AMONG the Indian tribes that roamed over the great Canadian northwest many years ago the Crees were perhaps the most numerous. Their most powerful chief at this time was Maskepetoon or Crooked Arm, so named because one of his arms had been badly wounded in a fearful combat with his foes.
The first missionary among them was Mr. Rundle and when the medicine men were asked to tell whence came “this little man with such strange tidings” their answer was that he came from heaven wrapped up in a piece of paper. Some of the Crees accepted the gospel message and became Christians, but Masketoon was too fond of war to quickly receive the message of peace.
Then another missionary, Mr. George McDougall came, and for months he would live with these red men as they wandered over the vast territories hunting for buffalo and other game. Camp fire services became a much-looked for event.
One evening the missionary dwelt for some length upon the words of the Saviour when He prayed for His murderers: “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” The missionary told them that if they expected forgiveness of sins from the Great Spirit, they must have the same mind as Christ and forgive their enemies. Maskepoon was observed to be deeply moved by the message.
The next day as they were riding over the prairies an Indian chief rode quickly to the side of Mr. McDougall and in quiet but excited tones asked him to fall back to the rear of the band. They did not wish him to witness the torture and killing of an Indian who was in the company of another smaller group of Indians they were approaching.
It seems that some months earlier Maskepetoon had sent his son across a mountain range to bring back some horses which had wintered in a sheltered valley there. He sent along another warrior as a companion and aid for his son, but the rascal, seeing an opportunity to sell the horses, did so and murdered the chief’s boy. He came back with the story that the boy had fallen over a steep cliff and was killed and that the horses had scattered. Later Maskepetoon learned the truth and now his chance for revenge was come as the culprit was among the approaching band.
Anxious to see how Maskepetoon would act after the previous night’s message, Mr. McDougall galloped to the front. The old eagle-eyed chief, tomahawk in hand, sought out the murderer and stopped directly in front of him. His voice trembling with emotion and yet keeping admirable command over himself he sternly addressed the guilty tribesman:
“You have murdered my boy,” said he, “and you deserve to die. I picked you out as his trusted companion and gave you the post of honor as his comrade, and you have betrayed my trust and cruelly killed my son. You have done me and the tribe the greatest possible injury. You have broken my heart and destroyed him who was to succeed me when I die. You deserve to die and but for what I heard from the missionary last night I would bury this tomahawk in your brains. He told us that if we expect the Great Spirit to forgive us we must forgive our enemies, even those who have done us the most wrong. As I hope the Great Spirit will forgive me so I forgive you.”
Then speaking up more sternly the old chief said, “But go immediately from my people, and let me never see your face again.” Then hastily pulling his war bonnet over his head, his forced calmness gave way, and quivering with the suppressed feelings that tore his heart, he bowed his head over his horse’s neck and gave way to an agony of tears.
Maskepetoon lived for years afterward the life of a devoted Christian. All his old warlike habits he gave up; he learned to read the Cree Bible, and so the Word of God became his comfort and joy. He spent the rest of his days doing good. How earnest and thrilling were his gospel addresses as he urged his people to give up their sinful ways and become followers of the Saviour who had so grandly saved him. Many listened to his words and like him settled down to quiet peaceful lives.
Anxious that his old enemies, the Blackfeet, should hear the story of redeeming love, Maskepetoon fearlessly and unarmed went among them, Bible in hand. A bloodthirsty, revengeful Blackfoot chief, perhaps remembering some of the fierce conflicts of former days, seized his gun, and in defiance of all rules of humanity, he coolly shot the converted chieftain down.
Thus sadly fell Maskepetoon, a wondrous trophy of the cross, and one whose conversion did a vast amount of good, showing the power of the gospel to change the hardest heart.
ML-04/14/1974