PETER SIMPSON (Thrakshakaun).—"I remember when you put your ship on shore at Fort Simpson. I remember how nearly we were fighting, and the guns were prepared. You had a rope put out to keep us off, and we heard it said that you would fire at us from your ship when you got afloat. We knew not what you had rather planned to do. You planned to bring us the Gospel, and that has opened our eyes to heavenly things, and oh! how beautiful, very beautiful indeed! Metlakahtla is like a ship just launched. You are here to give us advice where to put the mast in, and how to steer. I address you thus, though you are great and I am poor. But Jesus despises not the poor. The Tsimsheans were very low, yet Jesus raised us, and we are now anxious for all our brethren, the tribes around us, to be made alive. We see them now willing to hear, and we are trying to help them. We know God put it into your heart to come here, and brought you here; God bless you for coming."
Sunday, 23rd.—To me, all days at Metlakahtla are solemnly sacred, but Sunday, of all others, especially so. Canoes are all drawn up on the beach above high water mark. Not a sound is heard. The children are assembled before morning service to receive special instruction from Mr. Duncan. The church bell rings, and the whole population pour out from their houses—men, women, and children—to worship God in His own house, built by their own hands. As it has been remarked, "No need to lock doors, for no one is there to enter the empty houses." Two policemen are on duty in uniform, to keep order during service time. The service begins with a chant in Tsimshean, "I wilt arise and go to my Father," etc., Mr. Schutt leading with the harmonium; the Litany Prayers in Tsimshean follow, closing with the Lord's Prayer. The address lasts nearly an hour. Such is the deep attention of many present, that having once known their former lives, I know that the love of God shed abroad in their hearts by the Holy Ghost can alone have produced so marvellous a change.
First, there was a very old woman, staff in hand, stepping with such solemn earnestness; after her came one who had been a very notorious gambler; though now almost crippled with disease, yet he seemed to be forgetting infirmity, and literally to be leaping along. Next followed a dissipated youth, now reclaimed; and after him a chief, who had dared a few years ago proudly to lift up his hand to stop the work of God, now with humble mien, wending his way to worship. Then came a once still more haughty man of rank; and after him a mother carrying her infant child, and a father leading his infant son; a grandmother, with more than a mother's care, watching the steps of her little grandson. Then followed a widow; then a young woman, who had been snatched from the jaws of infamy; after them came a once roving spirit, now meek and settled; then, a once notorious chief; and the last I reflected upon was a man walking with solemn gait, yet hope fixed in his look. When a heathen he was a murderer: he had murdered his own wife and burnt her to ashes. What are all these now, I thought, and the crowds that accompany them! Whither are they going? and what to do? Blessed sight for angels! Oh, the preciousness of a Saviour's blood! If there is joy in heaven ever one sinner that repenteth, with what delight must angels gaze on such a sight as this! I felt such a glow of gratitude to God come over me, my heart was stirred within me, for who could have joined such a congregation as this in worship and have been cold, and who could have preached the Gospel to such a people and not have felt he was standing where God was working?
After morning service, a class of female adults remain in the church, and receive further instruction from the native teachers. At the same time the male adults meet Mr. Duncan in his own room. At three, the church bell again assembles all the village to worship; and again at seven, when they generally meet in the schoolroom, the address being given by one of the native teachers.
June 26th.—Evening Service in schoolroom, about 90 in attendance, most of the village absent at the fisheries. Some strange Indians arrived today from a distance. A large building has been erected on the shore, close to the general landing-place, for the accommodation of such visitors; here they deposit their property (brought for trade), and take up their abode, finding firewood ready for use. As soon as they are comfortably housed and mashed (the latter a positive injunction), they come to Duncan's room, where he receives them, generally having something new and amusing to show them. To-day I was present at their interview, when Duncan showed them a mechanical picture, in which a "ship at sea," a "wind-mill," and a "water-mill," worked by machinery, are moved at the same time. A galvanic battery is also a source of wonder and astonishment. After some time he explains to his audience the cause and effects, exposing, too, the tricks formerly played upon their ignorant minds by their own medicine men. The visit is returned, and in that market-house the good seed of the Word of God has been frequently sown by this faithful man of God to casual visitors, and through them to the surrounding tribes.
A deputation also arrived from the Fort Simpson Indians to consult with the Metlakahtla Indians how to meet the pending difficulties with the White men as regards the Indian rights as to the salmon-fisheries. The bugle sounded to call together the Council. Both parties assembled together in the school-house, and consulted together for several hours; and when they had finished, they sent for Duncan to tell him the result. I mention this circumstance as one of the blessed results of their new life in Christ Jesus. In their heathen days this difficulty with white men would have been met with murder and destruction. In 1859, I was present at an assemblage of chiefs, when gold was first discovered in British Columbia, and when more than twenty thousand white men rushed into that country, bringing with them vice and disease. The question was asked by the head chief, "How shall we treat these strangers? Shall we cut their throats?"—going through the motion of doing so in an unmistakable manner. In God's providence, the man in authority had great influence over the Indian mind and action. A proper answer was returned, and the lives of hundreds, nay, thousands were saved.
