before the wind down to this island and catch our boys. We just
stopped for ten minutes at the Shingwauk in passing, to get a dry coat
or two and tell of the change in our plans, and then off we started. It
was 5 p.m., and we thought we could make the island that night.
Shabahgeezhik went with us as pilot. We ran along at good speed through
Hey Lake, across the American channel, in and out among islands. We
were soon wet and cold, and it became very dark. Shabahgeezhik steered,
and seemed to know well what he was about, but we had some narrow
shaves of running into islands, it was so dark. Once or twice we were
close upon rocks, but just saved ourselves. We passed through the
"Devil's Gap," about as narrow as one of the canal locks, and soon came
in sight of the dark line of the Bruce Mines Shore. We had run well; it
was only 10 o'clock, and we were nearly there. Once or twice we saw a
fire on the lonely, uninhabited shore, where fishing or exploring
parties were encamping. It looked cheerful, but we did not stop. Now at
length we reached our island, and drew along shore to grope for the
dock. There were lights shining from two dwellings--one near the shore,
the other upon the hill. Securing our boat, we landed and went up to a
log hut. A half-breed woman appeared at the door when we knocked, but
she seemed scared when she found there were so many of us. We wanted to
find Mr. Marks' house, he being the principal settler on the island.
The woman gave us some hurried directions, and then shut and locked the
door. We started in search of Mr. Marks' house, which it would seem was
up the hill, about a mile distant. After scouring round a little to
find the road, we at length hit on a cattle-track which seemed to go in
the right direction. But what a track it was! Every step we took it
became worse; it led along the side of the hill through the bushes and
tall grass, and under foot slimy sticks and roots spread over a black
swamp. For a few steps one would balance one's self, and then down one
would go, knee deep in the mire. Always hoping that the road would
improve, we persevered for nearly half a mile. But it only got worse,
and reluctantly we had to turn back to our starting-point. Then
Shabahgeezhik took a run further up the hill to look for another road.
In a few minutes he shouted for us to follow, and the track this time
led us out just above Mr. Marks' house. It was nearly midnight, but Mr.
Marks was standing outside. We told him who we were and what our
errand, and he immediately gave the satisfactory information that the
boys we wanted were with a half-breed in a shanty just below. He showed
us which way to go, and we descended the hill-side in quest of them.
Arriving at the shanty, we knocked at the door. A man answered in
English, and asked what we wanted. At length the door was cautiously
opened. We said that Mr. Marks had told us to come here for three boys
who had run away. Upon this the man opened the door, and said, "Yes,
the boys were there, and we could take them." A lamp was lighted, and
we told the boys, who were, lying on the floor and scarcely awake yet,
to get up and come along, and then our sailor boys each took charge of
one prisoner, and we marched them down to the boat. The boys got the
tent up and went to bed with their prisoners, while we accepted the
kind hospitality of Mr. and Mrs. Marks, and slept in their house. It
was 1 a.m. when we got to bed, and at 4 a.m. we were astir again, and
prepared for the start home. The wind was against us, and we had to
pull. At 7.30 we went ashore for breakfast. We were very chilly, our
things still being wet, and we lighted a large fire and got everything
dry. After breakfast we managed to sail a little, tacking against the
wind, and by 12.30 p.m. we had made Sugar Island. Here was the American
channel, and we resolved to get dinner, and wait for a tow. In this we
were very fortunate, for just as we were finishing dinner a propeller
came along. We signalled to her, and she very politely shut off steam
and gave us a line from her stern. A storm was getting up, rain
beginning to fall, and we had to cross Lake George, and had rather a
rough time of it, the propeller dragging us forward mercilessly through
the crested waves, the spray and foam dashing all over us, so that we
shipped a good deal of water and had to bale. Arriving at length
opposite the Shingwauk, we got our masts up, and, giving the propeller
a wave of hats and a cheer, the tow-line was let go, up went our sails
in a trice, and in a few moments more we had arrived at the shore. All
the boys were dancing on the dock, greatly edified to see the return of
the runaways.



CHAPTER XXX.

CHARLIE AND BEN.


During a short visit which I paid to England in the winter of 1877,
the idea was formed of building a separate Home for Indian girls, and
now it became necessary to make the project known also in Canada.
Accordingly, in the summer vacation of that year I started off, taking
with me two little fellows from our Institution--Charlie and Ben, and
also a model which I had made of the Shingwauk Home. My object was not
so much to collect money as to tell the friends who had been helping us
what, by God's help, we had been enabled to do, and what, with His
blessing, we still hoped to do.

The first part of the journey was a dash of two miles along a muddy
road in a buggy drawn by my spirited little mare "Dolly," with only ten
minutes to catch the boat. The next 300 miles were passed on board the
steamboat _Ontario_, which, after rather a rough passage, landed
us in Sarnia on the night of Tuesday, May 22nd. From Sarnia we took
train to Toronto. Here we passed the Queen's birthday, and the boys saw
a splendid display of fireworks in the evening. The most remarkable
part of the entertainment was a races between a pig and an elephant in
mid-air. They were fire balloons shaped like those animals, and it was
really very good. On Friday we arrived in Belleville about noon. This
was the beginning of our work, and we held our first meeting that
evening in the Town Hall. There was a fair attendance, and after the
meeting our two boys distributed papers about our Home, and
contribution envelopes, which I asked the people to take home with
them, and at any future day that they might feel disposed, to put
something in and place it on the offertory plate, and it would thus in
due time come to us. The envelopes, I should mention, had the following
words on them: "Algoma. A contribution to God's work in the Indian
Institution at Sault Ste. Marie."

After visiting Brockville, Smith's Falls, and Prescott, we arrived in
Ottawa on the 31st. I had here an interview with the Premier in regard
to my work among the Indians, which was quite satisfactory, and in the
afternoon we went to pay our respects to the Governor-General. Happily
his Excellency was at home, and he received the boys very kindly, and
showed them through the rooms of Rideau Hall. One thing that he said to
them at parting I hope they will always remember. He said, "I hope you
boys will grow up to be good Canadians." This just expresses the secret
of our work; this is just what we want to do with our Indian boys: to
make Canadians of them. When they leave our Institution, instead of
returning to their Indian Reserves, to go back to their old way of
living, we want them to become apprenticed out to white people, and to
become, in fact, Canadians.

At Montreal we had several meetings, and met with many kind friends
who evinced great interest in our work.

Early on the morning of June 8th we arrived in Quebec, and found rooms
provided for us at the hotel. The Synod of the diocese was sitting, and
we received a hearty welcome from the Bishop and many of the clergy
whom I knew. In the afternoon I took the boys to the citadel, where
they were greatly pleased to see the soldiers and the big guns; and in
the evening we dined at the Bishop's. Both the Bishop and Mrs. Williams
have always taken much interest in our work. On Sunday evening I
preached at the cathedral. The following day I took my boys over the
ocean steamship _Sardinian_, and in the afternoon drove out to
visit Wolf's monument and the gaol. The boys each took a copy of the
inscription on the monument, and we returned to Mr. Hamilton's for
dinner. There was a capital meeting in the National School Hall in the
evening. The Bishop of Quebec presided, and nearly all the city clergy
were present.

We had not intended to go further east than St. John, N. B., but finding
we had a day or two to spare, we resolved to run on into Nova Scotia and
visit Halifax. Two telegrams had been despatched, one to Rev. Geo. Hill,
rector of St. Paul's, Halifax, to tell of our intended visit, and the
other to Montreal in the hope of obtaining a pass from the manager of
the line. The application for the pass was happily successful, and after
travelling all day and all night and half the next day, we at length
reached Halifax, met with a warm reception from Mr. Hill and had a
capital meeting. The boys enjoyed themselves immensely, paddling about
in the sea water among the limpets and star-fish and sea-weed, and
making vain attempts to catch crabs.

Returning by way of New Brunswick, we next visited Fredericton, and
were the guests of the Lieutenant Governor, who had most kindly invited
us. The Bishop and a large party of clergy and others came to lunch at
two p.m., and at four o'clock in the afternoon was a Sunday-school
gathering in the school-house, the model was exhibited and I gave an
address. After this there was a very pleasing little ceremony at
Government House. At Lady Tilley's invitation a number of young girls,
members of her Sunday-school class, had met together week after week at
Government House and made a variety of articles for sale, then--shortly
before our arrival--a bazaar had been held, and the large sum realized
of 300 dollars. This sum was presented to me by one of the little girls
when they were all assembled in the drawing-room, and is to be applied
to the building fund of the Wawanosh Home. The most successful meeting
of any that we held took place in the large Temperance Hall. Lady
Tilley kindly consented to become one of the patronesses of our Girl's
Home. The following day, Wednesday, I called on the Bishop and we spent
an hour and a half very pleasantly in examining every part of their
beautiful cathedral--the _one_ church gem in Canada. The Bishop
set to work in his own way to satisfy himself what our boys were good
for, and I am glad to say that the result of the examination was
satisfactory.

The afternoon of this day, June 26th, we bade farewell to our
Fredericton friends and took the train back to St. John. About half an
hour before we arrived we received word that a fearful fire was raging,
and as we drew near the fated city we found that the report was only
too true. The whole city seemed to be in a blaze, the fire appearing to
extend fully two miles, even at that early hour, about 6 p.m. Leaving
the two boys at the Rev. Mr. Dowling's house, Mr. Dowling and myself
started to cross the harbour to try and render some assistance to our
friends. We could not take the ferry for the landing stage was on fire,
so we hailed a fishing-smack, and landed in Portland. We walked around,
to the back of the fire; all the principal part of the city was in
flames, and everything in wild confusion; hundreds of people, old and
young, heavily ladened and hustling each other along, fire engines at
every corner, the open places crowded with a motley throng of people
with piles of baggage and furniture.

We made our way round to Mrs. Peter's house, where we had been on
Saturday; they were all packed up ready to fly, but could not get a
team. The flames were fast advancing upon them. The gas works were
close by, and it was expected they would blow up every minute. The
younger children were already sent off with their nurse. We staid till
after midnight, doing what little we could to help, and then returned
to Carleton by the suspension bridge, bringing several refugees with
us. The following day, Thursday, we drove to the station in St. John by
way of the suspension bridge. The city was still on fire and enveloped
in smoke. Happily, however, the station was just outside the burnt
district, so we bade adieu to our friends and started once more for the
west.

After visiting and holding meetings in Toronto, Hamilton, St.
Catharines, and elsewhere, we arrived July 4th at Niagara. We were now
in the great fruit district of Canada, strawberries, cherries, grapes,
apples, plums, peaches, all in the greatest abundance, orchards
everywhere, rich luxuriant vines trailing over trellis-work, the earth
fairly teeming with plenty. What a contrast to poor Algoma, where we
can grow neither apple nor plum and cannot even ripen tomatoes. Nothing
delighted our boys more than to sit up in a cherry tree and eat
cherries _ad libitum_--such a delicious novelty--and then to be
summoned in for a tea of strawberries and cream! In the evening we met
Archdeacon McMurray, who received us warmly. He was the first
Missionary at Sault Ste. Marie, more than forty years ago, and very
kindly gave us an organ for the Institution. From Niagara, we proceeded
by train to Drummondville. The falls of Niagara were scarcely more than
a stone's throw from the house, and the following morning as soon as
breakfast was over we went to pay them a visit. Grand and impressive as
was the sight, I fear that our boys, boylike, were more taken up with a
couple of bears in their cages than with that enormous mass of water
surging over the rocks, and tumbling 200 feet into the boiling basin of
white foam below.

On Friday the 6th we arrived in Brantford and had a meeting in the
evening. The following day we walked out to visit the Mohawk
Institution, supported by the New England Company; this institution has
been, I believe, nearly thirty years in existence, and they have at
present thirty-eight boys and forty-two girls. It was strange how shy
our boys seemed of the young Mohawks, though making friends so readily
with white boys. Mohawks and Ojebways were hereditary enemies, and, in
days gone by, used to delight in scalping one another.

Altogether we travelled upwards of 4000 miles, and I calculated that I
had addressed about 5,500 people at meetings and about 6700 Sunday-
school children, besides sermons in churches. Though we made no
collections, I nevertheless had handed to me 990 dollars for the Girl's
Home Building Fund, and 225 dollars for the Shingwauk.



CHAPTER XXXI.

A TRIP UP LAKE SUPERIOR.


It had been arranged that directly the holidays commenced at the
Shingwauk Home, the Bishop and myself should start on a Missionary tour
up Lake Superior, the plan being simply as follows:--We would take with
us our boat, _The Missionary_, five or six Indian boys to man it,
and provisions for six or seven weeks. We would first proceed by
steamboat 300 miles direct to Prince Arthur's Landing, taking our boat
on board; remain there about a week, during which we would pay a visit
into the interior; then coast the whole way back, visiting all the
Indians along the north shore of the Lake.

When we reached the Landing, the Indian superintendent, to our great
satisfaction, invited us to join him in an expedition to the "Height of
Land" where he was going to pay the wild Indian tribes their annuity
money.

At length after four days we reached the Hudson Bay waters, the
Savanne connecting through a long chain of lakes and rivers with Lake
Winnipeg. Lac des Milles Lacs, into which we soon entered, is a perfect
labyrinth of lakes and islands. Here and there were expectant Indians
come out to meet us in their frail bark canoes, and, paddling up
alongside, they joined the cluster at our stern. A strange and
impressive sight was it when we at length hove in sight of the "Height
of Land," a huge rocky eminence like an upturned basin, literally
swarming all over with Indians, in every position and every imaginable
costume. One solitary wigwam stood at the top and others could just be
seen, betraying a considerable village in the rear. A large Union Jack
also floated from a mast planted in the rock. There they sat and
crouched and smoked, or stood, or leaned with that majestic composure
peculiar to the Indian race; while below, on the slippery sides of the
rock, tumbled and rolled about their dirty children, or prowled their
grim and wolfish-looking dogs. It was a gay holiday time for them all.
For three days and three nights pork and flour and tobacco would be
flowing freely into their laps from their great and good mother, the
Queen; and to every individual, man, woman, and child, yea, to even the
papoose of a day old, would be given L1 to spend as they pleased.

