The kindness of the Indians as well as the whites, and their evident desire to do all they could for my comfort, helped to lighten many a burden and make smoother many a rough pathway.
I was “in journeyings oft”; sometimes on foot, overland, or on the back of an Indian “cayuse” (pony); more frequently by canoe, and, occasionally, on the deck of a steamer. At one time I was acquainted with nearly every settler within the bounds of my large field—about 160 miles wide by as many long.
After travelling some thirty miles and preaching at different points on the journey, I arrived one evening at an island where I had often preached before. As the day had been stormy and I had worked all the way, I was very wet. The old chief and his wife, both of whom were very kind and hospitable, made me welcome in their home. Piling up wood, they built a big fire, and I hung my wet blankets around the fire on poles to dry.
“How glad we are the ‘laplate’ (missionary) has come,” the old wife commenced to say, in an undertone, as if to herself. “It is a long time since he was here before. We forget many of the good words he has said to us. Why don’t you come oftener, missionary, and tell us more of the good story, that wonderful thing, you tell us, about the Great Chief on High who gave His Son?” And then, as if recollecting the needs of her guest, she said: “Oh, I must get some supper for him.”
By this time she had a small basket that would hold water, threw in some potatoes, gave them a roll around in the water, and then put them into a pot on the fire. Reaching down a dried salmon from a pile which was stored on a platform over the bed, where the cats and rats and other animals ran over them, she gave it a big slap against the post to knock the thickest of the dirt off, and then held it up before the fire to warm and heat it, so that the skin would peel off.
Very soon the potatoes were boiled and rolled out in a little trough-like dish about two feet long, the salmon was broken in pieces and laid on top of the potatoes, and the whole was set before the Indian boy and myself.
All this time she was talking away to herself: “How good it is for the missionary to come. He has come through all the storm, and we must be kind to him.”
Having washed our hands, I asked a blessing upon the food, and were soon at our supper of salmon and potatoes. We were sure that one side of the salmon was fairly clean, for the skin had been torn off it, and as for the potatoes, they had their jackets on, but we had to eat without a bit of salt.
As we were working away quietly at the supper, the old man was stirring up the fire, keeping away the dogs, and doing everything he could to make things agreeable. All at once the old woman came and crouched down by my side, saying: “Oh, the good missionary, we are so glad you have come. I will help you to peel your potatoes.” And suiting the action to the word she seized hold of one out of the dish, and with about two scratches of her long finger-nails she tore off the jacket of one potato, and then handed it to me, saying, “Oh, it is so good of you to bring us the blessed light. I’ll help you, I will, to get your supper.” We would very much rather have peeled our own potatoes, and had her a little at a distance, with her wretchedly dirty-looking blanket.
Suddenly she sprang up, as if a bright idea had occurred to her, and exclaimed, “Oh, I had nearly forgot. I kept it for the missionary when he should come.” Out of a big old box she brought something tied up in a piece of dirty looking rag.