27th.—Visited the village saw-mill, conveniently situated at the head of a sheltered inlet about a mile and a quarter from the village. It is managed entirely by natives, the head Indian receiving 8 dols., or L1 12s., the second, 6 dols., or L1 4s., the third, 5 dols., or L1 per week. Lumber of all sizes is supplied to the village for building purposes at moderate prices. Thus the Indians are kept independent of the white man's help. Duncan told me a curious story of an old Indian who came to him, when the mill was being erected, and asked him, "Are you going to make water saw wood?" He got his answer, and exclaimed, "When I see it I die, to go and tell it to my chief."
I visited the widow of Samuel Marsden (Shooquanahts), the first fruits of this Mission. He was baptized, 21st July, 1861, and died May 8th, 1878, a Native elder, a ripe Christian, a faithful follower of the Lord Jesus; and the clear testimony he bore on his death-bed to the blessedness of the Christian hope and the presence of the Saviour was very cheering. Duncan adds, "His parting words to myself and the elders were very affecting; his end indeed was peace, and such a funeral the Indians never saw." Catherine, his widow, is left with two children, and lives in the same house with Catherine Ryan, whose husband died about the same time as Samuel, leaving her with four children. I did indeed wish for some of the friends of the Mission to have witnessed the touching simple faith of these two brands plucked out of the fire, as I read to them a few words from John xi., "Jesus wept." after which we joined in prayer.
Shortly after my return to the Mission House, Samuel Marsden's father called to see me. He was present at my first visit to Fort Simpson in 1853. Poor fellow! he looked quite cast down; he said his heart was sad, he wanted to speak to me. "I have felt," he said, "that I must see you. It has been on my heart to see you. I saw your ship long ago when you first came to Fort Simpson. I saw you then also. I was a young man then. I had a son, an only son, he was then very young. You did not forget us. When Mr. Duncan came, I sent my son to learn. I was anxious to walk in God's way myself; but I was very wicked. But I was anxious that my son should learn; he learned quickly and had but one heart. When Mr. Duncan came to Metlakahtla, Samuel was one of the first to accompany him, and afterwards, when Mr. Duncan had to punish any of the Indians of the villages around who were guilty of crime, Samuel was always ready to go and assist in bringing them to justice. I was not afraid, because I knew he was doing right, and God would defend him and save him. Well, he continued to grow stronger in God's way, and was anxious to work for Him, wherever he went telling the people about the Son of God, the Saviour; but he became sick and was very weak for some time. However, he almost recovered, and when the news came last autumn that you were coming, no one was so glad as Samuel. He was rejoiced to think that he would see you again; but it was not to be so now. God was pleased to call him to Himself before you came. He is in heaven now. Chief! this is why I was not present at the meeting to welcome you. My strength was gone, my only son, I thought he would strengthen my heart now that I am an old man; but God knows it is best. I felt that I could not speak with the rest, as my heart was so weak. But there was a burden on my heart. I felt so much that if Samuel were alive, he would have much to tell you, and I felt that I could not rest until I told you all this, as Samuel would have me do were he alive. I thank you much for your sympathy and encouragement to us. My heart is very full. I am very grateful to you, chief. When you pray, will you ask God to make my heart strong? I want to be faithful too, I want to meet my son and all of you above. I ask your prayers to help me. My heart is strong and glad now, because I have seen you and told you my heart."
One afternoon the girls in the Mission House, five in number, were given a half-holiday, to pick berries on the opposite islands. We availed ourselves of the fine weather and this picnic to see the village gardens. We started in a large canoe (every Indian from his earliest childhood can handle a paddle), towards the head of the estuary, which leads through a labyrinth of islands, to the pine-clad shores of the snowy mountains, nearly twenty miles distance. We landed at some of the islands, most of which have some cultivated land. Every man and woman had a certain portion of ground measured out by Duncan, when the village was first settled, and set apart by him for their sole use. As the children advance in years, an addition is made. At present only potatoes are planted, and these are not properly attended to, for just at the time when labour is required for weeding, hoeing, etc., all hands are absent at the fishing stations. Duncan hopes, in course of time, to make better arrangements. How we all enjoyed ourselves in that holiday trip!—all of us like children escaped from school. Berries were plentiful, and we returned by moonlight, paddling and singing hymns alternately, till the sparkling wood fire in the Mission-room welcomed us to our home.