We got our tents pitched--the Bishop's and our own--and then went out
to survey the scene. A most novel and interesting one indeed it was,
wigwams on all sides of us, some of them containing perhaps forty
people, others conical, in which were two or three families with a fire
common to them all in the middle. In the water near the dock were
several boys bathing and diving, as though perfectly in their element.
Here and there stalked a stately chief in his scarlet coat, leggings,
mocassins, and feathers in his head. The councillors, of which there
were three to each band, wore dark coats with scarlet trimmings. But
there were more outlandish personages than these to be seen; tall, lank
men, with nothing on them but a scarlet blanket wound around the naked
body, at times covering the shoulders, at times drawn only around the
waist. Nearly all had plaited hair and silver earrings, and many had
feathers in their heads, or head-dresses of beads and ribbons. The
squaws were dressed much the same as our own Indians in bodices and
skirts, though not quite so tidily. Some of the bead-work worn by the
men was very handsome; it consisted mostly of garters below the knee,
waistbands and tobacco-pouches worn round the neck and covering the
front of the body. They also had their curiously-carved pipes, some of
them with stems a yard long, tomahawks, knives, and other appendages.

Soon men and squaws were seen wending their way to their wigwams,
bending under the weight of a side of bacon or a bag of flour. Now was
a high time of joviality for them all--even the dogs licked their lips
and prepared for the feast.

A crowd collected in rear of the Government buildings; and squatting
upon mats on the ground were the musicians, three or four in number,
beating away vigorously at their very unmusical drums--just the size
and shape of a flat cheese, their drumsticks being shaped like a crook.
Soon the war-dancers appeared upon the scene, each with a whoop and a
flourish of his knife or tomahawk. Conspicuous among them was
Blackstone--no longer in European dress, but with legs bare on either
side to his hips--a white shirt almost hidden by massive beadwork
ornaments, long braided hair, feathers in his head, and his right hand
flourishing a bayonet. The dancing consisted in the actors leaping
suddenly to their feet with a whoop, and working the whole body
convulsively up and down while standing on their toes, without moving
from their position, a monotonous whirring sound being kept up all the
time, in which the squaws sitting around assisted. This was kept up
long enough for me to sketch one man, when with another whoop and a
flourish they sank into a squatting position, the drums still going on
unceasingly. After a little rest up they got again, and so it kept on
for a couple of hours. The proceedings, however, were broken in the
middle by a speech from Blackstone.

When it was nearly tea-time I went out to look for my boys, and found
Esquimau talking to an old man under a bark shelter with a stick or two
burning at their feet; the old man was living quite alone and this was
his wigwam, just room for him to lie down and no more. I sent the
younger boys to light a fire and get tea ready, and then stayed with
Esquimau to talk to the old man. When he found I was going to speak
about religion, he called to his children--two men and a squaw--to come
and listen. Another man came up, and in rather an officious manner
informed me that it was no use for me to talk to the Indiana about
religion; that they would not listen to me, and did not intend to
accept Christianity. The Great Spirit, he continued, has made us all,
and he has given one religion to the whites and another to the Indians.
He does not wish his red children to accept the white man's religion. I
said I was sorry that any of them should think that, but that if any of
them did not wish to hear me they could go somewhere else, and I would
talk only to the old man. The old man, however, had now changed his
mind and said he did not wish to hear me speak. Several others came
round and all said that I must not speak to them about Christianity.
One said their custom was for any one who wished to speak to them first
of all to put down tobacco. This roused me. "No!" I said, "I am not a
trader to carry tobacco about. I am working for my Master, the Great
Spirit: the Great Spirit has told His followers that when they go out
to preach they are not to carry money or anything else with them, they
are simply to tell His message, if they are received, it is well, if
not, they are to go away from that place and take the message to
others." I then said to Esquimau--"We had better kneel down and ask God
to help us, and teach us what to do." So we knelt, and each offered
prayer, amid the jeers and interruptions of the Indians. Then I stood
out among them and said in a loud voice, "My friends, I have come here
to see you about religion, not to buy and sell, and trade with you, but
to tell you about the Great Spirit who made you. Your Superintendent,
Mr. Wright, has come to pay you money, but I have come to speak to you
on religion. I have no tobacco, no pork, no money to give you. But I
come to tell you of God who made us, and of His Son who came into the
world to save us. I have been told that I must not speak, that none of
you will listen to me, but I tell you that I will speak to you: God has
told me to speak to you, so this evening I will come among you to
speak; those that wish to hear me can listen, those who will not hear
can keep away."

During tea it was arranged that the Bishop and myself, with the four
Indian boys, should go out about sundown and address the people. Before
starting we knelt together in the tent, and the Bishop offered up an
earnest prayer to God that He would give us grace and wisdom to speak,
and incline the hearts of these heathen people to hear and accept His
word.

On the road there we were met by Blackstone. He seemed very angry, and
said, "I am told that you are going to speak to the people to-night.
You must not speak to-night, you must wait until to-morrow." I said,
"No, my friend, I must speak to them to-night." "It shall not be," said
Blackstone, "you will not be listened to to-night; to-morrow I will let
you speak." I pointed to the sky, and said, "The Great Spirit has told
me to speak to-night and I must obey the Great Spirit, I cannot obey
man about this.". Blackstone still refused to allow me to speak, but I
was determined, and we went on. We went to the top of the rocky
elevation, and immediately began singing a hymn in Indian. Our boys
stood out nobly, and sang splendidly. I felt that it required more
determination on their part to face the opposition of their own people
than for us who were recognised as "black-coats."

The singing attracted a number of people around us, and I spoke out
loudly and addressed them. We then sang another hymn suitable for the
occasion and the boys sang out lustily, like good soldiers of Christ.
After this the Bishop gave a short, but very earnest and pointed
address. Then Esquimau spoke very freely and forcibly, urging upon the
people to give up their vain customs and accept Christianity. Then we
knelt on the bare rock and prayed God to turn the hearts of the people
to Himself, after which we left. Quite a number of people had gathered
together when the singing commenced, and remained during more than half
the time.

_July_ 24.--The next evening we had service again; myself and my
four boys standing on the summit of the rocky eminence in the dim
twilight, wigwams on all sides below us; a couple of old women cooking
at a fire just beside us, and a few straggling Indians or children
lying or sitting about. We sang a hymn in Indian at the top of our
voices. This brought a great many people out, but not so many as last
night. Then I addressed them.

We then sang another hymn, after which Esquimau spoke and urged the
people to give up their vain customs and to become Christians; and,
after kneeling on the hard rock and offering up an earnest prayer to
God to change the hearts of these poor heathen, we departed.

Black clouds had gathered overhead and it was beginning to rain
heavily when we sought the shelter of our tent.

_July_ 25.--The day following Blackstone appeared at my tent
door. I asked him to come in but he declined. He seemed to be in a
better frame of mind, and spoke in friendly terms, telling me all about
the journey from here to the place where he generally lives, at the
North-west angle about 200 miles distant. I showed him a photograph of
the Shingwauk Home, and he asked some questions about it. He stayed
some little time, and then said that the Indians were going to hold a
council, and left.

About noon the boys returned with a tin pail of raspberries which we
stewed and had for dinner. The monotonous sing-song and drum-beating of
the Indians had been going on the whole morning in an adjoining wigwam;
we were expecting hourly that the council would begin, but Blackstone
kept putting it off. I suspected that he intended to have it at our
usual time of meeting so as to draw away the people, and so for that
reason we had our meeting earlier, about five o'clock. Before starting
I called the boys together into the tent, and, after reading a few
verses of Scripture, asked them if either of them were inclined to give
up the attempt to teach these heathen people; they had been with me
through it all, they had seen the reception we had met with, they had
acted their part according to the talent committed to them; would they
now give it up as hopeless, or would they go with me again to-night? To
this they each in turn replied cheerfully and earnestly that they
wished to go with me; so we knelt in prayer and asked for God's help
and proceeded forth once more to our rocky pulpit. We saw Blackstone
going to and fro among the wigwams, and I thought I would ask him once
more whether he would give his countenance to our service. So I called
to him, "Blackstone, may I speak to you?" "Pahmah, pahmah," (by-and-by,
bye-and-bye), was his reply; "I am busy just now." We waited until he
came round again, and as he merely brushed past I resolved to commence
at once. We chose a new situation this time, another rocky eminence in
the middle of the wigwams. We conducted our little service as usual,
and urged upon the people once more to forsake their customs and to
accept the crucified Saviour. When I spoke of the Resurrection of
Christ on the third day, there was a jeering laugh from some of the
Indians which made me think of Acts xvii. 32. Blackstone, as I had
expected, commenced his pow-pow or council directly we began our
service, and so drew away all the principal men.

But it was time to prepare for our departure.



CHAPTER XXXII.

COASTING AND CAMPING.


Quite a high sea was running on Thunder Bay when, on _July_ 30,
having parted with the Bishop, I started off in _The Missionary_
with my seven Indian boys. A stiff south-east wind was blowing, and, as
our course lay in a southerly direction, we had to tack. We managed,
however, to run across Thunder Bay within five or six miles of our
point, and then tacked about to reach it; and about three miles further
ran into a nice little sheltered bay, where we camped for the night.
The boys were merry, and soon had a capital fire blazing up and the
camp-pots hissing and bubbling. By eight o'clock supper was ready, and
then, after prayer and singing and each one repeating a verse of
Scripture around the camp fire, we all turned in for the night, having
safely accomplished the first twenty miles of our homeward trip.

It may be well to state at this point, for the information of those
who are not acquainted with the topography of Canada, that Lake
Superior, upon which we were now sailing, is the largest body of fresh
water in the world, the length of it from end to end, by the course
which the steamboats take, being 623 miles. The breadth of the lake at
the widest point is 160 miles. Its area is fully as large as Ireland,
and its mean depth is 1000 feet. The north shore of the lake belongs to
the Province of Ontario, is exceedingly wild and rocky and is
inhabited almost exclusively by Indians with a few Hudson Bay Company's
posts at various points on the route. Prince Arthur's Landing is the
_only_ Canadian town on the north shore, and that has risen into
existence only within the last few years. The south shore of Lake
Superior, borders on the State of Michigan.

_July _31. A dense fog filled the air when we arose early this
morning. We waited until eight o'clock to see if it would lift, but as
it appeared to have no intention of doing so, we started off, myself
steering and the boys rowing. With a good compass, we steered our
course straight into Silver Islet. We landed on the main shore, and
spent half an hour viewing the silver stamping mills. The fog was now
clearing, and we proceeded to cross Black Bay. This was a wide stretch,
and we had to pull as there was no wind. After this, we got into a
narrow channel studded with islands: then were out on the open lake
again, a heavy swell rolling in and breaking on reefs near the shore.
About five p m. we came off Cape Magnet, and soon after reached a snug
little bay, where we camped for the night.

After two more days sailing, we got into Neepigon, and found the
Bishop (who had come on the _Manitoba_) waiting for us. The Bishop
had his tent pitched on the shore, and had been cooking for himself in
two little bright tin pots. We were all wet and cold, and as quickly as
possible our two tents were up and a large camp-fire built, over which
were soon hissing three ugly black kettles--one with water for the tea,
another with potatoes, another with rice and currants--while the
Bishop's little kettle hung meekly by, at one end of the horizontal
stick, and soon lost its brightness under the unwonted heat of the fire.

At 8:30 we all gathered for prayer, and then went to rest. The total
distance we had come, since leaving Prince Arthur's landing, was about
100 miles.

We passed a quiet Sunday in our camp at Red Rock. No Indians came
round, but we had a little service for ourselves under an awning. In
the afternoon our boys gathered for Sunday-school, and the Bishop
examined them in the Scriptures and Catechism.

_Aug_. 5.--We had intended to be up and preparing for our trip to
Lake Neepigon at five a.m., but heavy rain caused us to prolong our
slumbers, and we did not breakfast until 7:30 a.m. By this time,
however, the weather was clearing, and we determined on making a start.
There was plenty to do. We had a trip of 200 miles before us and
expected to be away about ten days. All the things in _The
Missionary_ that were not wanted were packed away in Mr. McLellan's
storehouse; provisions were given out sufficient to last the three boys
who were to remain behind, and supplies put up for the travelling
party. Then--about ten a.m.--the large canoe which we had hired was
brought round; Uhbesekun, our guide, put in his appearance; portage
straps were brought out, the packs made ready, and all placed on board.
The Bishop and myself walked across the portage, about three-quarters
of a mile in length, while Uhbesekun and the boys propelled the loaded
canoe up the rapids with poles.



CHAPTER XXXIII.

UP THE NEEPIGON RIVER.


Five miles of paddling above the rapids brought us to the mouth of the
river Neepigon, a rapid stream about 500 yards in width, we had to keep
close to shore in order to avoid the current.

Our canoe was about 20 feet in length, and weighed perhaps 150 lbs.,
she sat as light as a feather upon the water, and the least movement on
the part of any of the party tipped it over to one side. The paddlers
sat on the cross bars--about two inches wide, Uhbesekun in the bows,
then Joseph, the Bishop and myself, Jimmy and William, and Esquimau in
the stern, six paddles in all, and we travelled at the rate of from
four to six miles an hour.

About 1.30 p.m. rain began to fall, and the clouds threatened a storm.
We paddled on fast to a convenient landing-place, and then went ashore
for dinner, which we partook of under the tent, the rain pelting down
in torrents. However, it was merely a thunder-shower, and in the course
of an hour we were able to proceed.

