It was on the evening of March 18, 1933, after some interested readers of our tracts invited us for a “mission” among them, that Noah Gratton and I took the train from Montreal on the long, slow journey to the little station at Albanel, in the province of Quebec.
It was Patrick St. Gelais who met us with a cutter and drove us the six miles or so to his parents’ home, the warmth of which–in a double sense–was much appreciated after facing a bitter cold north-wester’ with only our city hats to protect our heads and ears.
We were now to learn many things of which we had been entirely ignorant–among which was the squabble there had been in the parish a year previously over the placing of a church which was to replace the combined schoolhouse and chapel they had used till then. The group that invited us had the key still in their hands. To our surprise, we were offered the use of this building for meetings the next day.
We accepted, but admit to strange and mixed feelings on finding ourselves in a building in which were still some statues and other marks of Rome. At our morning meeting I think there were about 40 people present, but fewer in the evening. No doubt many were disappointed that we wore no robe nor clerical collar; also our limited ability in French would not have left a favorable impression. The Lord was going to work, however–the Adversary also.
The bishop was at once advised of our using the chapel there and within a day or so a plainly written letter was received from him forbidding any further use of that building for “communistic” or other kind of meeting. In the absence of Pierre Doucet, the mayor, away on a trapping and trading expedition (on whose property this “school-chapel” had been built), it was considered best to refrain from any more meetings there until his return. We therefore spoke with the people in their homes, especially the St. Gelais and Doucet homes, where many would stop to meet these ministers who had recently arrived.
One evening, we had a rather special visit of a neighbor cheesemaker, accompanied by a tall, well-dressed man, a stranger to everyone there. He introduced himself as a cousin of the other and desired to meet and hear the two young men who had come among the folk there. He asked us many questions as to our activities and teaching to which we replied frankly, quoting Scriptures also. We even sang some hymns while they were there–which he professedly found interesting, and before they left, we knelt together and prayed.
After they had left, I paced the floor for a while, saying to the others, “That is no ordinary person–he could even be a priest in disguise. Anyway he had some definite purpose in coming to question us. Perhaps we’ll learn more about him later.”
Shortly afterwards the cheesemaker admitted that this supposed cousin was in fact a Provincial detective who had come on the insistence of the parish priest at Albanel who was sure we were communists. He quite expected, we were informed, that we would be arrested by this detective. On the contrary, the detective said that we “hadn’t said one word out of place” and that nothing could be done against us.
In the midst of many such experiences, God was working. Madame Doucet, a devout Romanist, found it ridiculous that we should state that a person had to be born again. She wanted to find out just what kind of men we were; with this in view, she got the school teacher to invite us both to speak with her at the school one afternoon after classes had been dismissed.
I recall clearly our visit with the teacher. We spoke plainly to her about the need of being saved; of having forgiveness of sins; of being born again while still on this side of death. She stated quite openly that she had sinned all her life. To this I replied that unless she repented and obtained the pardon and deliverance from her sins in this life, her soul would be lost in hell for all eternity, and all the prayers of all the priests in her church would not budge her one inch. I also reminded her of Felix who had put off salvation till a more convenient season and warned her against doing this; she didn’t know how soon she might be called into eternity.
She was visibly shaken as we spoke thus with her, and upon her return to her house, when Mme. Doucet asked her how she had found us, she replied, while pacing the floor and ringing her hands, “Oh, it was awfully disturbing and alarming, the way they spoke to me.” We didn’t realize at that time that she then had only about 9 months to live, and what a shock it was to us to then get the news that Mlle. Jeanne Aube had left this world after a sickness of only some days–possibly meningitis. She was only about 23 years of age. One little ray of hope concerning her is that not long before her death she had called on Mme. Doucet to get another New Testament to replace the one she had lost or discarded.
As for Mme. Doucet, what was her dismay when, not long after having ridiculed the idea of being born again, she found this very statement from John 3 quoted in her own massbook. “Our priests have never told us this,” she said. “These two young men are telling us the truth after all! I’ve never been born again and therefore cannot hope to enter the kingdom of God.”
For three days she was in deep distress, frequently pleading with God to grant her this “new birth,” and then the same Holy Spirit who had awakened her also enlightened her and filled her heart with peace and joy. We could see this in her countenance the next time we went to her home. After a while, hardly knowing just how to break the news to us, she came out with something like “I’m just like you are now!” and then gave us more details of her conversion as we talked with her.
For about three weeks we had nightly cottage meetings in the St. Gelais home, besides visits here and there. Several were saved. By this time, Mme. Doucet was speaking of Christ to everyone she met, and their son Edgard was also witnessing frequently to others.
Satan had to interfere now, using his ready agents, the priests, who were constantly after Mr. Doucet to use his influence as mayor, to get us out of the place. After a weekend fishing with a group including a priest, he had been convinced that his wife and others were becoming mentally unbalanced by our religion, and that we were using some magical influence on them, even putting drugs into their glasses. Mr. Doucet came therefore to see us at the St. Gelais home, and–quite excited, if not outright angry–he told us plainly that we were not to go to his home anymore. In our distress, we went out into the fields and into a little gully to be alone with God. On opening my Bible, I read “He looketh on the earth, and it trembleth: he toucheth the hills, and they smoke” (Isa. 104:32). It struck me that Mr. Doucet, being a prominent and influential person in the municipality, was comparable to one of these hills and that God would only need to look on or touch him and he would wither up.
On the Saturday afternoon of that same week, we had the visit of Mr. Joseph Pare, with whom we had spoken before in the Doucet home. He pretended to have several questions which he’d feel more free to ask us in his settler’s home back 2 or 3 miles in the bush and asked us if we would go there that evening.
