“I will send a Prophet to you,A Deliverer of the Nations—Who shall guide you and shall teach you,Who shall toil and suffer with you.If you listen to his counsels,You will multiply and prosper;If his warnings pass unheeded,You will fade away and perish!”Longfellow’s “Hiawatha.”
“I will send a Prophet to you,A Deliverer of the Nations—Who shall guide you and shall teach you,Who shall toil and suffer with you.If you listen to his counsels,You will multiply and prosper;If his warnings pass unheeded,You will fade away and perish!”Longfellow’s “Hiawatha.”
“I will send a Prophet to you,A Deliverer of the Nations—Who shall guide you and shall teach you,Who shall toil and suffer with you.If you listen to his counsels,You will multiply and prosper;If his warnings pass unheeded,You will fade away and perish!”Longfellow’s “Hiawatha.”
“I will send a Prophet to you,
A Deliverer of the Nations—
Who shall guide you and shall teach you,
Who shall toil and suffer with you.
If you listen to his counsels,
You will multiply and prosper;
If his warnings pass unheeded,
You will fade away and perish!”
Longfellow’s “Hiawatha.”
On the Columbia River, and farther north, on the shores of Puget Sound and the lower part of Vancouver Island, where the Hudson’s Bay Company had established one of their most important posts—Fort Victoria or Camosun—small settlements gradually sprang up. But these were of little consequence until, in the year 1858, the discovery of gold on the bars of the Fraser, and later in Cariboo, drew attention to British Columbia and led to a wild rush from all parts of the world to the new “diggings.”
Almost immediately the Methodist Church embraced the opportunity, and sent out the first band of missionaries to the Pacific Coast, in the persons of Revs. Ephraim Evans, D.D., Edward White, Ebenezer Robson and Arthur Browning. These brethren were speedily at work, at Victoria and Nanaimo on Vancouver Island, and at New Westminster and Hope on the Fraser River.
While the hearts of these faithful missionaries were much engaged with the needs of the white inhabitants, their souls were stirred with the scenes of degradation and misery constantly presented to them by the wild native population, and their liveliest sympathies were aroused with a desire to help them. Brother Robson, especially, endeavored, as the circumstances of his own work permitted, to reach the Indians, both at Hope and Nanaimo. But the pressure of the ever-widening field among the whites made it impossible to do a great deal, and led him, with the others, to pray and plead that someone might be raised up whose mission would be the salvation of the Indians.
In 1859, Rev. Dr. Evans, in the Missionary Notices for the year, wrote: “The scenes which meet our eye daily might well paralyze the hopes of any mere philanthropist, unacquainted with the constitution and past triumphs of the Mediatorial economy. The degradation of these poor savages must be seen to be at all understood. Then there is a large amount of prejudice and contempt arrayed against them. The collisions occurring between them and the miners, and the difficulties likely to arise about the alienation of their lands and the settlement of the colonies, present additional obstacles. Nothing less than the exertion of the Divine energy, promised to the Church in her evangelistic struggles, can bring about the desired civilization of these wretched fellow-men. Great will be the immortal honor, and glorious the reward, of the man who shall first throw himself effectuallyinto this vast and long-deferred Christian enterprise. Oh! that while I write the blessed Spirit may influence some heart with the requisite zeal and tenderness and self-denial, and thrust its possessor into the field of conflict and conquest before thousands more shall pass away unreached by the remedy so richly provided.”
Rev. A. Browning wrote, February, 1859: “I was a witness yesterday to the torture and death dance of the Indians over a captive. How sad it made me feel. I was under the protection of a gentleman well known to them, or I should hardly have felt safe. Oh! sir, I hope you and the dear friends at home will do something for these poor souls. Our hands are full, and will be, in laboring for our own race. Will not God raise up some young men especially for this work?”
In 1861, at the close of a very interesting description of the effort he was making to reach the Indians, Rev. E. Robson said: “They all seem ripe for the Gospel. I have often witnessed scenes of thrilling interest among them—crowds of almost breathless listeners, falling tears, shouts of gladness, entreaties to come again, shaking hands with hundreds—but I cannot enter into all the details. What is wanted is earnest, self-denying, heaven-baptized men and women to devote themselves to this work, and a great and glorious harvest will be gathered.”
The same year, Rev. Edward White wrote several letters to theChristian Guardian, urging the importance of Christian young men coming out tothe West to labor for the salvation of souls, class-leaders, local preachers and other workers, who would avail themselves of the opportunity afforded by the needs of the native peoples, and by the thousands who were pressing into the country in search of gold.
These letters left a very deep impression upon my mind, but newly awakened by the Spirit of God to a sense of my privilege and responsibility, and created a deep longing to be used of God in a special manner for His glory.
Some five years before this time, in the year 1856, I had come from England with my parents, and had settled near Woodstock, Upper Canada.
Very early in life in the old town of Pickering, Yorkshire—where I was born in 1840—I was the subject of deep religious impressions. But it was not until some time later that I was savingly converted to God.
About the time of my leaving school, a very pious young man, by the name of George Piercy, belonging to my native town, desired to go as a missionary to China. His friends gave him no encouragement. But, overcoming all difficulties, he finally did go. I shall never forget the effect it had upon my heart. I admired his piety and zeal, even though I had not as yet made definite decision for Christ, and thought that if he could leave a comfortable home and influential friends there must be an inspiring motive. Later on, when the call came to my own heart, I understood what the inspiring motive was.
There were two or three circumstances whichwere strangely used by the Spirit of God leading up to my conversion.
