Among these early traders were men of sterling character, who, while they might not be termed religious, had, nevertheless, a deep reverence for God and for His wondrous law, some little knowledge of which they imparted to the native peoples with whom they were engaged in traffic.
We cannot but wonder at the slowness of the Church in not seeing and seizing her opportunity. She should have been first on the ground, but was not. The trader preceded her. And finally it was the eager longing of the heathen themselves, awakened by the Spirit of God, which aroused the slumbering Church.
In Search of the “Book of Heaven.”
In 1832 the Flatheads at the headwaters of the Columbia River met in council, not painted for war or armed for the chase, but with a look of earnestness on their faces. They were talking over a strange story which some wandering trappers had brought to their camps—the story of the white man’s worship, and the Book that told of God and immortality, and the presence and power of the “Great Spirit.” They had more than once held such a council, and they finally concluded that if there was such a treasure as the Book of Heaven they would try and find it.
They selected one of the old “seams” (chiefs) and a strong-minded brave of full years, also two young and daring men. These four were sent off across the mountains in search of the news of the white man’s God, or the book that would tell of His love.
Leaving their western homes or “lalums,” they turned their faces to the east, and for many a week they travelled mountain and plain in the search. They reached St. Louis, then a mere hamlet, known as the far frontier, a resort of hunters and trappers. One day these four strange Indians were walking down the street, looking everywhere as if for hidden treasure. Finally they met Gen. Wm. Clark, whose name the two older had heard of years before, up in their far away western home, as he and others were making their way to the western sea.
To him they made known the object of their search. They were kindly received and well treated, but neither General Clark nor anyone in that Roman Catholic town helped them to what their hearts longed for. They waited till they became weary; two of their number sickened and died, and now the remaining two prepared to go back to the people with a tale of disappointment. General Clark, knowing the Indians’ love of ceremony, had a leave-taking in his town. One of the poor Indians, as they said good-by, made the following touching speech:
“We came to you over a trail of many moons from the setting sun. You were the friend of our fathers who have all gone the long way. We came, with our eyes partly opened, for more light for our people who sit in darkness. We go back with our eyes closed. How can we go back blind to our blind people? We made our way to you with strong arms, through many enemies and strange lands, that we might carry back much to our people. We go back with empty and broken arms. The two fathers who came with us, the braves of many winters and wars, we leave here always by your great wigwams. They were tired in their journey of many moons, and their moccasins were worn out. Our people sent us to get the white man’s Book of Heaven. You took us where they worship the Great Spirit with candles, but the Book was not there. You showed us images of good spirits and pictures of the good land beyond, but the Book was not among them to tell us the way. You made our feet heavy with burdens and gifts, and our moccasins will grow old with carrying them, but the Book is not among them. We are going back the long, sad trail to our people. When we tell them, after one more snow, in the big council, that we did not bring the Book, no word will be spoken by our old men, nor by our young braves. One by one they will rise up and go out in silence. Our people will die in darkness and they will go on the long path to other hunting grounds. No white man will go with them, and no Book of Heaven to make the way plain. We have no more to say.”[1]
Only one lived to reach his people, and with a sad heart he told the story. Word of this strange visit got into the papers of the East, among others into the New York Christian Advocate. Soon the whole American church was aroused, and with such men as Nathan Bangs and Dr. Wilbur Fisk leading the way, it was not long before the Board of Missions of the Methodist Episcopal Church had the money and were ready to establish “A mission among the Indians west of the Rocky Mountains.”
When the question was asked, “Who will go for us?” Dr. Fisk said, “I know but one man, Jason Lee.” Mr. Lee was a Canadian, born in Stanstead, Que. He was converted at twenty-three years of age. A splendid man, six feet three inches in height, and in every particular the type of man needed for this new enterprise.