The Visit of Dr. Punshon.
In 1871 we had the joy of a visit to the Pacific Coast by the President of the Wesleyan Methodist Conference in Canada, the Rev. Wm. Morley Punshon, D.D. His sermons and lectures are still talked of by those who had the pleasure of hearing him. Broad-minded, warm-hearted man that he was, he soon captured the affections of all who met him. One evening, after lecturing to the people of Nanaimo on “Daniel in Babylon,” he startled me by saying, “Bro. Crosby, you are to be ordained next Sabbath in Victoria.”
I went home to the little cabin, but did not sleep that night. Next day we were to take the party in a large canoe to one of those beautiful islands that abound on the coast, for an outing, and there I had a chance to talk with the President. I told him I had not slept that night, and that I did not wish to be ordained.
When pressed for my reasons, I told him, in the first place, that I had hoped to go to college for a time, as the brethren had agreed, and in the second place, I wished to pay a visit to mother and friends at home; and furthermore, I did not feel myself to be good enough to take such solemn vows, and would prefer to continue as a lay worker.
“Well,” said the good man, “I am pleased, brother, to hear you speak so frankly. Now, as to your going to college, I can appreciate your feelings, and we would like to see it, if it could be. But if you should go for one year you would want to go for four, and many of these poor souls will be gone by that time. You have the language of this people, which is more than a college can do for you, and we believe it better that you should go on in your effort to save and help them. We will see that you get a chance to go home; and as to your feeling an unfitness, that might be one of our strongest reasons for urging you on to ordination. You had better leave the matter to God and His Church.” I had no more to say.
Next Sabbath came, and the old Pandora Street Church was crowded to the doors with an enthusiastic audience, who listened attentively to a marvellous sermon by Dr. Punshon from the text, “And ye shall receive power.” At the close I experienced one of the most solemn moments of my life, when in the presence of the large audience I stood alone and gave myself in solemn vow to God and His work, and was ordained by the laying on of hands of the gifted President of the Conference and other ministers. This was in April, 1871.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE BUNCH GRASS COUNTRY.[5]
“As laborers in Thy vineyard
Still faithful may we be,
Content to bear the burden
Of every day for Thee.
We ask no other wages,
When Thou shalt call us home,
But to have shared the travail
Which makes Thy kingdom come.”
—Monsel.
Under instructions from the District Meeting, in October, 1872, I left by steamer Onward for a journey to the vast interior, parts of which had never been visited by a Methodist missionary. Along the Thompson River and through the Nicola valley were large bands of Indians, mostly heathen, who, while speaking a different language, were nevertheless of the same stock as those among whom I had so long labored.
I took with me, as interpreter, a young man, a native of the Thompson, who had lived on the Chilliwack since he was a boy, and hence spoke the An-ko-me-num language as well as his native tongue. We were each provided with a little Indian “cayuse” or pony, which we shipped by steamer as far as Yale. In two weeks and three days we travelled 482 miles, preaching twelve times in English and fifteen times to Indians. The kindness of the people and their eagerness to hear the truth were remarkable. One Indian chief and some of his friends followed us fifteen miles to hear me preach again. We preached in court-houses, hotels, stores, log cabins, Indian shacks, and by the wayside, and everywhere the people “heard us gladly.”
At Yale I met Sandford Fleming, Principal Grant and their party, just newly arrived from their arduous overland trip across the continent. The story of this trip is found in Principal Grant’s famous book, “Ocean to Ocean.”
The journey up the old historic Cariboo road was exciting and romantic. We had several narrow escapes from having our horses go over the bluffs. Had they gone over they must have fallen in some places a thousand feet or more into the rushing waters of the Fraser River below. The road hugged the precipice, and in many places was not wide enough to permit two waggons to pass. The great stage coaches, which used to convey passengers to and fro over the 400 miles into Cariboo, would rush by with break-neck speed, while our little ponies stood aside on rocky ledges to permit them to pass. Here and there we met the large ox teams, of five or six yokes, returning with empty waggons from the interior, their huge flapping canvas covers frightening our little animals until it seemed as if we should not be able to get them by.
The first Sunday I preached in the Court House at Lytton to a mixed crowd of white men and Indians. The latter seemed eager to hear the truth, and right gladly did I tell them of Jesus.
At Cook’s Ferry, near the outlet of Nicola valley, we found the paymaster of the C.P.R. survey, a kind gentleman and an acquaintance of mine from Victoria, who called out and asked me to take dinner with him. After our horses were attended to, I gladly joined my friend. Passing through the bar-room, where crowds of men sat gambling, with whiskey barrels for their tables, I said, “Gentlemen, as soon as I am through dinner I would like to preach to you.”
“All right, parson, we’ll be ready and glad to come,” they replied.
Dinner over, I walked out, when the men cleared away their cards and set an empty barrel at one end of the room for a pulpit, where I preached to them. I was greatly blessed in delivering my message, and as soon as I had finished they came forward and left their collection of bills and silver on top of the barrel.