When crossing the Atlantic Ocean we encountered terrible storms and were in great danger of shipwreck among the icebergs. The goodness and mercy of God in preserving us and bringing the ship safely to land moved me to gratitude and thanksgiving. Later on I suffered from sunstroke, which resulted in a long illness, and while recovering I had leisure for more serious thoughts concerning the future. Some time after this, while wrestling with some companions, I was thrown violently to the floor, breaking my leg. The month in bed which followed the accident gave me another season for reflection, and led me to resolve to live a Christian life. But, like many a sick-bed resolution, this was only made to be broken. During the autumn a camp-meeting was held near Woodstock, and though at first I made light of it all, I attended, and my conscience was still further aroused.
The Methodist church in the town had just passed through a most blessed season of revival. Some of the young men had united in a praying band, and they invited me to go with them to their meetings. Such a spirit of trifling worldliness and carelessness had taken possession of me that I would rather have kept out of their way. But I was so struck by their earnestness and devotion that I consented to go.
On the way up the street, while others were discussing the results of the elections which had just taken place, the leader, and one of the most devoutamong them, Mr. A. Peers,[3]breaking in upon the conversation, said: “Here we are, fellow-travellers to eternity.” “Eternity! Eternity!” I thought, “I am not prepared for eternity.” The words haunted me like a refrain. Conscience repeated them in my ears. The meeting from beginning to end seemed especially for my benefit. The prayers, the testimonies, the songs were all the voice of God to my heart.
Two weeks of terrible struggle followed this awakening. I often spent most of the night in prayer, beseeching God to have mercy upon me. At last, one evening, while on my knees, the answer came, and I was enabled to believe that God, for Christ’s sake, had pardoned all my sins.
A flood of joy filled my soul. My happiness was so great I felt constrained to give it out to others. A burning desire to be useful and helpful to others took possession of me. I immediately identified myself with the church and the Sunday School, joined the Tract Society, and with the praying band assisted in cottage prayer-meetings and visited the sick and the prisoners in the jail. Later on I was placed on the plan as a local preacher, and in connectionwith our services had the joy of seeing souls saved.
I now felt more than ever that every moment must be improved in storing my mind with useful knowledge. I purchased additional books, mostly of a devotional character, and spent my evenings, until late into the night, in study.
I never failed to avail myself of the privileges offered by any services of a special character, and while in attendance at a notable camp-meeting, held near Ingersoll, Ontario, at which the Rev. Wm. Taylor (then known as “California” Taylor) preached a wonderful sermon on sanctification, my heart was set on fire of love, and a stronger desire than ever to glorify God took possession of my soul.
About this time my attention was drawn to the fervent appeals of the pioneer missionaries to British Columbia, published in theChristian Guardian, and previously referred to. Again the flame of missionary zeal, which had been first lighted in my boyhood days by the influence of the saintly George Piercy, began to burn with renewed intensity.
One day a friend handed me a copy of the paper with the letter from Bro. White in it, and said: “Crosby, you ought to go there.” I took the paper into my room and read it on my knees, and there and then promised God if the way should open and the money should be forthcoming I would go. But where the money was to come from I did not know.
Presently some of my friends noticed that something was troubling me, and asked me what was the matter. I hesitated a little, and then told them I feltI ought to obey the call in my heart to go and preach the Gospel to the heathen of British Columbia, but I had not the money. The reply was: “We will lend you enough to go, and if you are never able to pay it back it will be all right anyway.” This was a very serious moment, for I did not expect the answer to come so soon. The thought of what it meant to leave home and friends and go to a land of which little was known, suddenly presented itself to me. I excused myself from my friends and went away to my room, and there pleaded with God to help me to do what He had now clearly called me to do. When my decision was made to obey God at whatever cost, the way seemed all bright and clear.
Now, however, a new difficulty presented itself. I must get the consent of my mother.
I rode out one night to the farm. My father met me, fearing ill tidings, and as we stood by the house I told him how the Lord had called me and that my way was open, but I felt I would like his consent and my mother’s. The window was open and mother had overheard, and when we went in I found her in tears. Sobbing, she said I must not go, she could not spare me. Who can tell the depth of a mother’s love? Though she had fourteen children she felt she could not spare one. I told her how the call had come and the way had been opened, and that I felt it my duty to go, and further that I feared if I disobeyed the voice of God I would lose my soul. Then, resting her hand upon my shoulder, the tears streaming down her cheeks,she said, “If that is so, then go! my boy, go! and God bless you.”
Many a time in after years when discouragements and difficulties beset me, my mother’s words came to me as a benediction. Often when on stormy seas, the winds howling, the waves sweeping over us, and when to all human appearance it was impossible to reach shore, I would seem to hear my mother’s loved voice and her “God bless you.”
When, night after night in my lonely cabin or camped on the beach, studying a strange language and perplexing myself as to how to get my tongue around the difficult words or sounds, the farewell words of my mother came again to comfort me.
When standing all night long between savage parties who were clubbing and butchering one another, when I did not know but any moment I should be knocked down by some enraged warrior with his club, the remembrance of mother’s benediction proved an encouragement and an inspiration.
And now came hasty preparations for departure, which were finally completed. The day at last arrived to bid farewell to Sunday School and classmates and friends. One by one they filed past the door, on that never-to-be-forgotten Sunday, and grasping my hand they lovingly gave me their heart-felt “God-speed.” The sweet-faced, tear-bedewed eyes of my little scholars ever remain a precious memory.