“When passing through the watery deep,I ask in faith His promised aid;The waves an awful distance keep,And shrink from my devoted head.Fearless, their violence I dare,They cannot harm—for God is there.”—C. Wesley.
“When passing through the watery deep,I ask in faith His promised aid;The waves an awful distance keep,And shrink from my devoted head.Fearless, their violence I dare,They cannot harm—for God is there.”—C. Wesley.
“When passing through the watery deep,I ask in faith His promised aid;The waves an awful distance keep,And shrink from my devoted head.Fearless, their violence I dare,They cannot harm—for God is there.”—C. Wesley.
“When passing through the watery deep,
I ask in faith His promised aid;
The waves an awful distance keep,
And shrink from my devoted head.
Fearless, their violence I dare,
They cannot harm—for God is there.”
—C. Wesley.
Soon after I got the language of the people, other teachers took the school work, and I went out travelling from place to place, literally “paddling my own canoe.”
There were few steamers in those days, and none between Nanaimo, the centre of our work, and New Westminster and the Fraser River, where I was often called in my labors among the natives.
These trips were invariably made by canoe, except for the chance of catching the river steamer which journeyed from New Westminster to Yale.
The canoes of the Pacific Coast are of the type usually called “dug-outs,” that is to say, they are mostly cut out of a cedar log. In the south, the large ones were spoken of as “Chinook” canoes, with rather a stub or short stern and a very high bow or neck. There were a great variety of smaller canoes used for hunting and fishing, as well as what they called a “spoon canoe,” flat-bottomed and nearly straight, with hardly any bow or stern, whichwas used for travelling on very shallow rivers. These latter were often made of cottonwood, while the other types were always made of cedar.
The largest canoes were made in the north. The great war-canoes, with a very heavy bow and stern, and capable of carrying easily fifty or sixty people, were so shaped that, when properly managed, they would sail over almost any sea. The Hydahs of Queen Charlotte Islands made the largest and best canoes; they had larger cedar trees on their islands than could be found on the mainland opposite. These canoes were often from thirty to forty feet long and five or six feet beam, a beautiful model, with gracefully shaped bow and stern, that would in English phraseology be called a “clipper” for sailing. One of the largest of these canoes, seventy feet in length by eight feet beam, was presented to Lord Lorne when he visited British Columbia during his term of administration as Governor-General of Canada.
The medium-sized canoe was the best. With two large sails and well manned, one of these northern canoes would safely ride almost any sea. It was by means of these smaller craft that I made many a toilsome journey up and down the east coast of Vancouver Island, among the beautiful islands which lie along that coast, across the Gulf of Georgia, up the Fraser River, down into Puget Sound, and in and out of the many inlets which pierce the coast of the mainland. In one year I made four trips across the Gulf of Georgia and up the Fraser River and back. Twice I travelled thedistance from Nanaimo to Yale and return, a round trip of about 340 miles, paddling the whole way.
In journeying to and fro I travelled over two thousand miles a year in all kinds of weather, braving the dangers of stormy seas and the eddies and swift currents of treacherous rivers, and enduring the discomforts of the wild, open life in a new country. In it all I see the good hand of God saving me from manifold dangers.
In time one becomes used to such toils and difficulties, and, after all, they were only the common, every-day experiences of the miner or the frontiersman of those early days.
In the days when steamboats were few, and only one plying between Victoria and New Westminster, we were summoned to the latter place by the Chairman of the District, from Nanaimo, to attend District Meeting. This was in March, 1865.
A little iron steamer had just been brought out from England by the coal company, by which we had hoped to cross to New Westminster, but, unfortunately for us, she ran upon the rocks on Protection Island, in front of the harbor of Nanaimo, the night before we had to start. Disappointed by this, Rev. E. White and I went to the Indian village and engaged the largest Chinook canoe we could find. A man accustomed to travel by canoe, when he saw it, said, “I would just as soon go in that craft as the steamerEnterprise.”
We started with a crew of three Indian men andone woman, Chilk, the captain, an old heathen, having his wife with him. A Dutchman joined us, who said he had been a sailor for fifteen years, and thus there were seven of us in the party. It was a glorious day, and with provisions, paddles, sails, and all things necessary for the journey, we were soon away down south among the beautiful islands of the coast. We made a good run and camped for the night. In the evening one of our party shot a fine deer, which we added to our stock of provisions, and after a bountiful supper we enjoyed the sweet rest of an open-air camp.