By four o'clock we had reached our first long portage--three miles in
length--and now began the tug of war. Esquimau and Uhbesekun got the
huge canoe mounted on their shoulders--one at either end of it--keeping
it in its position by ropes which they held as they walked, with their
arms outstretched. Then followed Joseph with the bag of flour (70 lb.)
carried by a portage strap, placed in true Indian style round his
forehead. Then started Jimmy with the tent, blankets, axe, and gun, and
the Bishop with his bundle of wraps hung on his umbrella. William
remained behind with me while I made a sketch. There was no great hurry
for us, as the canoe-bearers would have to return again to take the
remainder of the things. William's pack consisted of my camp-bed,
blankets, mat, coats, &c, and I had the Bishop's valise and some coats.
The portage track was narrow, raspberry canes and high grass almost
hiding the path; up hill and down hill, and across a creek. We soon met
the canoe-bearers going back for their second load, and a little
further on was Joseph, who had deposited his flour and come back to
meet us.

The tents were already pitched when we reached the end of our tramp on
the shores of Lake Jessie, and soon our cook was at work baking bread
and frying pork for our evening meal.

We were all tired, and went to bed about 9 o'clock, after uniting
together in singing and prayer under the open vault of heaven. "Sweet
hour of prayer, sweet hour of prayer, That calls me from a world of
care," was the hymn we sung. William shared my tent with me, and the
rest of the boys, with Uhbesekun, slept under the canoe.

The next morning was bright, but with a headwind, we made slow
progress. We accomplished twelve miles across Lakes Jessie and Maria
and pulled up for dinner at Split Rock portage. Here was some of the
grandest scenery we had yet witnessed--high, towering rocks, their
crests clad with fir and birch-trees, the rapids rushing in a white
foaming torrent over the rocks in two rushing, roaring streams, divided
one from the other by a high, precipitous, rocky island. I made a
sketch, and we had dinner, and then, having accomplished the portage
once more, started paddling. It was not far to go this time. In half an
hour we had reached Bland portage, and everything again had to be
unladen and carried. Soon we were in the canoe again heading for the
opposite shore, with a new set of rapids on our right. Now for some
stiff work again, a long portage of about two-and-a-half miles. We each
took our packs and toiled away, getting into camp about 6 p.m.

We were rather disappointed with the appearance of Lake Neepigon, with
its large unbroken line of horizon, land being almost too distant to be
visible. Our baggage was deposited on the face of a great slippery
rock, sloping down gradually into the deep water of the lake. A
favourable breeze was blowing, and as soon as we had dinner our blanket
sail was rigged up. When we were well out into the lake we found quite
a high sea running, and our canoe shipped water. Still we kept on, and
made about twenty miles before we put into an island for the night at
7:30 p.m.

A disappointment awaited us next morning. A strong head-wind was
blowing. We started at 8 a.m., and made about twelve miles. It was very
rough, and the waves dashed over the prow of our frail canoe. We went
in to an island for dinner, and, the wind increasing, we were obliged
to remain there for the rest of the day. All our baking-powder was
gone, and we were reduced to "grease bread," i.e., flat cakes of flour
and water fried in pork fat. They make a good substitute for bread, but
are rather greasy. Joseph had shot a brace of ducks in the morning
before coming away, and one of them we had for supper; which, with some
potted beef and tea in a tin basin, made very good fare!

_August 9th_--We packed up, got all on board, and started
precisely at 6:30. It was a head-wind and a high sea still, so we
proceeded only about one mile to another island, and then pulled in to
have breakfast and wait until the wind went down. At 1 p.m. we made a
start, and ran about five miles to another island. After running twelve
miles more we put in for supper. We calculated we had come fifty miles
on the lake, and had twenty miles more to go. The direct course was
sixty-five miles, but we had lost way by going into the bays.

_August 10th_--We stopped two hours on the island where we landed
for supper last night, and then--it being bright moonlight, and the
wind having calmed down, we started again on a twenty mile stretch,
determined, if possible, to reach the H. B. C. Post at the head of Lake
Neepigon before midnight.

The Bishop settled himself down in the bottom of the canoe, and
Uhbesekun, the four boys and myself, plied vigorously at our paddles--
forty-two strokes per minute. It was a glorious night, and the keen air
put fresh strength into our muscles, so that we kept on untiringly for
nearly three hours. Just at 11 o'clock we came underneath a stupendous
cliff, its dark, rugged face glittering in the moonlight, extending far
up towards the sky above us, with a few ragged fir trees crowning its
summit. It was the grandest scenery we had seen yet.

Our voices echoed as we passed beneath it, and we heard afterwards
that it was called Echo Rock. After passing the cliff, another mile or
so brought us to the Post. We had some difficulty in finding a camping
ground in the dark. The shore was rocky, and we had to cut out a place
in the thick bush on which to pitch our tents. The boys made up a large
fire, which was grateful in the chill night air, and soon we had the
pot boiling for tea. It was 1.30 a.m. when we got to bed, well tired
after our long paddle of seventy miles across the lake.

Next morning the Bishop was the first one astir. About 8 a.m. I got up
and went with Uhbesekun to H. B. Co.'s store to buy baking-powder and
sugar, both of which we had run out of. Prices are high here, flour is
6_d_. a pound--at the Sault it is only 1 1/2_d_. Our cook had
only just woke up, and was rubbing his eyes when we got back. We were
glad to get "spider-bread" again (bread baked in a spider or frying-pan)
instead of grease bread. Several Indians came round. I had a very
interesting talk with a chief this morning. He and another man came
over in a canoe from an island close by, and Esquimau and myself talked
to them as they sat floating on the water, keeping the canoe off the
rocks with their paddles. The chief was certainly the most intelligent
Indian we had yet met with on our travels. He was greatly interested in
hearing about the Shingwauk Home, and said that if he had a son young
enough to go he would send him, but his children were all either grown
up or dead.

We felt very thankful thus to meet one at length who will listen, and
who seems anxious for the improvement of his people. The old man's way
of speaking reminds me very much of "Little Pine" of Garden River, and
he appears to be a man of much the same stamp. Just after this a couple
of young boys visited our camp. One of them was a half-breed. They
carried bows and arrows, and were shooting squirrels. We gave them an
alphabet card. Most of the Indians just round the Post are Roman
Catholics, but those scattered over the lake, about 500 in number, are
nearly all pagans. The name of the chief with whom we talked this
morning is David Winchaub (Bowstring).

We had tea about 7 o'clock, and then put our canoe in the water and
paddled over to the island to visit our friend the chief. He was
sitting cross-legged in a large tent, his summer residence, cooler
probably than a wigwam. Only Esquimau and Joseph were with me. We
entered the chiefs tent and soon got into conversation with him.

I asked him if he would like me to relate to him the history of Little
Pine's conversion to Christianity. He said yes, and listened very
attentively, several times uttering ejaculations, as I recounted to him
how bewildered Little Pine had been about the many religions offered to
him when he was still a pagan some forty years ago; how he and his
father and other Indians made a journey of 300 miles in a canoe, and
then walked another 100 miles till they got to Toronto; how they went
to visit the Great Chief, Sir John Colborne, and asked his advice as to
what they should do about religion, and how Sir John Colborne said to
them, "This country belongs to the Queen. I belong to the Queen's
Church, and I think all you Indians, who are so loyal, ought to belong
to the Queen's Church too." And then, how Little Pine and his party
returned to Garden River, and ever since that time had been faithful
members of the Church of England.

The Chief then made some remarks expressing his approval of what we
had told him, and said he quite understood all that we meant.

I then asked him if he would like me to tell him what was written in
God's book, the Bible. There was only one Bible. French Christians and
English Christians were the same in that,--they had only one Bible. He
would see from what I would tell him whether it was the same as what he
had been taught. He said he was willing to hear and asked me to
proceed. As he was rather deaf, and I wanted him thoroughly to
understand. I asked Esquimau to interpret what I said instead of
speaking to him myself. As I dwelt on the universal sinfulness of
mankind, and urged that there was not a single one free from sin, the
Chief said emphatically, "Kagat, kagat, kagat, kagat! me suh goo
azhewabuk!" (Truly, truly, truly, truly, it is indeed so!) The boys and
myself then knelt and offered up prayer to God for this poor, ignorant,
yet eagerly-listening chief, and for his people, that they might be
taught the true way to life and eternal happiness. It was 9.30 p.m.
when we paddled back to our camp. We met as usual around the camp fire,
and each one repeated a verse of Scripture; then we knelt in the shade
of the dark bush, with the ripple of the water in our ears, and God's
heaven lighted up by His silvery moon, nearly at its full, and offered
up our confessions, and prayers, and praises to Almighty God before
retiring to rest.

_Sunday, August 11th_--While I was dressing, William came to say
that a squaw had come in a canoe with fish to sell. I said, "No, we do
not buy fish on Sunday." So he gave her a piece of bread and sent her
away. We had arranged with the Chief to hold a short service in the
afternoon at his camp, so we passed the morning quietly among
ourselves, reading the first part of the Church prayers, chanting the
Psalms, and one lesson, and then the Bishop taught and catechised the
boys from the Gospel for the day (Matt. vii. 15).

In the afternoon, about 4 p.m., we put our canoe in the water, and
leaving our pagan guide to take care of the tents, the Bishop, four
boys, and myself, paddled across the water to Winchaub's camp. After
waiting some little time, about sixteen or seventeen people gathered
together; being Roman Catholics, the Bishop thought it best not to
attempt a service, but merely to address them on the object of our
visit. So, after shaking hands with the Chief, the Bishop began.. He
spoke first of man's sin and the love of God in preparing a way of
salvation for us by the sacrifice of His own Son. Then he spoke of the
uselessness of mere formal religion, and that we must give our hearts
to God. The Bible, he said, teaches us to care for and to do good to
one another. Then he referred to our Industrial Home at Sault Ste.
Marie, and after urging the people to send their children to it, left
it to me to give a detailed account of the work of the Home. The
Indians listened attentively to all we said, and the Chief thanked the
Bishop, and said that he and the other men would talk together about
what they had heard, and later in the evening he would come over and
give the Bishop their answer.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

THIRTY YEARS WAITING FOR A MISSIONARY.


At 8 p.m. Chief Winchaub came over, having had a friendly cup of tea,
he delivered his promised answer.--The Indians, he said, approved all
that we had said; they were glad to see us, and that we had built this
big teaching wigwam for Indian boys, they would like to have their
children educated, but most of them thought it was too far to send
their children. He, for his part, if he had a child, would send him,
and another man was willing to send his little boy when older, at
present he was too young. We asked him about one promising-looking lad
we had seen, the dark-eyed boy with the bow and arrows. The Chief said
he had spoken to that boy's father, but he was not willing to send him,
it was too far, and he would never know how it fared with him.

The Chief then said he had one other thing he wished to speak about,--
there was one band of Indians on the lake, not belonging to him, who,
he understood, wished to embrace Christianity and become members of the
Church of England. At the time of the great council at Sault Ste.
Marie, thirty years ago, the great White Chief had told them that they
should have a Missionary of the English Church, and they had been
waiting for him ever since. After telling us this he bade us adieu and
left.

We had already gone to bed, in preparation for an early start in the
morning, and I was lying awake, when my attention was attracted by the
splash of paddles and an animated conversation going on upon the water.

Esquimau came to my tent and said, "One of those men that the Chief
was talking about has just arrived, and he has two boys with him." I
said to William, "This is God's doing," and we both got up and went out
to see the man; the Bishop also got up and came out. It was a most
interesting interview. We stirred up the dying embers of the camp fire
and sat around it on logs. This man, whose name we found was Mesten,
had travelled about forty miles, not knowing that we were here till he
met Esquimau. He said that he and his people, though at present pagans,
were prepared to accept the English religion. Their former chief, who
was now dead, had told them to do so thirty years ago. He had waited
for a Missionary to come until he died, and since then they had been
waiting on year after year; they would not accept the French religion,
but were waiting for an English Black-coat to come and teach them.

He did not know how many they were in number, but he thought about a
hundred; our guide, Uhbesekun, he said, was one of their number. We
then made inquiries as to their location, and found it would take us
about ten miles out of our way to visit them. The Bishop was so
impressed with the evident leading of God's Providence in the matter
that even, though it might cause some alteration in our plans, we
determined to pay them a visit.

_August 12th_.--Uhbesekun was commissioned to wake everyone at
half-past four, but I was the first to wake, and sent William to arouse
the others. A head-wind was blowing, so we had to paddle and row hard;
we accomplished about thirty miles in seven consecutive hours. We had
dinner on a rocky island, and then five or six miles more brought us to
the Indian encampment in Chiefs Bay. There were only two wigwams
visible, with six or seven people in each, a few canoes on the shore,
and seven or eight large dogs prowling about. After introducing
ourselves to the men and telling them the object of our visit, we
paddled on about a mile further to deposit our baggage at the portage,
and left two boys and the guide to light a fire and erect the tents,
and then the Bishop, Joseph, William, and myself, returned to the
Indian camp. The men were away when we got there, so I sat down and
made a sketch of the camp and our boys showed the photograph of the
Shingwauk Home to the women, and told them all about it. By this time
the men had returned, a fish-box was brought for the "Big black-coat"
to sit on, and a tub turned up for me, and then the pow-wow began.

The Bishop briefly related what had led us to visit them, how one of
their number had fallen in with us the night before, and had told us
that they were desirous of embracing the English religion, and so we
had come on purpose to see them.

