What does Paul say? “Five times received I forty stripes save one.” Well, I have never been treated so, for the people are as kind as can be. “Shipwrecked”? No, only cast twice on the beach by winds from a canoe. “A night and a day in the deep”? No, only a whole night and a part of several others on the mud-flats, waiting for the tide to come. No danger of drowning there. So I have determined to take more of such spice if it shall come.
XLIII.
CURRANT JELLY.
THERE is, however, another side to the picture, more like currant jelly. The people generally are as kind as they can be. “We will give you the best we have,” is what is often told me, and they do it. Here is a house near Jamestown, where I have stopped a week at a time, or nearly that, once in six months for about six years, and the people will take nothing for it. For seventy-five miles west of Dunginess is a region where a man’s company is supposed to pay for his lodgings at any house. I meet a man, who offers to go home, a half a mile, and get me a dinner, if I will only accept it. A girl, with whose family I was only slightly acquainted, stood on the porch one day as I passed, and said: “Mister, have you been to dinner? You had better stop and have some.” A hotel-keeper, who had sold whiskey for fifteen years, put me in his best room, one which he had fitted up for his own private use, and then would take nothing for it. The Superintendent of the Seabeck Mills, Mr. R. Holyoke, invited me to go to his house whenever I was in the place, and would never take any thing for it. It amounted to about four weeks’ time each year for five or six years, and yet he would hardly allow me to thank him. Others, too, at the same place, have been very kind. The steamer St. Patrick for two years and a half always carried myself and family free, whenever we wished to travel on it, and during that time it gave us sixty or seventy-five dollars’ worth of fare. Captain J. G. Baker, of the Colfax, said to me, six or seven years ago: “Whenever you or your family, or an Indian whom you have with you to carry you, wish to travel where I am going, I will take you free.” He has often done it, sometimes making extra effort with his steamer in order to accommodate me. The steamers Gem and McNaught also made a rule to charge me no fare when I traveled on them.
Indians, too, are not wholly devoid of gratitude. It is the time of a funeral. They are often accustomed at such times to make presents to their friends who attend and sympathize with them. “Take this money,” they have often said to me at such times, as they have given me from one to three dollars. “Do not refuse—it is our custom; for you have come to comfort us with Christ’s words.” At a great festival, where I was present to protect them from drunkenness, and other evils equally bad, they handed me seven dollars and a half, saying, “You have come a long distance to help us; we can not give you food as we do these Indians, as you do not eat with us; take this money, it will help to pay your board.” But when I offered to pay the gentleman with whom I was staying, Mr. B. G. Hotchkiss, he too would take nothing for the board. The good people of the Pearl Street Church in Hartford, Connecticut, sent us a barrel of things in the early spring of 1883, whose money value I estimated at considerably over a hundred dollars, and whose good cheer was inestimable in money, because it came when our days were the darkest.
God has been very good to put it into the hearts of so many people to be so kind, and not the least good thing that he has done is that he has put that verse in the Bible about the giving a cup of cold water and the reward that will follow.
XLIV.
CONCLUSION.
DR. H. J. MINTHORNE, superintendent of the Indian Training School at Forest Grove, Oregon, once remarked to me, “that, in the civilization of Indians, they often went forward and then backward; but that each time they went backward it was not quite so far as the previous time, and that each time they went forward it was an advance on any previous effort.” I have found the same to be true. They seem to rise much as the tide does when the waves are rolling—a surge upward and then back; but careful observation shows that the tide is rising.
There is much of human nature in them. In many respects—as in their habits of neatness and industry, their visions, superstitions, and the like—I have often been reminded of what I have read about ignorant whites in the Southern and Western States fifty years ago, and of what I have seen among the same class of people in Oregon thirty years ago.
Soon after I came here, an old missionary said to me: “Keep on with the work; the fruits of Christian labor among the Indians have been as great or greater than among the whites.” I have found it to be in some measure true. Something has, I trust, been done; but the Bible and experience both agree in saying that “God has done it all.” I sometimes think I have learned a little of the meaning of the verse, “Without me ye can do nothing,” and I would also record that I have proved the truth of that other one, “I am with you alway,"—for the work has paid.
I went to Boise City, in Idaho, in 1871, with the intention of staying indefinitely, perhaps a lifetime, but Providence indicated plainly that I ought to leave in two and a half years. When I came here, it was only with the intention of remaining two or three months on a visit. The same Providence has kept me here ten years and I am now satisfied that his plans were far wiser than mine. So “man proposes and God disposes.” The Christians’ future and the Indians’ future are wisely in the same hands.