We aroused the men about three o’clock next morning, as we were anxious to secure an early start. After a good breakfast, in which venison was the chief feature, we gathered for prayers, and then were ready to commence our journey across the Gulf.
It was one of those cold, grey mornings in March which promise almost anything, and the Indians were unwilling to start out so soon, thinking that the weather was uncertain. We felt, however, that we must press on or be too late for District Meeting.
When we got out some distance from shore we found a strong north-west breeze after us, which, in a very little while, blew a gale of wind. We now tried in vain to get back to shore; the wind blew so hard that we could see the branches of the trees breaking off on the island behind us. There was nothing left for us but to go before the wind, keeping our course as well as we could straight for the main channel of the Fraser River.
As the sea began to dash over us, the Dutch sailor shouted out, “Take down the sail! Take down the sail!”
I told him to mind his own business and bail the water out. But again he shouted frantically, “Take down the sail!”
“If you don’t stop you’ll have to go overboard,” I shouted at him. “Let the Indians alone, they know more about managing a canoe than you do.”
It was clear to anyone that had the sail been taken down—we had furled more than half of it—we would have been swamped in a very little while, as it was the only thing that gave her headway.
As the great sea swept over us, three of us were kept bailing out, while the other men managed the canoe. Every few minutes old Chilk would shout, “Hold on! There is another great wave coming.” We would grasp the side of the canoe and hold on for fear of being swept out, and then to our bailing again every chance we had. Thus we dashed on over the mighty, angry waves until we came to the sand heads at the mouth of the Fraser, and were in danger of foundering on the bars.
It seemed as if that awful trip would never end, and yet every moment we were busy, so busy that our exertions kept us warm, in spite of the bleak March weather. At one time a tremendous wave broke over us, followed by another, and still another, close after, and the canoe dipped into the water as if she were going down nose first. The water seemed to rush forward for a final plunge, while all held their breath, expecting every momentto be submerged; then, all at once, she made a lurch up with her bow and the water rushed back. When the old captain saw hope he shouted, “Tlil-a-sit! tlil-a-sit! tlil-a-sit!” (“Bail out! bail out!”) The very shout sent a thrill through everyone on board, andwe were bailing out as hard as we could to get the water down. It all seemed done in less time than it takes to tell it.
“We were bailing out as hard as we could.”p. 146
“We were bailing out as hard as we could.”p. 146
“We were bailing out as hard as we could.”p. 146
As we neared the mouth of the river the reason for this awful sea was made clear. The waves raised by the gale met the mighty current of the river, and the awful tide-rip at the sand heads was the worst we had to pass through.
In two hours and a half we reached the mouth of the Fraser River, all drenched to the skin, but thankful to a kind Providence which had brought us safely through.
“I did not hear you ministers pray at all in the storm,” said the old heathen captain, after we had landed.
We told him we prayed in our hearts while we were working. But there was no doubt about his prayers, for we could hear him and his wife shouting back at the great waves, “Don’t drown us! Don’t take us down! for the missionaries are on board. Oh, you great big angry waves, don’t be so angry, and we will be good if you don’t drown us.” And then all the Indians would join in the cry, “Don’t take us! Don’t drown us!” True to their custom, I think they would have liked some food or property to give as a sacrifice to the angry waves.
I told the old captain I was glad to hear him pray,as I had never heard him pray before, but he should give his heart to God and become a Christian, and he might be useful in leading others to Jesus. He was a strong, daring fellow, a great dancer, a confirmed gambler, and, poor fellow! he was a terror when drunk.
On one occasion I found poor old Chilk standing at bay, with a pile of cobble-stones beside him, with which he was defending himself against anyone who might come near. He was dangerous when drunk, and two policemen were vainly endeavoring to get close enough to arrest him. When I came along the police appealed to me.
“Oh, Chilk, you should not do that. Go home and be a good man,” I said to him as I passed.
“Don’t talk to me! Don’t talk to me!” he replied.
I did not stop to argue with him, but, passing on, I immediately wheeled around, and while his attention was again being taken by the policeman, I ran back and grabbed him by his long hair and pulled him over backwards. He commenced to kick and bite, but the policemen seized their opportunity, and before he could do any harm they had him bound hand and foot, and shortly afterwards landed him in jail.