There were two principal men listening to us, and they several times
expressed their approval as the Bishop proceeded. One of them then
replied at length. He said, "Thirty years ago all the Indian Chiefs were
called together at the Rapids (Sault Ste. Marie) to meet the Great White
Chief in order to make a treaty with him about surrendering their lands
to the Queen, My father was chief at that time; his name was
Muhnedooshans. The Great White Chief (Sir John Robinson) made a treaty
with us. We were each to receive L6 a year as an annuity. My father
often spoke to us about it when he was alive. My eldest brother is now
our chief; his name is Cheyadah. The chieftainship has been in our
family for many generations past. We still carry out the precepts of our
father; we do not do as the other Indians do. The Great White Chief gave
my father a paper which showed the boundaries of the land set apart for
our use by the Queen. My eldest brother now has this paper. My father
said to us, 'Do not travel about all the time as the other Indians do,
but settle upon this land and farm like the white people do.' We obey
the precepts of our father. We have already cleared some land, and every
year we plant potatoes. We cannot do much more than this until we have
some one to teach us. We have built also three log-houses like the white
people. Some of us live in these houses in the winter time. Our land is
about four miles in extent. At present it is our fishing season, so we
are scattered about fishing, and live in wigwams as you see us now. This
is how we gain our living. Another thing that the Great White Chief said
to my father was, that we should not join the French religion, but he
would send us an English black-coat to teach us. So every year my father
was waiting for the English teacher to come; he waited on in vain, year
after year, and died a pagan. His last words to us were that we should
still wait for an English teacher to come, and that when he came we must
receive him well and ask him to open a school for our children to be
taught. He also told us never to sell our land to the white people, but
always to keep it, and not to scatter about, but to keep together. Thus
to this present day have we kept to the precepts of our father, and we
now welcome you as the English teachers that our father told us to look
for."

The Bishop then spoke again, and told them that he felt most thankful
in his heart to hear their words; he was very thankful that the Great
Spirit had directed his steps to come and see them. He had it in his
heart to do all he could for them; he was sorry that he could not at
once send them a teacher; that was impossible for the present. All that
he could offer was to take one or two of their boys into our
Institution at Sault Ste. Marie. Then, at the Bishop's request, I gave
the people a full account of the origin and history of our Shingwauk
Home, much the same as I had said to Chief Winchaub the night before.
They seemed much interested, though afraid to send any children on
account of the great distance.

After this the conversation became general. They told us their names;
they said they were very thankful we had come to see them; they knew the
white man was right about religion, for he knew everything, their knives
and axes and clothing were all made by white men; Indians were poor and
ignorant, and needed to be taught. They had almost given up looking for
a Missionary. When they went to the Hudson Bay Post in the spring, they
were told they had better join the Roman Catholics, but they said, No,
they would still wait, and they were glad now that they had done so. I
then made a list of the heads of families and the number belonging to
each, the total being about seventy. We showed them a hymn-book printed
in Indian at the Shingwauk Home, which interested them greatly, though
at first they held it upside down. Then I showed them the Indian
Testament, and told them this was the Book that God had given to us.
They handled it very reverently, and answered readily in the affirmative
when asked if they would like to hear some of the words it contained. I
read part of the 8th chapter of St. Mark, about the feeding of the four
thousand, the curing of the blind man, and our Lord's words about the
worth of the soul. The people listened most intently, indicating their
wonderment by suppressed ejaculations as I read anything that especially
struck them, such, for instance, as the fact that 4000 men were fed with
the loaves and fishes; but what produced the most intense attention was
the account of our Lord's mockery, Crucifixion, and Resurrection. Their
sympathy with the suffering Saviour was most marked, and their simple
astonishment most evident when I came to the part about the stone rolled
away and the angels telling the women that Jesus was risen from the dead.

When we were preparing to go back to our camp, Oshkahpuhkeda said to
me, "Well, if my son is not too big, you may take him with you; I know
I shall be sad without him, I shall weep often for him, but I want him
to be taught, and I will try to control myself until he returns to see
me next summer." I said I should be very glad to take the boy, and
would treat him as my son, and I would write to the Hudson Bay
Company's agent at Red Rock, that through him he might hear how his son
fared, and next summer his boy should go back to him, and he need not
send him again unless he wished. I also asked him whether he would be
willing that the lad should be baptized after he had received
instruction. "Yes, yes," he said, "that is what I wish; I wish my son
to be educated and brought up as a Christian. My wife," he continued,
"is dead; I also have a sickness working in my body--perhaps I shall
not live long. If I die, I wish you to take all my children: this boy
who is going with you, his brother whom you saw with Meshen last night,
this little girl sitting here (about ten years old), and that papoose,--
you may have them all and bring them up as Christians."

We thought it would be better to take the younger of the two boys, if
Meshen (with whom he had gone) should get back in time, and to this the
father also agreed.



CHAPTER XXXV.

THE PAGAN BOY--NINGWINNENA.


We returned with thankful hearts to our camp. The Bishop was much
impressed, and said it reminded him of Cornelius, who was waiting,
prepared for the visit of the Apostle Peter; and for my part I thought
of Jonadab, the son of Rechab, whose followers carried out to the
letter the precepts of their father.

At our meeting for prayer that evening I said to Uhbesekun, "I hear
that you belong to these people whom we have been talking to. Will you
not join us to-night in our prayers?" So Uhbesekun instead of going
away, as had been his custom, remained with us, wrapped in his blanket
on the ground near the camp fire, and when we knelt for prayer he also
turned over with his face toward the earth.

Oshkahpuhkeda came over in good time the next day according to
promise, with his two boys. The younger one was to go with us. His name
is Nin-gwin-ne-na, and he is a quiet, gentle lad of thirteen or
fourteen. The father repeated his wish that we should take all his
children in the event of his death, and took an affectionate leave of
his son. "I know I shall lie awake at night and grieve the loss of my
boy." he said, "we Indians cannot bear to be parted from our children,
but it is right that he should go. If my heart is too heavy for me to
bear, I shall come to Red Rock and get on the Fire Ship and come to see
him." I took the boy by the hand and said, "Ningwinnena shall be my son
while he is away from you; I will take great care of him." The Bishop
also said, "We will take good care of your son, and shall hope to come
and see you again." Then Ningwinnena followed me along the portage track.

Arriving once more on the shore of the lake, we found a favourable
wind blowing, and put up a blanket for a sail. We had thirty miles to
go to bring us to Flat Rock, where we should leave the lake and make
our first portage inland. We reached it at five minutes to four, the
portage occupied fifty minutes, and soon we were launched once more on
Sturgeon Lake. A heavy thunderstorm came on, and continued during the
time we wended our way through the narrow, stony creek which connects
Sturgeon Lake with the river Neepigon. The Bishop and myself sat in the
canoe with our mackintoshes on while the boys waded along knee deep in
the water, and twice we had to get out and pick our way along the
stepping stones as there was not water enough for the canoe. By-and-bye
we emerged on the broad Neepigon river, and its swift current now bore
us quickly along upon our course to Long Pine portage, where we were to
camp for the night. It had now ceased raining; it was 7.30 p.m., and we
had travelled forty miles. The tents were pitched, a fire lighted,
supper consumed, prayers round the camp-fire as usual, the new boy
Ningwinnena joining with us, and then we retired for the night, three
boys and the guide under the canoe, and myself and two boys in the tent.

_August_ 14_th_.--Esquimau came to call up the cook at 4
a.m. He and Uhbesekun were to carry the canoe across the portage, and
return here for breakfast before conveying the remainder of the
baggage, hence the early start. We had only twenty miles more to go,
and expected to reach Reed Rock in the evening, which was according to
the programme we had made before starting.

Ningwinnena seems to be a very nice boy, and quick at taking things
in. He has that gentleness of disposition peculiar to savage life, and
follows me about like a faithful hound. Last night I gave him his first
lesson in the alphabet, and I never saw any boy make such rapid
progress; he could say the alphabet through in half-an-hour, although
at first not knowing A from B, and a little while after he was spelling
and reading such short words as dog, cat, man, fish. He must come of a
good stock. He was also most handy in putting up my tent last night,
and rolling up my camp bed this morning, seeming to take in at once the
right way to do things.

The day has passed, and we are once more back at our Neepigon
encampment, having arrived in the middle of pouring rain at 5.10 p.m.
The three boys were very pleased to see us back, and we went up to Mr.
McLellan's house for supper. He has been most kind in supplying us with
milk and fresh butter.

_August_ 16_th_.--The morning opened with a heavy mist,
threatening clouds and wind. Hoping for a change for the better, we
took down our tents, and by 9 a.m. all was packed on board _The
Missionary_,--then, as was our custom, the boys gathered in a
semicircle, a hymn was sung, a portion of Scripture read, and prayer
offered, Ningwinnena standing beside me and looking curiously at my
book as I read. By the time we started, the wind had become favourable
and we made a splendid run, getting into Pugwash Bay at 5.30 p.m. Eight
or ten birch bark canoes on the shore told us the whereabouts of the
Indians, though no wigwams were visible, the bush being so thick; as we
neared the shore, the people began to show themselves, men, women, and
children starting up one after another from amid the dense foliage and
gazing at us with curious eyes. There were about seventy people, though
nearly half of them were away. Some had been baptized by the Jesuits,
others were pagans. After ascertaining these facts we paddled along the
shore a little way to a sandy beach, where we made our camp. Our three
tents were pitched in the thick of the bush like the Indians, and a
huge fire lighted in the middle as the weather had become autumnal and
chilly.

These poor people seem to have nothing to eat as a rule except fish
and small animals; and they sat and lay around like half-starved dogs
while we partook of our evening meal. Two or three of them brought
raspberries for which we gave them bread in exchange, and we invited
one man, who seemed to be something of a chief among them, to take
supper with the boys. These Indians are of a very low type, and are
very dirty, appearing to have no idea of anything beyond pork and flour.

I went to see an old man who had been baptized about a year ago by the
Roman Catholics, and read the Bible to him. His wife was still a pagan,
but they both listened attentively while I read and seemed glad to be
visited.

_August_ 19_th_.--By 8.15 a.m. we were fairly out on the
bay. I steered and the boys rowed till the wind being favourable, we
hoisted our sails and made a good start, winding our way for some miles
among islands, and then coming out on the open lake. The wind fell, and
the last part of the way we had to row, which made us late in getting
to Pic Island,--and a hard matter indeed it was to get in. In the dim
twilight we could see nothing but high, forbidding rocks, with the dark
rippling waves lapping their sides. Being on the side of the island
exposed to the lake, we could not think of attempting to land until we
should find a secure harbour for our boat, for a sudden storm rising in
the night would knock her to pieces on such a coast. At length, groping
about among the rocks, we espied a crevice into which it appeared
_The Missionary_ would just fit. But, oh! what a place for the
night! High, slippery rocks, piled about us by some giant hand, no wood
for a fire, no grass, no place for a camp--nothing but sharp ledges and
points of rocks. The boys clambered about with their shoeless feet like
cats, and we heard them shouting,--"This is where I am going to sleep!
This is where I shall sleep!" The Bishop groaned and said, "I shall
remain on the boat."

I, for my part, followed the boys, and presently found a sort of small
cavern under a ledge of rock, into which I had my camp-bed carried, and
having lighted a candle, sent Esquimau to bring the Bishop. It was
really most comfortable, and, moreover, in the corner of the cavern we
found a dry log, probably washed there by the waves in a storm; and
with this log we lighted a fire and made some tea, and so--after all--
we had quite a cosy time of it.

_August_ 20_th_.--We all slept sweetly till about 5 a.m.,
when I think we awoke simultaneously; at any rate we were all on the
stir soon after that hour. And now we were hungry, and there was no
bread, no fire, and no wood, and fourteen miles to get to the mainland,
and a head-wind. What was to be done? By the kindly light of day we
discovered that our position was not so distressing as we had at first
imagined. A little way over the rocks was a shore with drift-wood lying
on it, our cook was despatched with the frying-pan and his bag of
flour, and after all we did famously.

Before starting off we joined in repeating the morning psalms. We had
a hard pull against a steady head-wind, and could only make two miles
an hour, so that it was a little after three when we reached Pic River;
and having run the boat on to a sandy shore, carried up our things and
prepared our camp.

After eight more day's sailing, we reached the Shingwauk again, where
a warm welcome awaited us.



CHAPTER XXXVI.

BAPTIZED--BURIED.


"I know I shall lie awake at night and grieve at the loss of my boy,--we
Indians cannot bear to be parted from our children, but it is right that
he should go." Such were the words of the pagan Indian on the shores of
Lake Neepigon, when he parted from his loved son Ningwinnena, and gave
him up to return with us. I remembered those words,--and often over the
camp fire--as we journeyed home I looked across at my adopted son and
thought, I will take the very best care I can of you and I trust that
by-and-bye it may please God for you to return and do a good work among
your people. Such a nice intelligent boy he was,--such gentle eyes, and
such a trustful look,--he seemed quite to accept me as his father and
guardian, and was always ready to give a helping hand, and he learned
with marvellous rapidity. Our arrival at Sault Ste. Marie was quite a
new era in his life,--the steamboats, the shops, and people;--few of
course in comparison to places further south--but multitudes compared to
the Neepigon region, and he had never seen a horse in his life till he
reached the Sault.

It was a great pleasure to me preparing this dear boy for baptism,
there were two other pagan lads from Michipicoten and I had them in a
class together. I had good reason to hope and believe that all of them
embraced the truth and accepted the Lord Jesus as their Saviour. The
three boys were baptized by Bishop Fauquier at St. Luke's Church, Sault
Ste. Marie, on the 27th of October; the Bishop took a great fancy to
Ningwinnena, became his godfather, and gave him his own name,
Frederick. Everyone indeed loved the Neepigon boy; he was so gentle in
his ways, so quiet and polite in his manner, and made such quaint
efforts to converse in English. He seemed so pleased too at any little
attention shown him.

But, poor boy, he was soon laid on the bed of sickness. His mother had
died of consumption, and that terrible hereditary disease was secretly
sapping his life. At Christmas time he was ill with bronchitis and
inflammation of the lungs.

