Memoir of Elizabeth Jones a little Indian girl who lived at the River-Credit Mission Upper Canada/Chapter 4
The Bridge.
CHAPTER IV.
Elizabeth's premature death.
"I am the resurrection, and the life."—John xi. 25.
In bringing the history of this dear child to a close, it is now my painful task to record the affecting circumstances that attended her death. Perhaps some young persons may wonder what disease carried her away in the spring-time of life to an early grave. Well do I remember telling her one evening of the sudden death of a neighbour, and, endeavouring to improve the circumstance, remarked how necessary it was for young and old to be prepared for death, as we did not know whether we should live to see another rising sun. She looked most earnestly at me, and said, "Why, aunt, I am not ill!" But, dear children, without the withering blast of sickness, this sweet flower was transplanted in an instant to a more congenial clime, in the bloom of health, and with a buoyancy of spirits that had excited the remarks of those around her; illustrating in her own history that death has not always sickness for its harbinger.
From the account received, it appears that a kind friend residing at the port or mouth of the river Credit, about a mile and a half from the Indian village, had requested Elizabeth's father to let her spend a short time with her during Mr. J. Jones's absence for a few weeks. To this he consented, of which he sends the following account:—"On the 6th of November, dear Elizabeth followed us to the waggon." (Mr. Jones had married again.) "She kissed her mamma and me, saying, 'Good-bye, mamma; good-bye, papa.' Never shall I forget the spot where she stood; little thinking she was bidding us a final farewell."
The month of November, which in England is usually very dreary, is quite otherwise in Canada; and it appears the morning of the 20th was very fine. This dear child arose in good health, and it would seem as though she felt an uncommon degree of joyousness and elasticity of spirits, which the freshness of a clear atmosphere tends to inspire.
About noon, remarking how beautiful the day was, she asked if she might take her accustomed walk over the adjacent bridge, that being drier and smoother than any other place. Not suspecting any danger, after being properly equipped by her kind friend who had the care of her, she sallied forth with bounding spirits and a happy countenance. It is singular that on that morning she had talked much of her own dear mother, and expressed a wish that she was alive, as she wanted so much to see her. When asked, why? she replied, "Because I have heard she was very beautiful." Sweet child! who would then have supposed thy passage to glory was so short; that thy wish to have thy mother near thee was so soon to be fulfilled; that thou wast so soon literally to pass the river of death, and to be landed on the shores of immortality? But it was even so: the little Elizabeth returned not to her home at the expected time, and was sought for, but sought in vain. Inquiry was made at every house, but, alas! to no purpose. Night came on, and it was very dark and stormy; still the search continued, and long before day other kind friends went different roads towards the village, calling, "Elizabeth, Elizabeth," but in vain; no voice answered to the anxious summons.
As soon as daylight dawned, all the men, women, and boys joined in the melancholy search; making the woodlands echo with her name as they went sorrowfully on, till they reached the lake; when the Indians said she must be drowned! They then went out in their boats; and at length, about nine o'clock in the morning, the little bark of mortality was found, which had floated down the deep broad stream into an eddy near the pier, but the immortal spirit was landed in the haven of eternal rest.
It was found on examination that there was a hole on the upper part of the bridge near the centre of the stream, occasioned by one of the planks having slipped out of its place; and it is supposed (for no one saw her) that the dear child, in passing over near the side-railings, must have been looking another way, and thus slipped through the hole into a watery grave. Thus, without a moment's warning, was she snatched away from the fond embraces of her mourning friends on earth to the bosom of her Saviour and her God.
As soon as the sad news reached her dear father, he hastened down; but, ah! who can enter into the feelings of a parent on such a journey? None can describe them; and only parents who have lost such a child can fully sympathize in them. He returns to the spot where he left her well and happy; but instead of the bounding step, the beaming eye, the cheerful tones of welcome that were wont to greet him, he is conducted by his sympathizing and distressed friends into the mournful chamber of death. There was the form he had so often gazed on with delight, and it still looked like his Elizabeth; but the heart's pulses had ceased, the eyes were closed, the ears were stopped, the spirit had fled. Such is the portion of earth; but by the eye of faith we turn to those blissful regions where her happy spirit has found admittance;
"Where she joins in the anthems for ever that rise,
Now dead to the earth, and new born to the skies,
And heir of the kingdom of heaven."
O, dear children, what a lesson is this! Could any thing but the assurance that "sudden death" to her was "sudden glory" have comforted the heart of her sorrowing parent, and enabled him to write, "Her happy spirit is returned to God, whose praises she loved to sing, whom she worshipped, adored, and loved?" Surely not! And if you wish to share with her the happiness of heaven, if you wish to see her there, you must seek an interest in Christ, love prayer as she loved it, take the same delight in reading the Bible and good books, learn with pleasure your catechism and hymns, be obedient to your parents, affectionate and kind to all ; then you will be loved as she was loved; and should an early summons call you hence, you will be prepared to follow where she is gone.
I have before noticed how fond Elizabeth was of singing; and I think it would be well for children to cultivate this habit, and imitate her in this sweet employ of singing and making melody in their hearts unto the Lord. The last hymn she was heard to sing was the following:—
"Saw ye my Saviour?
Saw ye my Saviour?
Saw ye my Saviour and my God?
O! he died on Calvary
To atone for you and me,
And to purchase our pardon with blood."
On Friday, the 24th, her remains were carried up to the Indian village, where the Missionary at the river Credit conducted the service, and preached a suitable sermon from Rev. i. 17, 18; in which he bore ample testimony to her early piety, amiable disposition, and remarkable intelligence.
Her death had excited as much interest as is often produced by that of persons of maturer age; and many respectable white inhabitants, from the distance of two and three miles round, attended the funeral. After the sermon, the Indian children rose up and sang the following hymn:—
"Farewell, dear friend! a long farewell!
For we shall meet no more,
Till we are raised with thee to dwell
On Zion's happier shore.
"Our friend and sister, lo! is dead;
The cold and lifeless clay
Has made in dust its silent bed,
And there it must decay.
"But is she dead?—No, no, she lives!
Her happy spirit flies
To heaven above; and there receives
The long-expected prize.
"Farewell, dear friend! again, farewell!
Soon we shall rise to thee;
And when we meet no tongue can tell
How great our joys shall be."
Six little girls carried her coffin from the chapel to the grave; four following, bearing in their hands sprigs of evergreen, which they threw on the coffin after it was lowered into the ground.
Page:Memoir of Elizabeth Jones, A Little Indian Girl (1838).djvu/35 Page:Memoir of Elizabeth Jones, A Little Indian Girl (1838).djvu/36