The next day, sober and in his right mind, and liberated, Chilk came to me and thanked me most earnestly for the part I had played. Nor was there any sarcasm in his action, for, he said, “I am so glad for what you did, for I might have killed somebody and been now in jail.”
Just as we entered the Fraser River we were surprised to see the little steamerEnterprisecoming down, and as we passed her the chairman, Dr. Evans, and his colleague, Rev. Arthur Browning, bowed to us. District Meeting was over, and they were going home to Victoria!
Next morning, when we were down at the wharf at Westminster, there came in the Hudson’s Bay Company’s steamerLabouchere, and the Union Pacific Navigation Company’s steamer,Shoebrick—the latter carrying supplies for the overland telegraph line, which was to unite the continents by way of Alaska, which enterprise was broken up by the successful laying of the Atlantic cable. The men on the wharf wanted to know from the captains of the ships why they had not come yesterday.
“Oh!” they said, “it was blowing a terrific gale on the Gulf, and we couldn’t cross.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” taunted the bystanders, “Parson White and his crew crossed in a canoe, and you couldn’t come over with your large steamships.” But they little knew what a trip we had had.
And now our old Dutch sailor had to have his say. He went boasting about the town that he had had his eye on Parson White’s gold watch—a present to him as he left New Westminster some time before—and that if we had upset he was going for that. Poor, miserable fellow, he was the greatest coward in the crowd.
This was one of the many terrible canoe trips wehad to take while at our work, when to all human appearances there was every possibility that we would never reach shore. Once after I made the journey in the opposite direction in a small canoe, with a single Indian as my companion, and again we were nearly swamped before reaching the shore.
To-day, as always, I sympathize with the hundreds of fishermen who go out to the mouth of the river and venture into the Gulf, braving the awful storms which so often sweep down across this treacherous arm of the sea. Nearly every year reports have reached us of those who have risked their lives, and of some who have lost them, on this part of the coast.
We usually travelled in a much smaller canoe than the one in which we made the trip narrated above. On several occasions, when on my missionary tours, I took Her Majesty’s mail to Victoria from Nanaimo.
On one occasion Dr. Evans and I made a trip along the east coast to look out ground for an industrial school, where we might educate our young native men, with the hope of preparing them for teachers or missionaries. This was in 1868. We selected a fine place, on an island, but the Missionary Society could not see its way clear to undertake this work. Strangely enough, this was the very spot where afterwards the Dominion Government built Kuyper Island Industrial School. As the Methodist Church did not see its way to undertakethis charge, the Government placed the school under the direction of the Roman Catholic Church.
One fine day on that trip a very amusing incident occurred, which illustrates the Indian’s superstitious dread of anything which seems unnatural. As we were paddling along the Doctor was relating a joke about a miner and an Indian woman on the streets of Victoria. In order to appreciate the story, one must be told that the Indians lived to a considerable extent upon clams, which fact was made the butt of continual jokes, while the miners, in those days, subsisted largely on bacon and beans. The Doctor said: “An Indian woman was passing a group of miners on the street, when one of them drawled out, ‘Cla-ms!’ in a mocking tone of voice. The woman at once turned around very sharply and, much to the amusement of the crowd, retorted, ‘B-b-beans!’”
As the Doctor, in relating the story, was attempting to imitate the Indian woman’s way of saying “beans,” his set of false teeth fell out and very nearly went overboard. The Indian in the stern, seeing the teeth fly out, threw up both hands and very nearly went overboard himself.
“Ah-na! ah-na-na! this man has come from the grave!” he cried. “Spul-queet-sa! Spul-queet-sa! I can’t go on. This man is not a living man, he is a spirit,” he told his friend in the bow.
The other man refused to believe that a man could handle his teeth, as it was said the Doctor had done. They commenced to wrangle over the matter and were losing time.
“Doctor, you will have to show the other fellow your teeth,” I said. In an instant the Doctor pulled them out and held them before the man’s face. With that he threw up his hands and screeched and screamed till we thought he would fall overboard. Then they got a little quieted down and paddled on, but every once in a while they would stop to discuss the thing, whether this was really a living man or a ghost from the grave. They watched him, especially when we went ashore to camp for the night. When they saw that he could eat and laugh and talk like the rest of us they could not understand it.