We had little if any suspicion of foul play intended and looking for opportunities to present the gospel to anyone ready to listen, we agreed to go. It was now Saturday, August 26. The evenings were already getting a bit cool, and mention was made of taking our fall coats with us for the drive in a buggy. Before leaving, Mme. St. Gelais queried, “Are you not afraid they might do you some harm tonight back there in the bush?”
“Surely they don’t mean to do anything like that!” and then added rather jokingly, “but should they do so, it might be better if we didn’t have our coats with us; we could run faster without them.”
On arrival there, Mr. Pare played the real Judas, welcoming us with a smile; taking our hats and coats and giving us chairs beside the table. We couldn’t help but notice that things didn’t seem quite normal. Neither his wife nor children were present–only men and lads of varying ages who became increasingly restless as the hour advanced. After considerable coming in and going out by most of those present (who were also frequently whispering among themselves), we heard outside the motor of what later proved to be that of a truck.
Suddenly the door opened and in rushed a gang of howling, half-drunk men, their faces painted all colors and looking more like demons than men. At the same time, the men who had remained inside jumped up and joining the others, rushed on us both, seizing us by the arms. Calling to one another to search us well, they stuck their hands into our pockets. (Evidently the priests had told them that we’d likely have revolvers on us–being wicked men, they should take no chances with us.)
Having found no weapons, they then hollered loudly while holding on to us firmly: “Out with them now–we’ve got them in our hands–it’s long enough they’ve been around here causing trouble! Now we’re going to get rid of them! We’re Catholics here and we’ll always remain Catholics–out with them.”
We were bundled outside and heaved like animals onto the waiting truck–hired it seems by the still-beguiled dear Mr. Doucet. Noah felt that he’d never see his wife and children again, while I was fearing that they meant to take us to the village of Girardville and after making a public spectacle of us, throw us into the river.
My fears regarding this were relieved, however, when they didn’t turn in that direction. As we arrived near the corner where the Doucet home was, we thought to call out and let them know that we were on that truck, but at once our mouths were covered by hands coming from all sides. Our kidnappers, though, were loudly jubilant as they drove past the cheese factory and the St. Gelais home a little further down the road.
Having reached Albanel, a stop was made near the RC church where some men went to advise the priest–one of the main pushers of this whole thing–that they had their prey and ask what they should do with them now. While they were in there, Noah and I had a plain talk with the others, some of whom couldn’t hide their shame for the part they were taking in this criminal act.
When the men returned, the conversation went like this: “We have two propositions to offer you; on the condition that you take the first train away from here, we’ll drive you down as far as St. Felicien and leave you in a hotel overnight there, but you must never come back again. Tonight we’re treating you like gentlemen, but if you come back again, we’ll use our clubs on you.”
“What’s your other proposition?” They wouldn’t tell us. “Well, there are no police at St. Felicien; you’ll need to take us on to Roberval, for don’t forget that you’re taking the law into your own hands tonight.”
They laughed at that. “We’ve got the best law on our side–the priest and the mayor,” they replied. We were shortly off again on the remaining 18-20 miles to St. Felicien where, having awakened the town constable (for it was now about 11 pm) he came with them to the truck.
Addressing him, we said, “These men have taken us by force and brought us here, and if you’re the police in this town, it’s you, sir, who is responsible for our presence here from now on.” And when he hesitated following us with several of our abductors to the hotel, we said again to him, “Oh yes, you must come and have knowledge of everything that takes place, for don’t forget, it’s you who are now responsible for us from now on.”
He rather sheepishly concurred and we were led, like prisoners of war, by these men–still with their painted faces–right along the main street. While several kept guard over us, two or three others, having negotiated with a little aging Monsieur Coude, proprietor of the small hotel, came out and told us we could go in. They refused to leave until we had gone upstairs into our allotted room, which, as it had no lock on the door, we pushed the bed up against it before getting in, and after some time, we got a measure of sleep.
After awaking, we let the St. Gelais family know by phone where we were. After a meal, we found a man ready to drive us back to Girardsville–a brother of Mr. St. Gelais whom we had only met a few days previously. A group of the saved and interested ones gave us a warm reception back–as from the dead.
What to do now? For myself, having no doubt a good supply of “fighting blood” in me and still unmarried–I was ready to stay on and see this thing through, but the conviction of the others was that it might be wiser to withdraw for a while and allow the storm to calm down. We thus returned to St. Felicien and took the train the next day back to Montreal.
During that winter Mr. Doucet was saved while trapping in the bush, having learned they were lies that had been told against us and having regretted his part in the abduction. In the late winter, dear Mme. Doucet, anxious to obey the Lord in baptism, came to Montreal by train for this purpose.
By early June, we returned to Girardville and were met at the train by Mr. and Mme. Doucet. The next day several priests sent a petition around the parish, demanding the adoption of a resolution to expel from the municipality the “pretended Spreeman and his consort.” Although nearly all the councilors turned down the idea, one of them, a bitter fanatic, and his backers, threatened to take the matter into their own hands, gather a gang from several parishes, and bundle us out.
In this tense atmosphere we had a few baptisms, our first there. Later on a small assembly was established; a dissident school municipality had to be legally formed and then a school built. Then what a problem it was regarding burying the bodies of the first ones to pass away among us. We finally managed to establish a cemetery of our own. Quite a book could be written if all details of those early years were to be related. But by God’s grace an assembly was established there, which is still functioning. To the Lord belongs all the praise.