Untouched Bible

There is a Bible in Upper British Columbia that has a curious history. No illumination on the letters decorate its pages; tooled leathers have given no beauty to the covers. But in the district it is prized above all others. For when disaster came, when angry waters swept through the village of Usk, that Bible, of all that stood within the church, came through unharmed.

The village of Usk is about a hundred miles inland from Prince Rupert, the northern seaport of the Pacific coast province. In the latter days of May of 1936 the Skeena River rose to levels unknown in the records of the white men. Then destruction and desolation swept down on the community and wrecked the village. Close by the river bank stands the Marsh Memorial Church: a building raised in honour of the late Canon T. J. Marsh, who, throughout a long life, devoted himself to missionary work in the wilder places of Canada.

For some years Canon Marsh lived to see the new church serving his people. Its use was made available for services conducted by ministers of any and all denominations; in that church, men, far from their homes and lands, worshiped God in their accustomed manners. The church furnishings were simple-a small organ provided the music. Some chairs were used for pews, and by re-arrangement were formed into Sunday School classrooms. On the platform stood a small table. It was covered with a fair linen cloth, and on it rested a Bible that had been loaned by a lady who lived in the village.

In the latter days of May 1936 the great interior plateau that forms the headwaters of the Skeena was drenched with rain, intense heat followed close on the heels of the downpour. The rain had softened the snows that still lay in that northern country. When the sun came out and for long days baked on that swift melting came. The snow slides, packed deeply on the lower slopes, melted at a rate unknown in the previous records. Water came down the river in such volume that the Kitselas Canyon, a narrow rocked walled gulch - some two miles downstream from Usk was unable to carry away the flood.

For days the long hours of shimmering heat continued, and the nights - usually cool - offered little relief from the scorching airs. On May 30th, the water came over the banks at Usk. That evening it rose ten feet in a few hours.

The people of the village, driven from their homes, took refuge on high ground on which stood the school. Here, with the flood surging through the village, they stood and saw havoc wrought to their homes and goods. The angry water swept past them at twenty miles an hour; every hour spelt some new disaster for that place. Some saw their homes torn away from the foundations, to be dashed to pieces as they were carried down the river. Others, whose homes were not completely destroyed, saw their houses battered and broken by great trees that came down in the debris of the flood. One house, lifted by the torrent, was save when it lodged against the upstream side of the church. For that home, at least, the church stood as a pillar of strength.

For days the village was completely isolated. Roads were washed out. The railway track was flooded and broken. Telegraph and telephone wires had gone down in the swirling waters. Some food had been saved as the water came up, but many were without supplies. On special Constable Guy Taft fell the duty of organizing a communal camp where all shared alike, and those who were sick were given all the care that was available.

At last, after several days of privation, the people saw the flood receding. Soon parties were out on the water and making for their homes to have a closer view of the damage that had been done. Constable Taft was the first man to reach the church. Inside he found wreckage strewn all around. Chairs were broken. The organ had moved from its place and now lay on its side.

With one exception the scene was one of confusion. But, in the place where the organ had been before the flood came, the small table stood upright. The wood showed the effects of the prolonged soaking. The linen cloth was stained with the silt and the mud of the river. BUT, ON THE TOP, STILL LAY THE BIBLE. Through those days of terror the table had floated in the Church. Swirling waters had caught and spun it around. It had collided with other articles of the furniture, but through it all the waters had never lapped the table’s edge. No sudden jar had disturbed the Holy Book. The Bible, alone of all that had been in that church, remained unspotted; untouched.

Written by: Will Robinson
Birch-lands
Terrace, BC, Canada