This reminds me of a trader’s wife, a devoted Christian, living up the coast, who had a native servant. The girl had been with her for some time and had become very much attached to her mistress. She used to go home to the camp every night and return to her work early in the morning. One morning, as the lady, whose name was Viona, was busy with her toilet, and was in the act of brushing her teeth, the Indian maid, returning, chanced to look in at the door. Seeing her mistress putting her teeth in her mouth, she cried out, “Oh, Viona! Viona!” and ran away as hard as she could run. She told her friends that the lady was a ghost and had come from the grave, and she could not be persuaded to return for many a day.
I had been preaching down the coast and was returning when, at the north end of Salt Spring Island, I fell in with old Chief Chil-qua-lum, fromNanaimo. He, too, was returning home from a hunting and fishing expedition, and had with him his two wives and their families, and their “iktahs” (belongings)—dogs, cats, fish traps, and a load of fish, dried meat, clams and other Indian eatables.
He allowed me to get on board on condition that I would work my passage by helping him manage the big canoe. With hard paddling we got along very well until we reached Dodds’ Narrows, seven or eight miles from Nanaimo. Through this passage, at certain stages, the tide rushes at about ten miles an hour, forming whirlpools that would at times engulf any small craft whose misfortune it might be to be caught in them.
At first it was a question whether we should venture through or not with such a load of freight and human beings, but as the tide seemed fair and the old man wished to push on, it was a great temptation.
In going through it was difficult to keep the heavily-laden canoe straight in the centre of the passage, and, veering a little to one side, we were caught in one of the whirlpool-like eddies. We were tossed about like a chip on the current, round and round, whirling like a top, two or three times, until it seemed as if we would surely be sucked down into the vortex that yawned before us. The old women jumped to their paddles, the children screamed, and the most intense excitement prevailed. But it was only for a few moments; soon the exertions of all told, and we were out and on our way again, safe and sound.
Now it was the old wives’ turn, and they gave the chief a good tongue-lashing for his foolhardiness. They discussed what would have been the result had the missionary been drowned, and turning to the little children they told them that God had saved them from going down to the “Stla-la-kum” (evil spirits) in the water because the missionary was on board.
Missionary meetings were being held at Nanaimo, and Rev. A. E. Russ, then of Victoria, was the deputation. When he was about to return home, he learned that I was going down the coast to visit the different tribes, and wished to take the trip with me.
We called at Chemainus, where he preached, and there baptized Abraham and Sarah, two Indian children. The romance of it impressed him, and he spoke on the subject of the old patriarch and his wife.
It was a very fine day, and going on further, the lazy Indians ran the canoe upon some rocks which were covered with barnacles. I told them to get out and pull her off, but they sat, one in the bow and the other in the stern, and tried to push off with their paddles. It was my own little craft, which I had painted and fixed up, and of which I took the utmost care. I could see the twisting of the canoe, and knew that it was in danger of splitting from end to end, so I jumped into the water, clambered up on the rock, seized the canoe and gave her a shoot backwards, springing into the bow as she went.
My friend Russ said, “Crosby, you will kill yourself; you are a strange fellow.”
“Never fear!” I replied; “but I will show those lazy fellows how to do it.”
We reached Cowichan in safety, where Brother Russ took the steamer for Victoria.
In our missionary journeyings we visited the west coast of the mainland, preaching to the Seaschelts, Squamish, and other tribes as far north as Cape Mudge. On Vancouver Island our work extended from Cape Mudge, on the north, to Race Rocks, near Victoria, a distance of 160 miles.
In making a visit to the former place, with a party of three men, we were again in imminent danger of being lost. We had camped for the night above Qual-a-kum and got an early start in the morning, when a south-easter blew up. It was a stiff breeze, but all was well until we got near to the south end of Denman Island, where the lighthouse now stands, when our sail, mast and all, broke away from the socket, and it was a miracle that we were not upset.
Some of our experiences were humorous as well as trying. I took passage one day with Chief Tsil-ka-mut, who with his wives and children was on his way to the Fraser River, where the Indians congregated to pick and dry berries, and to fish and dry salmon. The trip across was uneventful until in the fog and darkness we lost our way at the mouth of the river.
The chief put his pole down in the mud and anchored his canoe, as he supposed, and we went to sleep on board the craft. Next morning we found we were high and dry in the mud on a bar that seemed to be miles away from any water. Oh, the mud, mud! There is nothing that compares with the mud of the Fraser for slimy stickiness when the tide is out. It was near noon the next day before the tide again reached us, and there we were all those hours in the scorching sun, a disconsolate crowd indeed.