From this attack he never thoroughly recovered. There was a hollowness
of the cheek, and an unnatural brightness about the eye, and yet
otherwise, he had become well enough again to occupy his place in
school and pursue his studies with the other boys. Just after
recovering from this illness he wrote a short note in English to the
Bishop, composed by himself, in pencil. "Me not learn much book, all
the time sick me," and so forth.

Shortly after this he was much delighted at receiving a letter from
his father. His poor father spoke of the longing he felt to see his
loved son once more, and how anxiously he was looking forward to the
spring, when he hoped to see him again. The Bishop also kindly wrote to
him in reply to his little letter--exhorting him to try and live as God
tells us to do in the Book which He has given to us; and concluding
with the earnest hope that when he died, he might go to that happy
place where the Saviour Jesus Christ is preparing to receive all who
truly love him, "Goodbye, my dear boy," added the Bishop, "may God
bless, and make you good." This letter Frederick fondly treasured to
the time of his death, and afterwards expressed his desire to see the
Bishop again.

On Sunday, March 28th, Frederick was at church in the Sault with the
other boys. There was administration of the Holy Communion, and the
other boys who had been confirmed remained to partake. Frederick
remained with them and innocently came up with the rest to kneel at the
rails. I was very sorry to turn him back, but whispered to him in
Indian, that only those who were confirmed were about to take the
Sacrament, and he quietly withdrew to his seat. Afterwards I explained
it to him, and, a day or two subsequently, wrote to the Bishop asking
him to arrange, if possible, to hold a confirmation before the boys
dispersed for their holidays, so that Frederick, among others, might be
confirmed. Had I known that he was so soon to die, and that in his last
illness he would not be sufficiently conscious to partake intelligently
of the sacred feast, I would not have turned the dear boy back. Too
often do we, perhaps, unwittingly act the part of the disciples who
hindered the little children in their approach to Jesus.

On Sunday evening, April 27th, Frederick came in for a little talk
with me after service. He seemed very earnest and spoke very nicely of
his trust in the Saviour. I said to him (in Indian) I want you to get
quite well, Frederick, before you go home, perhaps your father will be
angry with me if he sees you sick. He looked up in my face to see if I
meant what I said, and, seeing me smile, replied, "No, I am sure he
will not be angry. He entrusted me to you. My grandfather said, before
he died, that we were to wait for an English teacher, and that when he
came we must listen to him, and do what he told us. That is why my
father gave me up to you."

The dear boy seemed to have some presentiment that he might not live,
and expressed himself on the subject in his broken English to one of
our little children who had taken him up some canned peaches. "All the
time my head just like broke. All the time sick me. By-and-bye I guess
me dead."

A few days after, severe symptoms set in, and the doctor was sent for.
Frederick became delirious and had to be watched constantly both night
and day. We never have any difficulty in procuring night watchers among
our Indian boys. Quite a forest of hands generally goes up when the
question is put after evening prayers. "Who will stay up to watch to-
night?" Two boys stay at a time, and the change is made every three or
four hours.

For three days and nights poor Frederick lay in a perfectly
unconscious state, taking neither medicine or nourishment. The doctor
pronounced it to be organic disease of the brain, the result of a
consumptive tendency in his system, and gave but faint hope of his
recovery. Day and night we watched him; and were glad when on the
fourth day he showed signs of returning consciousness. His brain never
seemed to become quite clear, but he had intervals of intelligence,
during which he would often answer questions and attempt to repeat
verses of Scripture. The verse "Suffer little children to come unto
Me," he said through. He attempted also "God so loved the world," but
only got as far as "believeth in Him." Two nights before he died, he
tried to say the Lord's prayer, but it seemed to be an effort to him;
at the words, "as it is in heaven," he stopped, and after a pause,
said, "can't say 'my Father.' Too much runaway me."

After a pause I asked him--"Who was it that died on the Cross for us,
Frederick?" He rambled for a moment or two, and then, as the meaning of
my question flashed upon him, spoke out in clear accents "Jesus
Christ." Very little longer was he to live. We had prayed earnestly,
constantly, for his recovery, but it was not God's will. On Saturday
evening, after prayers, I perceived that he was sinking, and told the
boys who were watching him that I did not think he would live through
the night. He was breathing heavily and quickly. He would take no
notice when spoken to, and could not swallow. An hour or two sped by,
it was ten o'clock, and he was now gasping frequently for breath, his
pulse being scarcely perceptible. I called to his bedside those boys
who had made the Lake Superior trip with me last summer, and we stood
watching him. Then as his end drew near, we knelt and I offered up the
beautiful commendatory prayer for the sick, and we joined in repeating
the Lord's prayer. As we rose from our knees the dear boy gave one more
faint gasp for breath and expired. How wonderful are the ways of God,
how little can we understand His dealings. But the very essence of
faith is the trusting in God when we do not understand His dispensations.

We had earnestly hoped that Frederick's father would have arrived in
time to see his boy's body before its burial, and for that reason we
kept it twelve days packed in ice, and I wrote to him and sent money
for his passage. But it was not so to be. The Manitoba arrived at
midnight on Wednesday, the 28th of May, but instead of the father, came
a letter from him full of expectancy and longing to see his loved son.
This seemed to make it sadder still. The letter was dated May 12th; it
was written evidently for him by some white man at the Post; and said
that he was patiently waiting at Red Rock, with his son Muqua, for
Frederick to return; it also enclosed money for the boy's passage on
the steamboat.

The day after I received this letter, we buried Frederick. I prepared
a slab for his grave, on which were inscribed the words--"_Frederick
Oshkahpukeda_, a boy from the wild regions of Lake Neepigon. Was
baptized a Christian, Oct. 27th, 1878: and was taken home to his
Saviour, May 17th, 1879;--aged fourteen." "'Blessed are the dead which
die in the Lord.'" The Bishop read the service at the grave.

Sometime after, I received the following touching letter from the poor
pagan father; written for him by some friend who understood Indian.

"_Red Rock, May_ 31_st_, 1879.

DEAR SIR,--I learn that my poor boy is dead, so that our talk is dead,
for I will not send any more of my children to the Home; but if you
want to follow out the engagement you made then, put up a schoolhouse
somewhere round here, so that our children may learn, for after what
has happened I don't think that any of the Indians at Neepigon will let
their children go to the Home.

I don't think that we will be able to visit the grave of my poor boy.
I would have been very glad if you could have sent the body in the
steamer.

I feel very sorry for what has happened, my heart is sore. I do not
know what to do.

Did not my poor boy say anything before he died? Surely he said
something about his father! If so, let me know when you write. I do not
blame anybody about the death of my boy, but I am most happy for the
care you have taken with him. I want you to send me an alphabet, and a
small book with words of two or three letters, about the school. I have
nothing more to say at present. I am very sick at heart. My respects to
you, and I hope to see you soon, or hear from you about my son's last
words. I would like very much to know.

Your sincere friend,

OSHKAHPUKEDA.

P.S.--Tell all the boys I send them my love; and the boy that he loved
best I shall think him my son. Good-bye."

       *       *       *       *       *

A year after this, Oshkahpukeda, and a number of the other Indians of
Lake Neepigon were baptized; the site for a Mission was selected, and a
roughly built log school-house with bark roof was constructed, also
another log-house for a teacher. Joseph Esquimau, a pupil of the
Shingwauk Home was placed in charge of the Mission temporarily, and
conducted services, and taught school very successfully. In the summer
of 1881, the Rev. R. Renison, was appointed by the Bishop to take
charge of the Mission, and moved there with his family. Several of the
Indians had by that time built log-houses for themselves, and the
village is called Ningwinnenang, after the boy who died.



CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE WAWANOSH HOME.


The spot selected for the Wawanosh Home was rather more than a mile
above the village of Sault Ste. Marie. I bought five acres of bush land
at three pounds an acre as a site for the Institution, and a ten-acre
cultivated lot, just opposite, for L60.

Immediately after making the purchase, we took all our boys up there
for a "clearing bee;" they hoisted the Union Jack on the site of the
new Home, and within a few days had cleared a considerable piece of
land and commenced digging the foundations. It was to be a stone
building of two storeys high with a frontage of about forty-five feet,
and a wing running back, and to cost about L700. During the summer our
boys got out all the stone necessary for building, most of it was
collected on the Shingwauk land, and they were paid 20 cents a cord for
piling it.

We were anxious as soon as possible to get the new Home into
operation. After the summer of 1876 no girls returned to the Shingwauk,
and we doubled our number of boys. It seemed hard to shut the girls out
from the privileges of Christian care and education, and we were
naturally desirous of receiving back as soon as possible those whom we
had already commenced teaching. For this reason we thought it well at
once to make a beginning by erecting the back wing of the Institution
first. During the winter stone and sand were hauled, and on the 5th of
May, 1877, building operations commenced. We took the contract
ourselves. I had a good practical man as carpenter at the Shingwauk,
and we got our plans and specifications; then an estimate was made, and
after being approved by a third party--a person experienced in such
matters--the work began. Mrs. Fauquier, our Bishop's wife, and two or
three other ladies kindly joined with me as a committee to manage the
Institution, a lady was engaged as lady Superintendent, a man and wife
as gardener and matron, and about the first week in September the girls
began to arrive.

We only took ten girls that winter, as we were of course cramped for
room.

It was rather uphill work bringing into operation the Wawanosh Home,
but difficulties during the progress of a work often have the effect of
making it more solid and strong in the end. To induce Sunday Schools
and friends to aid us, I divided the estimated cost of the building
with its fittings and furniture, into forty-four lots, and a
considerable number of these lots were "taken up." Still we were short
of money. When the Spring of 1878 came, all our money for building was
gone, and the fund to meet current expenses, even with only ten girls
to provide for, was found to be insufficient. It was very discouraging.
Sorrowfully I told our lady Superintendent that we must close the
Institution for the present,--and sorrowfully I dismissed the girls for
their holidays and told them that they must not come back until they
heard from me that we were able to receive them.

But God heard our prayers and opened the way for us.

On Sunday Sept. 7th, I had just returned from Garden River where I had
been to hold service with the Indians, and on my arrival found a sail-
boat lying at our dock. An Indian had come over a hundred miles and had
brought five little girls for the Wawanosh Home. Two of them had been
with us the winter before and had misunderstood me about coming back,
and the other three were new ones,--they all looked so happy and
pleased. But their faces fell when I explained to the man our
circumstances, that we had closed for want of funds, and could not see
our way towards re-opening for the present. The Indian said it seemed
very hard to have come such a long distance and then to have to go all
the way back again. "Can you not manage to take them," he said; "I will
help you all I can,--I will bring you some barrels of fish in the Fall"

I told the man they could all remain with us that night, and I would
let him know what could be done after I had thought it over. I went to
see Mrs. Fauquier, and the other ladies came together, and we talked it
over and had much earnest prayer. It seemed to us all that it was the
hand of God pointing out the way, and that we ought to have faith to go
on. The end of it was that we kept those five children; the lady who
had had charge of the Home the previous winter most generously agreed
to remain for another year at a reduced salary and to do without the
services of a matron. And so the Wawanosh Home was open again.

Two weeks later I received a letter from England: "I have good news to
tell you. Miss ---- wrote a few days ago to ask how much money was
wanted to complete the Girls' Home. We sent her word that the original
estimate was L700, and that about L500 had been collected. I to-day
received from her a cheque for L350! Of this L100 is her annual
subscription, and L250 for the completion of the Home. You will I am
sure look on it as God's gift in answer to the prayer of faith." The
following January a letter came from the Indian Department at Ottawa,
saying that the Government had in reply to my request, made a grant of
L120 towards the building expenses of the Wawanosh Home, and that this
grant would be continued annually, provided there were not less than
fifteen girls, towards the maintenance of the Institution.

Thus did Almighty God open the way for us, and clear away all our
difficulties. By the middle of the summer of 1879 the building was
completed, the ground in front cleared and formed into a garden, with a
picket fence and two gates, and a drive up to the front door, and at
the back a stable, cow-house, pig-styes, &c.

The cottage on the other side of the road was now occupied by Mrs.
Bridge, the laundress, and a year or two later, we built a new laundry.

The new Home was opened on the 19th of August, 1879, and that winter
we had fourteen girls.

The following letter from an English lady who visited the Wawanosh
Home in the summer of 1880, gives a good idea of the Institution and
its surroundings:--

"I drove to see the Indian girls' Home, and was surprised to find in
these wilds such an English stone building, but with the advantage of a
nice verandah and green blinds which keep the house cool in summer. The
inside of the house I thought very, nice; all the rooms are high and of
a good size; a hall, school-room, class-room, and dining-room, and
prettily furnished sitting-room for the lady superintendent, a laundry,
and good kitchen with a large stove--all these are on the ground floor.
Upstairs there is a large dormitory with eight double beds and a smaller
one with four beds. These rooms are more airy and give more space to
each girl than in many institutions I have seen in England. A small room
is set apart for the sick. The lavatory is well fitted up, and
everything is clean and neat. The girls do the work partly themselves
under the matron, and learn to become servants. The Home has only been
fully opened a year, so of course it is still rough round the house, but
soon the ground will be laid out. On one side of the house will be the
vegetable garden, which the girls will be taught to keep weeded and in
order. On the other side of the house the committee intend putting up a
gymnasium with money a lady in England has collected: It is a room very
much wanted, for, in the winter, with the snow three to four, and
sometimes five feet deep, it is impossible to send children out, and if
they do not get exercise they would suffer. The room is to be 40 feet by
20, with one end divided off for a meat-house and tool-house; when I say
a meat-house I mean a place to keep meat, for they kill cattle and sheep
enough for the winter at the beginning of the very cold weather, it
freezes hard and keeps well. The gymnasium will, when finished, only
cost about 200 dollars. The children look very happy and very little
amuses them. I showed them some English village children's games, and
left them delighted."

