Rand and the Micmacs

by Jeremiah S. Clark

“Sept. 3rd. . . . In the afternoon went to see Ben Brooks. Found quite a number there. Read chapters 13-17 of John’s Gospel. Had quite a little meeting. Read the story of Tobit in Castelio’s Latin translation. What a ridiculous story mixed with many pious meditations and prayers and sayings. How different it is after all from real Scripture! I think there is internal evidence that it was composed before the destruction of the second Temple, and after the destruction of the first.

“I spent the forenoon at home reading and studying the Bible, chiefly in Castelio’s Latin version. In the afternoon I went to see Ben Brooks. Read from my Revised Version in Micmac the 14th and on to the 19th inclusive. I had him, his daughter, and son and daughter-in-law for very attentive auditors. He told me that the priests tried to get them to burn our books.”

Writing of his work after almost twenty-five years’ labour, Dr. Rand says: “But a small number have openly renounced their connection with the Romish Church; but I have reason to know that a widespread enquiry has been awakened among them. Of several I have good reason to hope. But I have never made it a special and direct object to induce them to “change their religion,” as it is called, and especially during the past few years, I have been so dissatisfied with the Protestant churches generally, that I have had no heart to urge the Indians, even if I believed them converted, to leave their church and join ours.”

At another time, writing of particular cases of blessing among the Micmacs, he says:—“Yes, indeed, I mind me of Joe Brooks, my first Indian teacher, for whose conversion I long waited and prayed, and the tears and the sobs came well nigh choking me with joy, not grief, as I remember I found him once in the neighborhood of Wolfville, ill in body, and still more so in mind, under a deep sense of his sins. And then how his eyes sparkled when, about a fortnight after, he told me he had found peace—living about a year after, a consistent, devoted life, and dying full of joy and peace, in the neighbourhood of St. John, N. B., and little Mose, his son, went about the same time in peace. Then I think of Lewie Brooks, another son, with whom I often took sweet counsel, and who assured me those precious books, those Gospels and Psalms sustained him through the hours of agony he had often to endure from that terrible disease, the asthma; and from whom the priest laboured in vain to wrest and burn the books he so highly prized. In relating the story he said: “They cannot get the books away from us.” And then follows his daughter, Mrs. Paul, who died here at Hantsport some years later, who gave us the most satisfactory evidence that, living and dying, she was the Lord’s. Then I think of Newton Glode, (Claude) and his brother Joe, two of the finest young men I ever knew, residing formerly in Annapolis County, but living at the end of their earthly career at Cornwallis, who for industry, honesty, and everything good, would have adorned any rank or condition of life. What joyful times we had together over the Word, and were not the Christian friends who often visited them in their last sickness, delighted to tell me of the proofs they gave of their firm, unshaken trust in the Lord Jesus. And then I think of little Harriet Christmas (daughter of poor Ben, and his excellent, amiable Christian wife,) whose remarkable death and angelic faith Rev. Mr. Dimock of Truro, her minister, described so beautifully in the Christian Messenger at the time. And Newel also, her eldest brother, who lingered in peace and hope for months, and died in Yarmouth some years ago, of whom from his mother and others I heard a most satisfactory account. And I must not pass over another Joe Glode who closed his career in Kentville a year or two ago. Yes, and there had been another Joe, Joe Michæl, who will be remembered possibly, as having been sick all one winter near Upper Dyke Village, who, with very little help had learned to read those wonderful books, so dreaded by the agents of Romanism, and the contents of which had cheered him as he walked through the dark valley, some twenty years ago. Nor may I forget to mention John Paul, whose happy death inspired me at the time not only to continue in my work, but to write the verses on the “Dying Indian’s Dream,” for which I have received so many thanks.

“These, and they are not all, of those who have gone, and who in life and death have cheered the heart of the writer, amidst all the “discouraging history of the Micmac Mission.” And perhaps I could name as many or more among the living were it proper to do so, of whom I have good hope. The Lord be praised!

“And, names and numbers aside, can we doubt that the Word of God may have been blessed to many souls of whom we know nothing. It was only by an apparent accident that I learned Joe Michæl could read the Scriptures.” “How did you learn?” I inquired of him. “Ben Brooks taught me the sounds of the letters, and I drilled out the rest by myself,” he replied. “I saw him but a few times. One day I passed the encampment, and all the rest were away, and he was alone. As I went up to his wigwam I stood and listened with great interest for a while before I went in. He was reading the Scriptures in Micmac, and the interview that followed I shall not soon forget. And I heard of a case at Shubenacadie where a priest went to see a young Indian who was dying of consumption. He found him reading the Gospel. He snatched the book out of the poor fellow’s hand and committed it to the flames. But he soon found out, and had to confess to the boy, that he had been rash, and difficult was it to obtain a hearing from the indignant and outraged “untutored Indian.” . . . “A white man once consented to carry me to an Indian’s hut, which we reached in a boat. . . . I never learned what the effect was on them, but the gentleman who was with me assured me afterwards that it was the means of his own conversion.”

One more extract written two years before his death, which leaves the robe of responsibility resting upon all Christians, and we are done for the present.

“May 26th, 1888. . . . They (the Micmacs) have equal access to the free schools with all others, and are extensively taking advantage of the privilege. Let them mingle with their white brothers, learn the arts of civilization as they are doing, and become useful citizens. Let the white people abandon their abominable and unreasonable ideas of caste. Let the ministers, everywhere, each look upon the Indians in his neighborhood as a part of his charge like all other poor sinners—then there will be no need of a separate Mission and a separate establishment for them.”

Here one can almost see the aged warrior,—for his incessant labour, and his malady which made it necessary for him to carry a surgical instrument with him for years, had at last weakened his wonderful vitality—like the venerable Apostle Paul whom he resembled in so many respects, at last saying: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished my course.” And the burden passes from his shoulders, not to those of one other, but to many others, as he cheerfully goes on to walk with God in that larger and fuller life. Let it be said to our shame that we, who were entrusted with that burden, have not discharged our trust as faithfully as it was our privilege to have done.

Thus did the venerable Dr. Rand labour on incessantly day after day, a faithful representative of the meek and lowly Jesus. I might give you page after page from his Diary which records his heart-searching questionings, and his exuberant exclamations of joy over victories of which God alone knew the magnitude. Page after page might be transcribed until the volume would be as large as that which records the labours of David Brainerd, which this in character so much resembles; but my present purpose is accomplished; a glimpse has been given of Dr. Rand, the Micmac Missionary, at his life-work; and, Kespeadooksit,—the story is ended.