A Service at Kamloops.
Next day we continued our journey, by way of Savano’s Ferry, on the north side of the lake, visiting and preaching until about opposite Kamloops, where we had to swim our horses to reach the other side.
On the bank of the river I met two old friends, members of Parliament, who invited me to take dinner with them. I told them that I would gladly accept their invitation as soon as I had stabled my horses and had found out where I was to preach that night.
Kamloops was then a very small place. I met with a Mr. McKenzie, a local store-keeper, who said I might preach in his kitchen. I then went back to the restaurant to take dinner with my friends. After a good repast I walked to the billiard room and called out:
“Gentlemen, we are going to have preaching in Mr. McKenzie’s kitchen at eight o’clock, and I want you all to come.”
“All right, we’ll be there, parson,” they answered.
A lively chap, with a big overcoat on, followed me out of the door. He was about three sheets in the wind, and was trying to put a bottle of whiskey into his big outside pocket as he staggered along, the whiskey bottle slipping past his pocket every time he tried.
“I know—(hic)—who you are. (hic) You are a Methodist parson. (hic) I can tell by the cut of your jib,” said he, in a maudlin voice.
“You have struck it. Who are you?” I replied.
“My name is Bill H——,” said he.
“You sinner, you ought to be away home with your family. I visited them to-day, and they are expecting you.”
“You’re right, I ought,” he replied.
Having called at other places, we were soon at Mr. McKenzie’s house, and I said to my drunken companion, “This is the place for preaching.”
“I will go to church with you,” said he, and staggered in. Some man pulled his coat tail, as he was going to the front of the room, and bade him sit down.
There were about twenty intelligent looking men in the congregation. After the sermon, which was listened to with respectful attention, I began to give out that beautiful hymn:
“Praise ye the Lord, ’tis good to raise
Your hearts and voices in His praise.”
when Bill jumped up and, with an oath on his lips, said, “I’ll give this parson five dollars; how much will you give, Jack?”
They said, “Sit down, you fool, the parson is not through yet,” and pulled him down by the tail of his coat.
Just as the service closed, another man jumped up, took his hat, knocking in the crown, and said, “Now, Bill, where is your five dollars? Down with your dust, every one of you, and let us give this parson a good send-off.”
A few minutes after, the storekeeper came with his two hands full of bills and silver, and handed it to “the parson” as the collection, while another man seized the bottle of whiskey out of Bill’s pocket and said, “Look here, parson, this is the fellow that was so anxious to give you a collection, and see what he had in his pocket.”
Bill turned around, and declared by all that made him that it was not his bottle, but that the other man had put it in his pocket. The collection was $22.50, a token of the hearty generosity of those rough-mannered but large-hearted men of the West, who respected religion though they were not in the enjoyment of it themselves.