“I hope so, my friend,”, said the pastor earnestly; “I hope so too, with all my heart. And if you will accept of this little book, it will show you how to get there.”
The missionary drew a small, plainly-bound copy of the Bible from his pocket as he spoke, and presented it to Jacques, who received it with a smile, and thanked him, saying, at the same time, that he “was not much up to book-larnin’, but he would read it with pleasure.”
“Now, Jacques,” said the pastor, after a little further conversation on the subject of the Bible, in which he endeavoured to impress upon him the absolute necessity of being acquainted with the blessed truths which it contains—“now, Jacques, about my visit to the Indians. I intend, if the Almighty spares me, to embark in yon tin canoe that you found me engaged with, and, with six men to work it, proceed to the country of the Knisteneux Indians, visit their chief camp, and preach to them there as long as the weather will permit. When the season is pretty well advanced, and winter threatens to cut off my retreat, I shall re-embark in my canoe and return home. By this means I hope to be able to sow the good seed of Christian truths in the hearts of men who, as they will not come to this settlement, have no chance of being brought under the power of the Gospel by any other means.”
Jacques gave one of his quiet smiles on hearing this. “Right sir—right,” he said, with some energy; “I have always thought, although I niver made bold to say it before, that there was not enough o’ this sort o’ thing. It has always seemed to me a kind o’ madness (excuse my plainness o’ speech, sir) in you pastors, thinkin’ to make the red-skins come and settle round you like so many squaws, and dig up an’ grub at the ground, when it’s quite clear that their natur’ and the natur’ o’ things about them meant them to be hunters. An’ surely, since the Almighty made them hunters, He intended them to be hunters, an’ won’t refuse to make them Christians on that account. A red-skin’s natur’ is a huntin’ natur’, an’ nothin’ on arth ’ll ever make it anything else.’
“There is much truth in what you observe, friend,” rejoined the pastor; “but you are not altogether right. Their nature may be changed, although certainly nothing on earth will change it. Look at that frozen lake.” He pointed to the wide field of thick snow-covered ice that stretched out for miles like a sheet of white marble before them. “Could anything on earth break up or sink or melt that?”
“Nothin’,” replied Jacques, laconically.
“But the warm beams of yon glorious sun can do it,” continued the pastor, pointing upwards as he spoke, “and do it effectually too; so that, although you can scarcely observe the process, it nevertheless turns the hard, thick, solid ice into limpid water at last. So is it in regard to man. Nothing on earth can change his heart, or alter his nature; but our Saviour, who is called the Sun of Righteousness, can. When He shines into a man’s soul it melts. The old man becomes a little child, the wild savage a Christian. But I agree with you in thinking that we have not been sufficiently alive to the necessity of seeking to convert the Indians before trying to gather them round us. The one would follow as a natural consequence, I think, of the other, and it is owing to this conviction that I intend, as I have already said, to make a journey in spring to visit those who will not or cannot come to visit me. And now, what I want to ask is whether you will agree to accompany me as steersman and guide on my expedition.”
The hunter slowly shook his head. “I’m afeard not sir; I have already promised to take charge of a canoe for the Company. I would much rather go with you, but I must keep my word.”
“Certainly, Jacques, certainly; that settles the question You cannot go with me—unless—” the pastor paused as if in thought for a moment—“unless you can persuade them to let you off.”
“Well, sir, I can try,” returned Jacques.