The American Missionary — Volume 33, No. 06, June, 1879

by Various

This frontier life among the Indians has its romance, some things being pleasant and some not so pleasant. The white people in the region where I travel are generally as kind as they can be; the Indians seldom do a favor without wishing pay for it, though that is not always so; but the elements are sometimes antagonistic.

At one time I was returning from Seabeck in a canoe, thirty miles distant, after preaching, with two Indians. We live three miles above the mouth of the S’kokomish River, but everywhere around its mouth are mud flats, which are very troublesome at low tide. At nine o’clock at night we reached the mouth of the river, with the tide low and still running out. The Indians thought that they could find the channel, but in the darkness they made a mistake and ran on to the flats, where we remained until the tide turned. It was chilly, as a November night generally is. We had an overcoat and pair of blankets which kept us somewhat comfortable, but it was four o’clock in the morning before we reached home.

Again, I started with eight canoes from Port Gamble for Seabeck, twenty miles, but a strong head wind arose. The Indians worked hard for five hours, when nearly all gave out, having traveled only ten miles, and we camped on the beach. It rained also, and the wind blew stronger, so that the trees were constantly falling around us. I had only a pair of blankets, an overcoat and a mat with me, but having obtained another mat of the Indians, I made a slight roof over me with it, and went to sleep. About two o’clock in the morning I was aroused by the Indians, when I learned that a very high tide had come and drowned them out. My bed was on higher ground than theirs, but in fifteen minutes that ground was three or four inches under water. We waded around, put our things in the canoes, and soon, wet and cold, in the middle of February, we started. There was still some rain and wind, and rowing by turns in order to keep from suffering, it took us four hours to reach our destination.

I started from Dunginess for Elkwa, a distance of twenty-five miles, on horseback, but after proceeding ten miles the horse became so lame that he could go no farther. I could not well get another one, so I was obliged to travel on foot; but soon I reached Morse Creek, and could find no way of crossing. The stream was quite swift, having been swollen by recent rains. The best way seemed to be to ford it; so after taking off some of my clothes, I started in. It was only about three feet deep, but so swift that it was difficult to stand, and cold as December; but with a stick to feel my way, I crossed, and it only remained for me to get warm, which I soon did by climbing a high hill.

Coming from Elkwa on a previous trip, on horseback, with a friend, we were obliged to travel on the beach for eight miles, as there was no other road. The tide was quite high, the wind was blowing and the waves came in very roughly. There were many trees lying on the beach, around which we were obliged to canter as fast as we could when the waves were out. But one time my friend who was ahead just passed safely, while I was caught by the wave, which came up to my side, and a part of which went over my head. It was very fortunate that my horse was not carried off his feet.

Another of our experiences, which is very unpleasant, is with the vermin, especially the fleas, which dwell constantly with the Indians and with some of the whites. I stood one evening and preached in one of their houses, when I am satisfied that I scratched every half minute during the service; for, although I stood them as long as I could, I could not help it. I would quietly take up one foot and rub it against the other leg; put my hand in my pocket or behind my back, and treat the creatures as gently as I could, and the like.

Once in a while I am obliged to stay over night in one of their houses in the winter, a thing I seldom do unless there is no white man’s house near; even in summer they are afraid the panthers will eat me up if I sleep outside; but between the fleas, rats and smoke (for they often keep the house full of smoke all night), sleep is not very refreshing, and the next morning I feel more like a piece of bacon than a minister.

But Indian houses are not the only unpleasant ones. Here we are at a hotel, the best in a milling town of four or five hundred people; but the bar-room is filled with tobacco smoke almost as thick as the smoke from the fires which often fills an Indian house. Here about fifty men spend a great portion of the night (some of them all night) in drinking, gambling and smoking. The house is used to it, for the rooms directly over the bar-room are saturated with the smoke, and I am assigned to one of these rooms. Before I get to sleep the smoke has so filled my nostrils that I cannot breathe through them, and at midnight I wake up with a headache so severe that I can scarcely hold up my head for the next twenty-four hours. It is not so bad, however, but that I can do a little thinking on this wise: Who are the lowest, the Indians or these whites? The smoke in each of their houses is of about equal thickness; that of the Indians, however, is clean smoke from wood; that of the whites filthy from tobacco. The Indian has sense enough to make holes in the roof where some of it may escape; the white man does not even that much. The Indian sits or lies on or near the ground, beneath a great portion of it; the white man puts a portion of his guests and his ladies’ parlor in rooms directly over it. Sleeping in the Indian smoke, I come out well, though feeling like smoked bacon, and a thorough wash cures it; but sleeping in the white man’s smoke I come out sick, and the brain has to be washed.

But these are the sharp spice. There is another side, more like currant jelly. The people are generally 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 are houses, where I occasionally stop a week at a time, and the people will take nothing for it. Here is a region for forty miles, where a man’s company is supposed to pay for his lodgings at any house. Now I meet a man who offers to go home, half a mile, on purpose to get me a dinner; or a girl, with whose family I am very slightly acquainted, stands on the porch as I pass and says, “Mister, have you been to dinner? You had better stop and have some.” Here is a hotel-keeper, who has sold whiskey for fifteen years, who puts me in his best room, one fitted up for private use, and will take nothing for it. Now I am invited into the home of the superintendent of a large mill, and during the two years and a half that I have occasionally preached at the place I have spent seven weeks in his family, yet he will never take anything for it, and hardly allow me to thank him. Again, here is a steamer, which has always carried me free whenever myself or family wished to travel on it, and which during two years and a half has actually given me sixty or seventy-five dollars’ worth of travel. Then there is another which runs irregularly, but whose captain says, “Whenever you or your family or your Indian and canoe wish to travel where I am going, I will take you all free,” and who has actually made extra effort with his steamer in order to help me.

Indians, too, are not wholly devoid of gratitude. Now it is a funeral. They are often accustomed to make presents at such times to their friends who attend. “Take this money,” they say to me, as they give me two or three dollars; “do not refuse; it is our custom, for you come to comfort us with Christ’s words.” Again, I am at a great festival, and am there on purpose to protect them from drunkenness and other evils equally bad; so they hand me seven dollars and a half, saying, “You have come a long distance to help us; we cannot give you food as we do these Indians, as you do not eat with us,” (and generally I do not, if I can avoid it); “take this money, it will help to pay your board.” Or, again, they carry me nearly a hundred miles free, in order that I may teach them and dedicate a church for them.