At that time there was no white man to be found settled on the Delta lands of the Fraser. Soon after this the Ladner brothers took up land on the south bank of the river and gave their name to the place. Then followed Ferris on Lulu Island, and Boyd and Kilgour on Sea Island, and others at different points, every one of whom was voted a fool for “taking up” these swamps with cat-tails and bulrushes and frog-ponds. Now these districts are covered with some of the most beautiful and productive farms to be found in any part of the world. The shores are lined with large canneries for the packing of salmon, and thousands of people occupy these old-time mud-banks.
It is the easiest thing in the world to find fault with people of whose conditions and circumstances we know nothing. And sometimes a little taste of the trials and toils which others have to endure is the best cure for such unfair complainings. We hadan old friend, a Yorkshireman, on that coast, who was very apt to find fault with others, and especially with the ministers.
“Thoo knoa thease preeachers have good teams wi’ theeir fat salaries,” he would say. And then, seeing the gleam in my eye, he would hasten on: “Ah dean’t mean you, thoo knoas. Ah mean thease men ’at ez t’ big fat salaries; they can sit roond an’ dea vary little.”
“Stop your noise,” I would say to him. “I am a preacher, and don’t like to hear you find fault with the ministers.”
On one occasion he came to me and asked when I was going to New Westminster. When I told him and inquired why he wanted to know, he said:
“Ah would like to gang wi’ you.”
“You can go with one understanding,” I replied.
“Weel, what is that?”
“That you work your passage. I never take deadheads with me.”
“Weel, Ah thinks Ah can paddle a little bit,” he said.
So the day came and off we started in our little canoe, down among the lovely islands which dot the west side of the Gulf, and then across. I was steering, an Indian sitting at the bow paddling, and our old friend amidships. He was making a great, effort “to work his passage,” but not being used to that kind of thing, he seemed to work his whole body in the effort of paddling, and soon became very tired.
The day was quiet and warm, and we were makingstraight for Point Grey, near the north arm of the Fraser River. After he had pulled awhile, my friend looked round, and said:
“Ah say! do you knoa wot Ah thinks? ’At point deean’t seeam to get onny nearer.”
“Yes,” I replied, “it gets nearer every stroke. Pull away! Preachers get used to this kind of life.”
Then he pitched in again and made a great effort, while we were quietly keeping stroke. We had not gone far, however, before he turned again and said:
“Now, Ah can tell ye what it is, ’at point deean’t get onny nearer.”
“Of course it does,” I said; “every stroke brings us nearer. We must push on to get in before it is too dark.” And we pulled on and on until nine o’clock at night.
A little easterly wind was blowing out of the mouth of the river, accompanied by a fine rain. The tide was out, and it was difficult to find the channel, as it was getting dark. We would run into a sand-bank here and a mud-bank there, until finally we got up the channel some distance and could see the high dry shore of the river. After some considerable effort we got up the mud-bank with our camping outfit, and on to a dry knoll, where we started to make a fire. Gathering together some blocks of cedar and other dry wood, we soon had supper going.
All this time my friend was standing in the midst of the rain, his hands in his pockets, shrugging and shaking his shoulders, and remarking at intervals:
“Ah say, this is a nasty neet.”
“The night is all right,” I replied to him; “stir yourself and let us get something to eat.”
Supper and prayers over, we lay down under our tent, and, weary with the toil of the day, were soon fast asleep. It was about one or two o’clock in the morning when my old friend aroused me by shouting, “Ah say, t’ water is comin’ doon t’ back o’ me neck.” It seems that he had got his head close up to the wall of the tent, on the weather side, and the water was running right over his head and down his back.
“Oh, stop your noise!” I said, I am afraid a little impatiently, “and let me sleep. Preachers get used to this kind of thing.”
“Man, Ah can’t sleep,” he groaned, “t’ water is coomin’ doon t’ back o’ me neck.”
Next morning we were around bright and early and off up the river. Sixteen or eighteen miles up the old Fraser against the current required the strength of every muscle, and all the elbow grease we could put into it, to make headway at all, but finally we reached Queensborough (now New Westminster) in safety.
A few days after I met our old friend and said, “When will you be ready to return?”
“Ah’ll nivver gang back wi’ you,” he replied. “Ah’ll pay t’ last dollar t’ steamboat, an’ gang roon by Victoria. Ah’ll nivver gang wi’ you.”
It was an excellent lesson he had learned, for I never heard him croak about the preachers having a nice time after that.