THE INDIANS.

OUR DEACON.

“Young men, never despair of the hardest case,” were the words which were spoken to some of us, while in Hartford Theological Seminary, more than fifteen years ago, by a missionary from Africa, and he gave us some illustrations to prove his point. I was forcibly reminded of this a few weeks ago as we elected two Indians to serve as deacons, the first Indians ever chosen to fill that place in the history of this church, for during the first eleven years of its existence there have been white men connected with it who have filled that office acceptably. Some time ago, however, the last one left us, and after waiting a while in vain to see if some other men would not come, who would serve in this capacity, we decided that it was best to choose Indians for the place.

One of these has had a remarkable history. About thirty years ago or more he was baptized a Catholic, but when, after a short stay, the Catholic priest left these Indians, not to return again, he, with the rest of these Indians, relapsed to their heathenish ways.

Twelve years ago he was noted for drinking and for the sly ways in which he could procure his liquor. In 1876 he had great trouble with his wife and wished to leave her, but the Agent would not allow it. A long trouble followed, in which the Agent and prominent Indians tried every way they could think of to make them live peaceably together. One day the Agent with two friendly Indians went to arrest him, but, with the help of his uncle, he knocked down the Agent, broke out a window and got away. He was pursued all day, but was not taken, and at night was helped off by his relations, and he ran a long way off. For this his relations were locked up in jail, which brought them to terms, and they induced him to return so that they could be let out, and he served six months in jail.

After that he secretly left his wife, took another, and went to another reservation, sixty miles distant, but in time, with the help of another Agent and two soldiers, he was again taken and conveyed to Fort Townsend, where he worked six months more, with a soldier and bayonet to compel him to do so.

A year or two afterwards he returned to Skokomish. He said that he had reformed, but was still a Catholic, and he held some Catholic services at his own house. For a year or two, however, they did not amount to much, as hardly anybody attended them. In 1881 affairs changed, and through the death of a prominent Indian, the Catholics became quite strong, mingling with their teachings spiritualistic revelations from the dying man, and he was their priest.

The next year another Indian professed to die, receive revelations, and come to life again, and he originated a religion which was composed of Protestantism, Catholicism, spiritualism, the old Indian religion, and a nervous twitching, similar to the jerks prevalent in the Southern and Western States fifty years ago, and which gained for them the name of Shakers. For a few months they carried things with a high hand, and he was an acknowledged leader. The Catholic religion, however, grew to be a very small part of their services, while the shaking grew to be very large, so that their heads and hands were sometimes shaking night after night, six hours at a time. To save them from becoming crazy, with the advice of the physician, the Agent put a stop to this, but told them they might continue their Catholic services, if they wished, as he had no right to interfere with their religion as a religion. But they gave up everything, and asked me to teach them. I gladly did so, and a year afterwards, in the fall of 1884, he united with our church. Thus he has been by far the most troublesome Indian of any here, both to Church and Government. For more than two years he has done well in the church, and now, with my approval and with the unanimous consent of the members of the church, he has been chosen their deacon.

As I write, an Indian sits before me dressed in leggins with two blankets around him, and a comforter tied over his head. He has come to get his horses shod, and as the blacksmith is away, he has to wait. He has sat stolidly most of the day, his horses out in the cold—the thermometer is about 12 or 14 degrees below zero. As he has sat here without an expression of a single emotion passing over his face, he has occasionally drawn a deep sigh. He knows his life is wretched, and yet it would take almost a miracle to arouse him to activity enough to render his life comfortable. As I contrast him with my own boys and girls, with the emotions aroused by mental activity chasing each other over their faces, I feel that their lives will be happier and, I hope, better than his.

TEACHER AMONG THE PONCAS.