A Dangerous Trip.
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 steamer Enterprise.”
We started with a crew of three Indian men and one 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 moment to 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, and we 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]
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.”