There is always a "but," that is, kind friends are wanted to provide
for some of the new girls just come to the Home. If any one would give
or collect four shillings a week, that is sufficient to feed a child.



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

A SAD WINTER.


The winter of 1882 was a sad time. There was great mortality all
through the country, and our Homes did not escape.

Our kind friend, Mrs. Fauquier, who, though a constant invalid, had
done very much to promote the interests and welfare of our Girls' Home,
was called away to the Heavenly Rest on the 4th of November, 1881.
During the last few years of her life she had made the Wawanosh Home
her special care, her work for Christ. Those girls were always in her
thoughts: she it was who devised their uniform dress of blue serge
trimmed with scarlet, and got friends in England to supply them; she
chose the furniture for the Home and fitted the lady superintendent's
rooms so prettily and tastefully. Many were the kind words of counsel
that the girls received from her, and it used to be her delight to have
them to visit her in the afternoon at the See House.

Only a month had passed after we heard of Mrs. Fauquier's death,--she
died in New York,--when the appalling tidings reached us that the
Bishop, too, was gone. He had died suddenly in Toronto on December 7th.
In the same mail bag which brought the sad news was a letter to me from
him, written only an hour or two before he died.

"The sad void," he wrote, "which my dear wife's departure hence has
made seems to grow wider and deeper; and it seems difficult to settle
down to work as of old. I must try to realize more fully than I have
done in the past what a blessing her presence for more than thirty
years has been. How true it is that we seldom appreciate our blessings
and privileges until they are taken from us."

The church at Sault Ste. Marie was draped with black the following
Sunday, and the Indian children of the Homes wore black scarves in
token of respect for him who had had their welfare so much at heart.

The next death was that of our carpenter's wife: she had been ailing
all through the previous autumn, and died January 2nd.

Then three days later we lost one of the Indian boys, a little fellow
named Charlie Penahsewa, who had only been with as a few months. We
buried him the next day in our little cemetery at 7 p.m. The boys
carried torches.

Several other boys were at this time in the sick room, two or three
also of the Wawanosh girls were ill, and the doctor was to and fro at
both the Homes.

Poor little Beaconsfield, one of the Michipicotin boys who had been
baptized at the same time as Frederick, was among the sick. His only
name when he first came to us, nearly five years before, was Chegauns
(little man close by); he was a little wild pagan boy, but with soft
eyes and gentle disposition, like Frederick, and was very quick to
learn. A kind lady in Kingston undertook his support, and took great
interest in him, and at her wish we named him "Benjamin Beaconsfield."
We had every reason to hope and believe that there was a work of grace
in his heart. The little fellow had a tender conscience, and would come
and tell me if he had been playing on Sunday or had told an untruth,
and would ask me to pray for him. Another boy in the sick room was
little Peter, Peterans as we called him [ans at the end of a word makes
its diminutive]; he was a grandchild of my old friend, widow Quakegwah,
at Sarnia. We sent him and another little fellow who was ailing to the
Wawanosh, for change of air and more careful nursing. But it was all in
vain. Beaconsfield died on the 16th of January, and little Peter died
at the Wawanosh on the 8th of February. They were both buried in our
little cemetery.

After this I had to go down to Toronto to attend to diocesan matters,
and was away about two months, going through the Muskoka district, and
being present in Montreal when the Provincial Synod met, and our new
Bishop, Dr. Sullivan, was unanimously elected.

When I returned to the Shingwauk things looked brighter; the sick room
was empty, and every one seemed more cheery. But our hopes were doomed
to be disappointed. I had only been home three days when my dear boy,
William Sahgucheway, the captain of our school, was taken suddenly ill
with inflammation, and a day or two later we were in the greatest alarm
about him. I felt about him as I had about Frederick--that surely his
life would be spared to us, he of all others was the one whom we looked
to as the pride and hope of our Institution; he was nineteen years of
age, and was looking forward and preparing for the ministry. But it was
not to be. God had called him, and eight days after he was taken ill
and died. In the next chapter I shall give a little account of his life.

Three days after William was buried, the bodies of our late dear
Bishop and Mrs. Fauquier arrived in charge of two of their sons, it
having been their expressed wish to be buried in our little cemetery
with our Indian children. On Monday, the 22nd, the long funeral cortege
moved slowly to the cemetery. There was a large gathering of people
both from the Canadian and American sides--people of all classes and
creeds. First, the clergy in their surplices, then the Indian boys, two
and two, one of them, who had been supported by the late Bishop,
carrying a banner with the words, "He rests from his labours;" then
came the hearse bearing the late Bishop's remains, with four horses,
all draped, and the Wawanosh girls followed, one of them bearing a
banner with the words, "She is not dead, but sleepeth;" then the
hearse, and members of the family and other mourners--a long mournful
procession. A vault had been prepared, and the coffins, covered with
flowers, were laid within it, and the latter part of the Burial Service
read. Thus the good, kind-hearted, self-sacrificing Bishop, the first
Bishop of this wild Missionary diocese, and his afflicted yet devoted
wife, who had laboured so earnestly for the welfare of the Indians
during the latter part of their lives, were now laid side by side in
the Indian cemetery to await the joyful resurrection to eternal life.

The very next grave to the Bishop's was that of Frederick, the
Neepigon boy.

Before the summer holidays commenced, the cemetery gate had once more
to be opened and the earth once more to be turned, for another boy,
Simon Altman, from Walpole Island, was dead. This was the fifth boy who
had died during the winter, not from any malignant disease or fever,
but from various causes, and seven bodies in all had been committed to
the silent dust. For a time we were afraid that the saddening effect
of so many deaths would lead to a complete break up of our work, as the
Indians are of course very superstitious and might be afraid to send
any more of their children to us.

Next autumn our number at both the Homes was very much reduced, still
we were able to keep on, and now our pupils are once more steadily on
the increase.



CHAPTER XXXIX.

WILLIAM SAHGUCHEWAY.


William Sahgucheway was born on the Indian Reserve of Walpole Island
about the year 1862, the exact date is not known. His father and mother
both died eight or ten years ago, and since then he had lived with an
uncle and aunt, of both of whom he was very fond. He had two younger
brothers, but no sisters. One of the brothers, Elijah, was a pupil with
William at the Shingwauk Home for two or three years. He left when the
Home was temporarily closed in the spring of 1880, and before it had
re-opened he had been called home to his Saviour. William felt the death
of his little brother very deeply. In a letter dated June 4th he says,
"Last Sunday my brother Elijah died: but now he is with Jesus and the
angels. This text he had in his Bible. 'Blessed are the dead which die
in the Lord' (Rev. xiv. 13); and also the Bible was dated May 30th,
1879. This is important to me, like if it were telling me how he died
and when he died."

William Sahgucheway came first to the Shingwauk Home on the 17th of
June, 1875. I had paid a visit to Walpole Island that summer, and
William was one who, in company with five or six other children, came
back with me to Sault Ste. Marie. He was at that time a bright,
intelligent looking lad of twelve or thirteen years of age, and being
an orphan, he was made rather a special favourite from the first; the
attachment grew, and soon the boy learned to look upon me as his
father, and always commenced his letters "My dear Noosa" (father) when
writing to me. William like the other boys in the Institution, was
supported by the contributions of Sunday school children, and it was
quite hoped that he would at no distant day have become a student at
Huron Theological College.

William's Indian name was "Wahsashkung"--shining light. A most
appropriate name, for his presence always seemed to bring light and
happiness; he was always so cheerful, so ready to help, so self-
denying; grown people and little children were equally his friends.
We always regarded that verse in Matt. v. as specially his verse,--"Let
your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and
glorify your Father which is in heaven."

William accompanied me on many of my travels. He was with me on the
shores of Lake Neepigon in 1878, when that pagan tribe was discovered,
who for thirty years had been waiting for a Missionary to come to them.
He befriended the pagan boy, Ningwinnena, and taught him to pray and
love his Saviour. And when the poor boy died at Christian, six months
after entering the Institution, William was among those who knelt at
his bedside and watched his last expiring breath. In 1879 William
accompanied me to England, and while there wrote a little journal of
his travels, extracts from which were published. Wherever he went he
made friends, and many white people on both sides of the Atlantic will
long remember his bright, intelligent face, his gentle voice, and kind
obliging manner.

In the spring of 1880, when I was dangerously ill and my life
despaired of, William was one of the few Indian boys who were
privileged to come to my bedside, and the only one who was allowed to
take turn in watching beside me at night; for whenever there was
anything to be done requiring special effort or care, it was always
William who was wanted, and William who was ready.

About three years before this time the dear boy became truly in
earnest about religion, and dedicated his life to the Saviour. From his
earliest boyhood he would appear to have been a child of grace,
avoiding what was bad, with a desire to follow what was pure and good;
but with nearly all followers of Christ there is probably some period
in life which may be looked back to when the seeds of truth began more
distinctly to germinate in the soul, and that blessed union with the
Saviour, which is the joy of all true believers, was for the first time
perhaps fully realized and felt. It was on the 23rd March, 1877, that
this dear boy, William, after a long earnest talk, knelt down beside me
and yielded his heart to the Saviour: "Tabaningayun Jesus, kemeenin
ninda noongoom suh tebekuk, kuhnuhga kayahhe che tebanindezosewaun keen
dush chetebanemeyun"--"Lord Jesus, I give my heart to Thee this night,
no longer to belong to myself, but to belong to Thee." I gave him a
Bible the same evening, and it became his most valued treasure; on the
first leaf is the verse, "Him that cometh unto Me, I will in no wise
cast out," and on the last leaf, "God is love."

I always tried to impress on those who had dedicated themselves to the
Saviour's service, that they should prove the fact of their union with
Christ by working for Him and bearing fruit to the glory of His name.
William seemed to be especially impressed with this, and rarely a week
passed without his trying to exercise some influence for good among his
companions. Many are the boys now in the Institution who can trace
their first serious thoughts on their spiritual condition to his
intercourse with them. In January, 1878, a boys' prayer meeting was
commenced weekly, and continued almost without interruption, except
during holidays. The boys met on Wednesday evenings after prayers--
quite by themselves--one read a portion of Scripture in his own
language, and others offered a few words of simple prayer. It was due
to William and one or two like-minded companions that these little
gatherings were kept together, and there can be little doubt that much
blessing resulted.

William used latterly to take notes of the sermons which he heard on
Sundays.

And now we come to the last scenes of the dear boy's life here on earth.

I had been away on a tour through the other dioceses, and William, as
captain of the school, had additional duties devolving upon him during
the principal's absence. He had charge of the clothing store and had to
give out clothing each week to the boys, and perform other duties
requiring care and attention. The bodies of the late Bishop Fauquier
and Mrs. Fauquier were expected shortly to arrive for interment in the
Shingwauk cemetery, and preparations had to be made for this; the road
to the cemetery, which was blocked in places by large boulders and old
pine stumps, had to be cleared and levelled. William, of course, was
called into service for this--no one could clear a road through a rough
tract of land better than he. He was busy preparing for the spring
examinations, and very anxious to be victor; but books were laid aside
without a murmur, and he shouldered his pickaxe and shovel, and in
company with two or three other big boys set cheerfully and heartily to
work. It seemed strange that his last work on earth should be preparing
this road to the cemetery along which his own body would be carried
before those of the Bishop and Mrs. Fauquier arrived. That hard work,
with taking a chill, was probably in some measure the cause of his
death. He seemed very well on the Friday, the day on which I returned
home, and joined the boys in offering a hearty welcome, but the
following Sunday he seemed to be ailing, and on Monday, although he had
come down to lessons, and was setting to work, he was trembling and
scarcely able to stand. I recommended him to return to his room to bed,
which he at once did, but it was very soon evident that a serious
illness was setting in. An Indian woman was engaged to nurse him, and
the doctor from the Sault attended him. For the first few days no great
alarm was felt, and the pain seemed to in some measure subdued. No one
would allow himself to imagine that death was so near. It was not until
Friday evening, the 12th, that a decided change for the worse set in.
He became very low and weak, with a slight tendency to delirium. We
were all very anxious, and the Indian boys took turns watching at his
bedside. On Sunday afternoon ten or twelve of the boys came up to his
room for prayer. William, though very weak, and only able to say a few
words at a time, asked permission to speak to them, and he spoke very
earnestly for six or seven minutes in his own language; then we knelt
and prayed--prayed with great earnestness that God, if it were His holy
will, would permit our dear boy to recover. All Monday he was very ill.
Our hopes were sinking. It scarcely seemed possible that the dear boy
could live more than another day or two. We had much earnest prayer at
his bedside, and the faintest signs of improvement were eagerly looked
for. He was quite resigned to God's will, wishing to recover if it were
his Father's will, or ready to die if the call had come. In the
afternoon he seemed to realize that his end was drawing near. To one
who visited him and remained a short time alone with him he said, "I
should like to meet my little brother Elijah again; I do so love
Elijah." And after a pause he said, "I don't think I shall live long, I
am getting very weak." "We all love you very much," was replied, "we
indeed wish to keep you with us, but God's will must be done." "Yes."
he said, "God's will must be done. May be God will revive me, but I
have no wish whether to live or die. I wish for what is God's will."
"Is there anything you want?" was asked. "No--thank you," he replied
with great effort, then put his hand to his heart and slowly waved it
upwards. "I shall soon be singing on the golden shore," he said. To one
of our little girls who came in he said, "Do you like to see me like
this, Winnie?" "No," said the little child, the tears trickling down
her cheeks. "Perhaps I will get well again if it is God's will," he
said, "but I don't know." To the carpenter, who had lost his wife only
a few months before, he spoke very earnestly: "You see," he said,
"there is nothing to trouble me, nothing at all; God is love, this is
all God's love to me; may be God will take me away." "Poor boy, poor,
boy," ejaculated the carpenter, with tears in his eyes, "how you are
changed; how much you must have suffered." "Oh, it is just nothing,"
said William; "God is love, I can trust in Him: 'the blood--of Jesus
Christ--cleanseth us--from all sin.'"

