A Medical Missionary.
On my mission of mercy I passed up the Fraser River and vaccinated hundreds of people. Some came to my preaching who might not have done so but for the purpose of being vaccinated. And thus even the smallpox, in some measure, opened the way for the Gospel.
On this trip we went as far as Sumas and Chilliwack. At the latter place, while preaching to a small band of Indians and telling them the old story in their own tongue, the chief Atche-la-lah stepped forward and laid down a dollar and a half.
“Missionary,” said the old man, “we want you to build a church here. You have opened our ears. No one ever told us the good word in our own language before; the other laplates” (priests) “did not talk to us like this.”
This was really the first subscription to the first Protestant church in the Chilliwack Valley, where now there are six Methodist churches for the whites and four for the Indians.
Others came with their donations, until $12.50 lay on the table, and this of their own free will, for I had not talked to them about church building. During the week which followed I went from village to village throughout the valley, visiting and vaccinating all who needed it. At every opportunity I preached to the people and told what the old chief and his “see-aya” (friends) had done towards a church, until the donations increased to nearly $100.
The following Sunday afternoon, after having preached to both whites and Indians in another part of the valley, I came to Squi-ala, a village at the mouth of the Chilliwack.
Big Jim, an Indian, met me in his canoe, to take me across the river. I took the saddle off my horse, put it in the canoe, and the intelligent little beast swam behind us over to the other side.
“Me think not many come to-day, Mr. Crosby. Priest he come.” The priest, having heard I had made this appointment, had evidently intended to be there at the same time.
“Well, Jim,” I replied, “suppose you and I and Jesus, we will have a good time. Ring your bell!”
He rang his little hand bell, and nearly everybody crowded into the big house where we were going to have service. Among those present I found a number of white men who had come, some of them, a long distance, bringing their half-breed families to be vaccinated. As soon as the service was over I said to the people, “I am going away to-morrow, and if any wish to be vaccinated, now is the time.”
FIRST PROTESTANT CHURCH IN THE CHILLIWACK VALLEY. [p. 172]
Numbers came forward, and uncovering the arms of themselves and their children, I went to work, scratching and putting on the vaccine. While thus engaged, a knock was heard on the door, and presently it opened and someone, very abruptly and in broken English, said, “Is Mr. Crosby here?”
“That is my name, sir,” I replied.
“I would like to speak to you,” said the priest, for it was he.
“When I get through my duty I shall be glad to speak to you, sir,” and I went on with my work.
This complete, I bade the people good-bye, warning them not to listen to what the devil might say when I was gone. He would very likely say that I had taken their money. I expected to be back in three months, and would then see about building a church. In the meantime I would leave the subscription list with Mr. A. C. Wells, a respected settler whom they all knew.
Going to the door, I met my brother the priest.
“You wish to speak to me, sir,” I said.
“Yes, I want to say that you take all my converts away.”
“I beg your pardon! I didn’t do anything to your converts.”
“But,” he persisted, “these are all my converts that are here.”
“Well, sir, I only preach the Gospel to them, as I do wherever I go,” I replied.
“I don’t care about your Gospel; it’s no good,” and the eyes of the little priest flashed as he continued, “You compel one man to give money to help build your church.”
“Now, sir, I would like very much to see that man,” and I continued, “I am in a hurry, but if you let me see that man I will be very much pleased.”
So he called up a happy-looking lame man, named Tom.
“Now, Tom,” I said, “you speak in Chinook, for this ‘father’ won’t understand you if you speak in your own language; and speak the truth, Tom.”
“Nawitka” (yes), Tom assented. “Spose nika halo delate wawaw, Saghalie Tyee solleks kopa nika” (“If I do not speak the truth, God will be angry with me”).
“That is right, speak all the truth, Tom.”
“Well, you came to my house this last week, and you say to me, ‘Tom, what you think about building this new church?’ I say to you, ‘I am a Catholic.’ You say, ‘Oh, very well, Tom, suppose you not give anything, all right.’ But you asked me where my brother is. I tell you my brother is very sick in the house. You go in and talk very kind to my brother about Jesus, in our own language, and sing, oh, so nicely, and then you say, ‘Let us pray,’ and you kneel down and pray in my own language, and you pray and pray; by and by my heart get very warm, when you pray; and when we get up, I tell you I give $2.50 to help build your church.”
Turning to the priest I said, “Now, did I compel the man to give money to my church?” and jumping on my horse, I bade him good-bye, leaving all the white men and the Indians, who had crowded around to see what was going to be done by the two priests, to judge for themselves.
I rode on to my evening appointment, where I had promised to preach to the white people. On the way, whether it was the excitement of my interview, or something else, I do not know, but I forgot both my sermon and text. I expected to preach to a number of settlers, some of whom had families by native women, to whom they were not married.
By the time I reached the farm-house my mind was directed to the text, “No man cared for my soul.” And if ever the Almighty helped a poor mortal to preach He did it that night. Thoughts seemed to come right down from heaven, pouring through my soul to the people around me. I spoke of the judgment day, when the cry would come from these dishonored mothers and children, “You sinned with us and dragged us down, but you never cared for our souls.” God helped me fearlessly to preach the truth, and then applied it with convicting power to their hearts.
At the close of the service I spoke of how the Indians had started a subscription to build a church, and said that if anyone there would like to help they were at liberty to do so.
“Well, I think I can give you five dollars after that heat,” said an old man, whom some thought the worst in the crowd. Several followed his example and gave five dollars each. Thus the first church in Chilliwack was subscribed for by Indians and whites alike, and for a time served the purpose for both.
Early next morning I left for the coast of Vancouver Island.