I could hardly bear to speak to him of death,--it seemed to me as
though he must live, that a change for the better would set in, and
that the dear boy would revive. I repeated some passages of Scripture
to him and knelt often for prayer. Many, indeed, were the earnest
prayers that went up to the throne of grace for the boy's recovery.

Between eleven and half-past he was left for the night in charge of
two Indian boys, Kahgaug and Willis. They were to keep hot bricks to
his hands and feet, and administer a stimulating mixture and
nourishment, and at two o'clock their place would be taken by two other
boys. Having been up a great part of the preceding night, I then
retired to rest, to be called if there was any change for the worse.

Just at half-past two there came a knock at the door,--"William is
worse; please come at once."

I hurried up to the sick room as quickly as possible, but it was a
moment too late--the dear boy had breathed his last. His hands were
clasped on his breast, his eyes lifted to heaven, a smile just fading
on his lips, and thus he had left the earth and gone to meet his
Saviour. Three boys only were with him when he died--Wigwaus, Benjamin,
and Davidans. We knelt together, and I offered up prayer, humbly
commending the soul of the dear brother departed into the hands of
Almighty God, as into the hands of a faithful Creator and most merciful
Saviour.

A feeling of awe seemed to pervade the whole household when, at early
dawn, the tolling of the school-bell told only too plainly that the
beloved spirit had departed. Never was a boy more loved by his play-
mates or more honoured and respected by his teachers. As he lived he
died, trusting in the merits of an Almighty Saviour for his salvation.

On the evening of his death his dear form was laid by loving hands in
the coffin, and some white flowers placed on his breast; the lid was
drawn back a little, and on it were placed his Prayer-book, his Bible
(open at I John iv.), a photograph of him in a frame, and a single wax
taper. Then the folding doors leading into the back school-room were
opened and the boys gathered around and sang the hymn he loved, "Safe
in the arms of Jesus." Scarcely an eye was dry, and many a sigh was
heaved, and many a sob broke the silence of the apartment as they came
up one by one to look on the marble face of their dead companion, and
to imprint a kiss on his cold brow. Many of the boys would not be
satisfied with coming once; they came again and again, and some laid
their faces down on his and sobbed. Several hymns were sung: "Here we
suffer grief and pain," "There is a happy land," and "My God, my
Father, while I stray," and prayer also was offered.

The funeral was on Thursday, Ascension day, at nine o'clock in the
morning. The coffin was brought into the school-room by six boys, who
had been appointed pall-bearers, and I read the opening sentences of
the burial service and special psalms and lessons; then, after a hymn,
was the sermon, from I John iii. 2, "We know that when He shall appear,
we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is," and I read some
extracts from William's diary, which he had commenced keeping four
years before; they show what the boy's thoughts were and how near he
lived to his Saviour.

_Jan_. 27, 1878.--"O Lord Jesus Christ, I have given my heart to
Thee. I belong to Thee, and I want to work for Thee as long as I live.
Give me Thy Holy Spirit in mine heart. May I not get cold and careless,
but may I always be full of love to Thee. May I not be a dead branch,
but may I bear much fruit to the glory of Thy name. Amen."

_March_ 5.--"O Lord Jesus Christ, give me Thy Holy Spirit that I
may be able to fight the temptations of the world, the flesh, and the
devil."

_Oct_. 1.--"O God, I give my body unto Thee, and wherever you
want me to go, I will go, and whatever you want me to do as long as I
live, I shall do this for the name of Christ."

_March_ 21, 1879.--"O Lord. I am trying to work for Thee. Am I
trying to walk in the light every day? Am I going to serve God or serve
the devil? Let me not think too much of the things of this world. Let
me more think about the things of heaven. This is all,--for Christ's
sake."

After another hymn had been sung, a procession was formed to the
cemetery, and the dear boy's body was laid in the grave, earth to
earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of a
glorious resurrection to eternal life.

There was one more duty to be performed on the return of the funeral
party to the school-room, and that was to distribute some of the dear
boy's books and treasures to those who would specially value them. I
took for my share the Bible which I had given him four years before,
and an ancient arrow head, which he had dug up while making the road to
the cemetery, and had laughingly remarked that he would keep it till he
died. The rest of the things were packed in a box and sent home to his
aunt.

Who shall estimate the amount of good done by this earnest whole-souled
Indian boy during his short career? He sowed good seed, and we trust
there may be an abundant harvest in the hearts and lives of the other
boys. When asked how many of them had received special benefit by their
intercourse with William, twenty boys rose to their feet. Many testified
that they had been spoken to by him of the Saviour, others that they had
been checked by him in doing something sinful, others, that he had
talked or read or offered prayer with them. What a blessed testimony,
that in a school of fifty-four boys, twenty should have been benefited
by the example and teaching of one boy who loved the Saviour! May God
the Holy Spirit bless this simple recital to the hearts of those who
read it, and may other boys, whether white or Indian, be stirred in
their souls to follow the example of this young soldier of the cross,
and let their light shine before men as did this young Indian boy--
Wahsashkung--Shining light--William Sahgucheway.



CHAPTER XL.

OUR INDIAN HOMES.


Come and visit our Indian Homes now, this summer of 1884. No longer are
we in the midst of bush and swamp, as we were ten years ago. The land
has been cleared up and a good part of it brought under cultivation,
fences have been put up, and several new buildings added. Let us visit
the Shingwauk Home first. We may go by water, and land at the Shingwauk
dock; there is the boat-house, with our new boat, _The Missionary_,
given to us by the children of St. James's Sunday-school, Toronto,
floating gently on the dark water within. We have no need to walk up to
the Institution. There is an excellent tramway, which has just been
completed, and visitors are requested to take their seats in the
tramcar, and some of the Indian boys will push them up to the Home. We
can already see the Institution over the brow of the hill, and a little
to the right the Memorial Chapel, and nearer to us the Factory, and off
to the left the boot shop and carpenter's cottage. We note that there
are neat stone walls round some of the fields, and a white picket fence
inclosing the Institution; the old-fashioned lych-gate in front of the
Chapel also strikes us, with the hops clambering over it; but we must
hasten on and enter the Home. As we walk up the central drive we notice
that the Institution is a substantial stone building, the bareness of
the walk relieved by a pretty trellis-work, up which hops and other
creeping plants are climbing; to our right is a cottage-wing, which is
the principal's residence, and to our left the entrance hall, with an
ornamental belfry over it; a little further to our left is another small
stone building--the dairy. We enter the hall, and, having written our
names in the Visitors' book, we ascend the oak staircase and visit the
school-room. Here the boys are all busy at work with their slates and
books, and Mr. Wotton, the master, is instructing a class by the black-
board. The school-room is nicely fitted up with modern desks and other
appliances; on the walls are large maps and pictures, which give it a
cheerful look; the ceiling is panelled in woods of two shades. Opening
into the school-room is a smaller room, a class-room separated from it
by three folding-doors. Ascending the staircase, we visit the
dormitories. The east dormitory for the senior boys is fitted with
English iron bedsteads, the junior dormitory has wooden bedsteads
painted blue, and wide enough for two little fellows to sleep in each;
the front dormitory, which is the largest of them all, is hung with
hammocks,--there is sleeping accommodation altogether for about sixty-
five boys. Descending once more, we pass through the lavatory and the
matron's sitting-room down to the dining-hall, and we note as we go
along every here and there a shelf with three white pails full of water
and an ominous F painted on them. Evidently experience has taught
caution. The dining-hall is a fine large room, the ceiling panelled like
the school-room. It has five long tables, at each of which twelve or
fourteen boys can sit comfortably. One side of the room we notice is
railed off--this is called the pen, and here the boys have to wait in
patience while the tables are prepared for meals. Adjoining the dining-
hall are the kitchen on one side, the work-room on the other. Every
thing looks clean and tidy and well kept--the matron takes pride in
having her department all in good order. In the work-room we find the
Indian servant, Eliza, working at the sewing-machine making garments for
the boys. Passing on through the other doorway, we cross a passage, and
enter the class-room where John Esquimau is sitting at his studies,
reading theology and studying Latin and Greek, with a view to entering
the ministry. Adjoining this room is the office and dispensary.

And now we must leave the Institution building and visit the Chapel
(see Frontispiece), a little winding path under the trees leads us to
it. The building is of stone, set in a frame-work of wood, which,
painted dark, gives a most picturesque appearance. There is a deep
porch at the western entrance with stained glass window; within are
heavy oak doors with ornamental mountings, and these, being opened,
give us a view of the interior of the Chapel, and a very pretty view it
is. In front of us are pillars supporting the chancel arch, and on
either side a smaller arch, one enclosing the vestry, the other the
organ-chamber; the space between the top of these arches and the roof
being filled with fretwork. The windows are stained glass. The pulpit
and prayer-desk and all the seats are of oak, and nicely carved. Under
the chancel window is an oak reredos, on which are inscribed the Creed,
the Lord's Prayer, and the Ten Commandments in Indian. The altar-cloth
is a very handsome one, given by a lady in England, and the stone font
was presented by relatives of the late Bishop. Service is held in the
Chapel twice every Sunday, the pupils from both Homes attending; and on
Wednesday evenings there is a short service and catechizing.

Crossing to the other side of the road after leaving the Chapel, we
enter the sash and door factory, and are immediately deafened by the
din of the various machines in motion. Three Indian boys are at work
here under the foreman, making doors, window-sash mouldings, and turned
work of all descriptions. The boys are old pupils who have passed
through the Institution, and now receive wages for their work, but they
attend school every evening, which is a great advantage to them. One or
two of the younger boys are also commencing to learn carpenter work at
the factory. Crossing to the other cottage to the left of the
Institution, we enter the boot shop; here we find another old pupil at
work,--Harry Nahwaquageezhik,--and a very good boot maker he is. He
does all the work for the Institutions, both mending and making, and
has one or two younger boys under his instruction. When not required at
the boot shop, Harry goes to garden or farm work.

And now we must drive out to the Wawanosh Home and pay it a visit
also. It is upwards of two miles from Shingwauk, up the northern road
and away from the river. As we drive up the road bordered with fields
of grain or grass on either side, or shaded by birch and fir trees, we
catch sight of the stone building to our right, in a nest of green
foliage; and on the left white garments flapping in the breeze bespeak
the presence of the laundry, with the laundress' cottage close beside.
A number of the girls are on the verandah, or amusing themselves on the
grass, for it is play-time and school is over. Miss Cunningham, the
lady Superintendent, meets us at the door, and conducts us through the
building; on the left as we enter are the school-room and work-room
with folding doors between, and on the right Miss Cunningham's little
sitting-room, and the girls' dining-room; then at the back are the
kitchen and wash-house, and overhead the girls' dormitories and
lavatory and other bed-rooms. All is kept very clean and neat, and does
credit to those who are in charge.

Such are our buildings and our work, and such the efforts that we are
making for the evangelization and training of these poor Ojebway Indians.

And now perhaps the question will be asked:--

DO THESE INDIAN HOMES SEEM LIKELY TO PROVE A SUCCESS?

Have we reason to expect that we shall, in due time, achieve our
object, and raise the Indian to a position equal to that of his white
brethren? Is this idea of inducing them to exchange the bow and arrow
for the carpenter's bench, the war-club for the blacksmith's hammer,
the net and canoe for the plough, a mere visionary one, or is it a
scheme that we have a good prospect of seeing carried into effect? The
following questions suggest themselves and we are prepared with the
answers:--

1. Are the Indians willing to make the change? Yes, for the most part,
they desire it.

2. Are their sons capable of receiving education and acquiring a
knowledge of the various trades sufficient to make a livelihood? We
refer to the appended letters from the masters of the various trades
that our boys are learning: and as to education, our own experience is
that Indian boys can learn as fast as white boys, and many of them will
_retain_ what they have learnt a good deal better. They read
distinctly, without any foreign accent, write a capital hand, and are
very fair arithmeticians.

3. Will they stick to their work? Yes. We were doubtful about this at
first, but now we can say yes. Our apprentice boys work ten hours a
day, six days a week, and very rarely ask for a holiday. Having once
become accustomed to regular work, they like it, and will stick to it
as well as any white man.

4. Will their love for a wild life ever be eradicated? Perhaps not. Why
should it? Our boys, all of them, thoroughly enjoy a "camp out," such as
we have sometimes in the summer, but scarcely one of them would wish to
go back and spend his whole life in this manner. They know that a life
depending on hunting and fishing means poverty, dirt, and ignorance; and
they don't mean to go back to this. We don't wish to un-Indianize them
altogether, we would not overcurb their free spirit; we would not pluck
the feather from their cap or the sash from their waist or the moccasin
from their foot. They are a proud, grand nation in their way. An Indian
was never a slave any more than a Briton. An Indian has no words of
profanity in his language. An Indian is noted for his loyalty to the
British Crown. Let them hand down their noble and good qualities to
their children. But in the matter of procuring a livelihood let us, for
their own good, induce them to lay aside the bow and fish-spear, and, in
lieu thereof, put their hand to the plough, or make them wield the tool
of the mechanic.

We hope to see the day, if it please God, when these Indian Homes
shall be three times their size, and the number of the pupils deriving
benefit from them shall be three-fold increased.

The tailor to whom one boy was apprenticed writes as follows:--

"DEAR SIR,--Aubee has all the necessary qualifications to make a good
tailor. I think it would be better for him to come every week, instead
of every second week, as at present.

Yours &c.,

W. VAUGHAN."


_From the Printer_.

"The Indian boys who are employed in the Shingwauk Printing Office--in
charge of which I have been for the past eighteen months--have, during
that time, made very considerable progress. I have found them, as a
rule, apt, obedient, steady and clever, and do not doubt, that in
course of time and with proper education, they will make excellent
printers.

S. REID."


_From the Tinsmith_.

"DEAR SIR,--I think that you have not a boy in the Home better
deserving of praise than Pedahjewun. He will make a first-class
tinsmith. He has been with me two years and I never knew him to tell me
a lie in that time.

H. P. PIM."


_From the Carpenter and Builder_.

"SIR,--From the time Jackson has been under me, he has learnt the
trade fast. He is fond of it, is steady and obliging, and I think will
make a good mechanic as joiner and carpenter.

Yours truly,

E. MURTON (Builder)."



CHAPTER XLI.

A POW-WOW AT GARDEN RIVER.


The following is an account of a visit paid by the Bishop and Mrs.
Sullivan to Garden River, where Indian names were conferred on them:--

Garden River was reached about 6 p.m. on Saturday, August 29th, the
tent pitched, the vacant Mission house occupied, fires lighted, water
brought from the river, and other preparations made for the night, the
boys of the party voting, with true tramp-like instinct, that they
preferred slumbering in the new mown hay in the barn. After tea under
the shade of a spreading pine tree, the Bishop and myself spent some
time visiting the Indian houses, among them that of an old man of
eighty, who had been blind for four years, but bore his affliction,
augmented as it was by other trials, with an uncomplaining submission.
Another dwelling visited was that of Chief Buhkwujjenene, already known
to our readers. On the table his Indian Testament lay open, his
constant study, in which, he told the Bishop, he had taught himself to
read his own tongue.

At 9 p.m. all assembled in the little church, and there, by the light
of "a lantern dimly burning," and amid a holy calm, unbroken save by
the rustling of the leaves at the open windows, joined in the evening
sacrifice of prayer and praise.

Soon after breakfast next morning the tinkling of the church bell was
heard, and groups of two or three were seen assembling, and passing
into the sacred building, with a quiet, silent reverence. The service,
with the exception of the Old Testament lesson and the sermon, which
was interpreted, was in Ojebway, and old and young listened attentively
as the preacher told the story of the Brazen Serpent, and pointed his
hearers to Him who said of Himself, "I, if I be lifted up, will draw
all men unto Me."

At 3 p.m. the bell was rung, the flags hoisted, and the whole party
ushered into the school-house to find the platform furnished with chairs,
the centre one carefully reserved for the "Kechemakadawekoonuhya" (the
big black coat). By the time the feast was over the sun was setting. Now
the table was put aside, benches arranged, and the signal for the
pow-wow, given on the drum, when all who could find space to sit or stand
crowded in. A few minutes' silence followed, and then Chief Buhkwujjenene
rose, advanced to the platform, shook hands (an invariable preliminary to
an Indian speech), and said, "Chief's, principal men, brothers, and
sisters, we were told many days ago that our new Bishop was coming among
us, and we decided to have a cup of tea with him. Now he has come, and
has eaten and drank with us. Now (turning to the Bishop) we are glad that
you have come, and that you have told us the Gospel." His way being paved
by this brief introduction, the Bishop addressed them, saying that he
thanked them for the feast they had prepared, and the very kind welcome
they had given to him. When Jesus Christ was on earth, Matthew the
publican and others made feasts for Him, and as the Indians had received
him in Christ's name and for His sake, therefore they would receive the
fulfilment of the promise which Christ gave, that "whosoever gave to a
disciple a cup of cold water only should in no wise lose his reward." At
his last visit he told them he would go to school and learn their
language, and he had done this, and as he had a good teacher, Mr. Wilson,
he had been able to read part of their beautiful services yesterday in
their own tongue; it was a hard language to learn, but he would persevere
until he was able to preach to them. He had some good news to tell them
about their church. A gentleman in Toronto, whom he had never seen, had
sent him 50 dollars in aid of it (great clapping of hands), and more, he
was sure, was on the way, for God never failed to hear and help His
children who prayed to Him in their trouble and difficulty. He had heard
that they were going to give him a new name. He had had two names
already, first Edward Sullivan, then Edward Algoma, and he hoped that the
new one would be a good one, and that he would not be ashamed to tell it
his friends and theirs in Montreal and Toronto.

After this the other old Chief, a fine looking specimen of the aboriginal
race, rose from his seat, and, divesting himself of his loose scarlet
jacket, put on a fantastic head-dress composed of eagle feathers, then
threw round his neck a blue ribbon with a heavy silver medal suspended
from either end (one presented to his father by George III, and the other
to himself by the Prince of Wales). Then fastening on his right wrist an
armlet made of polecat skins, he stepped on to the platform, and
apologizing, for the lack of a portion of his costume, on account of the
excessive heat, proceeded in highly poetic strains, and with a fervid,
impassioned manner, to which no description could do justice, to picture
the glory of the rising sun, how at first the night is dark, very dark,
and the darkness clears a little, and the light looks through, and the
great sun appears, creeping up slowly higher and higher, from east to
west, till the whole heaven is filled with his brightness, making all
things glad--"so," said the old Chief, turning suddenly to the Bishop,
"has your teaching been, and our hearts are glad because of the new
light, and henceforth you will be called 'Tabahsega,' _i.e._,
'spreading or radiant light.'" Here he extended his hand, and said,
"Boozhoo (_i.e._, good day) Tabahsega," a salutation which was
re-echoed by the others, who, coming forward in succession, repeated the
ceremony of hand-shaking. The old Chief then beckoned to the Bishop's
wife to come forward, and going back to his former figure, to bring out
the idea of the soft roseate hue that overspreads the sky before the
rising of the sun, announced that her name should be "Misquahbenooqua"
(_i.e._, rosy dawn), at which there was great applause, and a number
of squaws came forward and confirmed the title given by going through the
hand-shaking process again. The evening was by this time far advanced,
but there still remained a part of the ceremony which could not possibly
be dispensed with. This was the smoking of the pipe of peace. The pipe
was no ordinary one, but about four feet long, the bowl carved of stone,
and the stem of wood in spiral form, dyed with alternate lines of red and
blue. With this in his hand, duly prepared and lit, old Shingwauk stood
in the centre of the group, and, first taking a few preliminary whiffs
(for the pipe to go out before all have smoked is unlucky), presented it
to each, of the guests, beginning with the Bishop, who performed his part
as well as could be expected of one who was a stranger to the art, the
others following his example, so far, at least in some cases, as putting
the pipe to their lips. This being the last scene in this interesting
drama, the Bishop addressed a few parting words of counsel to those
present, through the interpreter, expressing the hope that, as they had
feasted together very happily on earth, they might be permitted, in God's
mercy, to sit down together at the marriage supper of the Lamb. He then
concluded with a collect and the benediction in Indian, after which our
kind and hospitable entertainers dispersed to their homes, and the
visitors returned by boat to Sault Ste. Marie.



CHAPTER XLII.

GLAD TIDINGS FROM NEEPIGON.


I shall now close this little volume with a letter from, the Rev. R.
Renison, who is labouring most devotedly among the poor Neepigon
Indians. It is dated February, 1884, and it speaks for itself.

"On Monday, Feb. 12th, Oshkahpukeda and myself left Ningwinnenang to
visit a family of pagan Indians about forty miles from this Mission.
Our blankets, overcoats, provisions, and cooking utensils, made a pack
of forty pound weight for each to carry; over lakes, through the dense
bush, up steep hills which were sometimes almost insurmountable. It was
one of the most beautiful winter mornings that I have ever yet
experienced. The sun shone brightly, and it was just cold enough to
render a brisk walk enjoyable. At 11 a.m. we reached a wigwam at the
north end of McIntyre Bay, which was occupied by Mishael Obeseekun,
their wives and children, who had left the Mission some time previous
for the purpose of snaring rabbits, which at present is the chief
support of the Indians. Here we received a hearty welcome; a large pot
of rabbits was quickly cooked--we enjoyed them thoroughly; and all the
little children declared that they were glad to see their Missionary.
Mishael's wife having noticed that my moccasin was badly torn, took her
needle and thread and had it fixed 'in less than no time.'

Before leaving I took the Indian New Testament and read the following
verse:--'This is a faithful saying and worthy of all acceptation that
Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief.'
I find it a good plan, when reading to the Indians, to take one text at
a time. They differ very much from the white people in this respect, as
you may read it over and over twenty times and yet they will be glad to
hear it again. The result of this plan is, that many of the Indians at
our Mission have committed to memory several verses. I was much
astonished as well as delighted a few days ago to find that Obeseekun
could repeat accurately ten texts.

Well, at 2 p.m. we reached 'Kookookuhooseebee' (owl river). We
followed this river for about half an hour, and then entered the bush.
We walked till sun down, and then camped near the shore of Black
Sturgeon Lake. We had a splendid fire, as there was plenty of dry pine
close at hand. We ate heartily, but slept little, as the night was very
cold. We had breakfast by moonlight, and then recommenced our journey.

Our route lay through the middle of the lake, which is about ten miles
long. As we again entered the bush at its north end, to our great
astonishment we met the very pagan Indian whom we were so anxious to
see. He had a small tebaugan drawn by one dog--was on his way to the
'Neepigon Post' for pork and flour. His wife and children were very
hungry, rabbits and fish this winter being so scarce that several of
the Indians are obliged to abandon their usual hunting grounds.

'Kebuk,' for this is the pagan's name, was very glad to see us, a
large fire was quickly made, snow melted, pork fried, and soon the
Missionary, guide, and pagan were enjoying a hearty meal.

About two years ago, and upon two different occasions, I had visited
this pagan family. I tried to preach Christ to them the Saviour of all
men. I must confess that after twice travelling a distance of eighty
miles through the dense bush, that I was a little discouraged and
depressed in spirits to find that the invitation was refused, and full
and free salvation through the precious blood of Jesus rejected.

And now for the third time the Missionary and pagan meet face to face.
He knows full well the errand on which I have come. As we sat for a few
minutes in silence around the blazing fire I prayed to my Father in
secret to enlighten his understanding, and give him grace to receive
the Gospel message and enter the fold of the Good Shepherd.

'Owh suh kadabwayandung kuhya kabaptizooind tahbemahjeah, owh
duhyabwendusig tahnahneboomah.' ('He that believeth and is baptized
shall be saved, and he that believeth not shall be condemned.') The
once proud pagan now kneels in prayer; he receives Christ rejoicingly;
accepts, this time, the Gospel invitation. 'Proceed on your journey,'
said he, 'go to my wigwam, baptize all my children, and next spring,
when navigation opens, I will go to the Mission and myself and wife
will be baptized in the church at Ningwinnenang. This is my wish, I
will build a house on the Mission ground and am very anxious that my
children should be properly instructed.' After bidding us a friendly
'boozhoo,' he proceeded on his journey to the Neepigon Post, and we
hastened toward the wigwam from which we were still ten miles distant.

At about 3 p.m. we reached Muskrat Lake, which is four miles long. On
the opposite shore we saw the pagan's daughter fishing for pike with
hook and line under the ice. When she first noticed us approaching, she
quickly disappeared in the bush, entered the wigwam and apprized them
of our coming.

When we arrived we found eight pagans, including two old women of 80
and 75 years old, one girl and four children. After many friendly
'boozhoos' and hearty expressions of welcome, the Missionary and guide
seated on shingoob branches rested their wearied limbs beside a blazing
fire, whilst the two old women smoking their pipes and preparing
rabbits and pike for dinner, were heard to say 'pooch tah pukedawaug
pooch tah-kadishkhusk-enawug' (they must be very hungry and must have a
hearty meal). After dinner the Indian New Testament was introduced, the
simple Gospel expounded and some of Christ's beautiful invitations
read. I tried to prove to them from God's own Word that we all need a
Saviour, for that all have sinned and come short of the glory of God;
that there is one way only by which we can be saved, namely, by
entering the fold of the good Shepherd; that Jesus Christ himself is
the door, 'He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved.'

It appears that nearly two months ago these nine pagans had
unanimously agreed to become Christians and join our mission at
Ningwinnenang. The seed sown two years ago was not sown in vain, the
bread cast upon the waters is found after many days, God's word will
not return to Him void. One of the old women, 80 years old, with only
one eye, determines to return with the Missionary, a distance of 40
miles through the dense bush and over frozen lakes, to be instructed at
the Mission and prepared for baptism. The young woman and four children
were baptized. The rest of the family, namely an old man of 75,
'Kebuk,' and his wife will (D.V.) be baptized in the spring in our
little church, and then we hope to have quite a nice congregation.

In conclusion, let me add that poor old Wesqua, who returned with us
to the Mission, has not yet recovered from the fatigue of the journey,
the last day's travelling in particular for her was very trying. We had
to cross an arm of the lake about 15 miles in breadth, and the piercing
north wind was too much for an old woman of 80, whose entire clothing
consisted of an old canvass bag rent in two and rolled around her legs
for leggings, her skirts of blue calico did not reach much below her
knees, and a piece of old blanket thrown over her head and shoulders
was all that she had to save her from the sharp wind which blows at
intervals across the Neepigon Lake. When she arrived the blood had
almost ceased to circulate, her hands were numb, and she was indeed in
a pitiable condition. Half a teaspoonful of stimulant in a cup of warm
water was all we had to give. She revived, and after a supper of bread
and tea was soon herself again.

Let me ask some of my Christian friends to whom 'the lines have fallen
in pleasant places' to remember the poor Indians at Neepigon. Cast off
warm clothing even of an inferior quality, will be thankfully received
and gratefully acknowledged; and we trust that those who cannot assist
us from a pecuniary point of view will at least remember us in their
prayers."


THE END.


Trancriber's note: The following words (may be mis-spelt) in original
text, are retained to get the flavour of the author's language:





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