THE BISHOPRIC OF MOOSONEE
The summer of 1872 passed. On September 13 of that year Mr. Horden wrote
to the present writer: ‘Your much prized letter reached me a day or two
before I set out on one of my longest and most trying journeys, from
which I have but just returned. I took your letter with me, and indulged
myself with an occasional perusal of it; it has been to many of the posts
of the country, has journeyed over some of our terrible portages, and has
sailed over many a lake through the “forgotten land,” as it may well be
called, for it is waiting, and will long wait, to be taken possession of.
The Indians cannot be said to hold possession, they are so few in number,
and the country is so vast, that one unacquainted with it can have no
conception of its extent. Fancy travelling a whole fortnight, and during
that time not seeing one hundred persons. A feeling of great sadness
sometimes crept over me as my solitary canoe glided over the bosom of
some beautiful sea-like lake; myself and canoe-men were alone in the
wilderness. I shall (D.V.) write you again in February, when I hope to
send you as usual a “little budget.”’
Little did the hero of our history imagine when he wrote those last
lines that a new era was even then about to open in his eventful life.
Our readers, who have thus far followed his steps with interest, will
learn, we feel assured, with heartfelt sympathy, that the well-tried and
devoted missionary, the faithful friend and pastor of his flock during so
many years, was now to become the missionary bishop of the newly-formed
diocese of Moosonee, formerly a portion of the enormous diocese of
Rupertsland. At short notice he started for England, leaving wife and
children at Moose, for he was not to be long absent. He was consecrated
at Westminster Abbey on December 15, 1872.
In the few short months which he spent at home the new bishop pleaded
hard, and not without response, for assistance to carry out his plans
for advancing and consolidating his former work in what was henceforth
to be his diocese, stretching 1,500 miles from east to west and north
to south, inhabited by Crees, Ojibbeways and Eskimo, together with some
Europeans and half-castes. As a missionary he had the joy of witnessing
the conversion of the greater part of those children of the wilderness,
and now, as a missionary bishop, his heart was set on the raising up of a
native ministry, supported as far as possible by native resources.
In this some progress had already been made. His plan was to divide
the diocese into five districts, each of them superintended by a fully
qualified pastor, who would be assisted by two or three other Indian
clergymen, whose training would be confined to a thorough knowledge of
their Bibles and Prayer-books in their own language. These men would
accompany the members of their own tribes to their hunting-grounds, and
as they would be able in a great measure to support themselves, they
would require but a comparatively small allowance for their maintenance.
This was his purpose, and what he purposed he had with the Divine
assistance, which he ever sought, never yet failed to carry out.
All praise to Thee, my Father and my God.
Thus far Thy love has brought me on life’s road;
Day after day Thy mercy was renewed,
Night after night my safety been secured.
...
More like to Jesus I would daily grow,
Through whom redemption, love, and mercy flow;
More loving, holy, generous, resigned,
Thoughtless of self, the friend of all mankind.
Thus was the newly consecrated bishop moved to sing.
At home in Moose again, with his dear wife and children, Bishop Horden
hastened to buckle to his beloved work; but he found time to write a
graphic account of his homeward journey, in which he had as his companion
his second daughter, who had just left school; the eldest was already
at Moose. They travelled _viâ_ New York to Michipicoton, and thence
the remainder of the long, long journey by canoe, ‘encamping,’ wrote
the bishop, ‘in woods under a canvas marquee, waited on by Indians,
travelling through perfect solitudes for days without seeing any human
being other than our crew. It was on the morning of Tuesday, July 8,
that we stepped into our canoe, having four Indian companions. We went
up the river slowly against the stream. Then came a long portage, where
we carried everything, and this detained us many hours; then on and on
till night. Then we put ashore, lit our fire, erected our tent, fried our
pancakes, boiled our kettles, made our beds, and having partaken of a
good supper, we assembled our men around us, and they knelt in prayer to
the Father in heaven; then, shutting the tent’s frail door, we lay down
to rest.
‘The feeling was strange: so many months had elapsed since the ground
had been my bed. Sleep did not come at once, and thoughts were busy on
the past and the future. Presently I slept soundly until the early morn,
when we were awakened to pursue our way. We were off by five o’clock,
and during the day travelled mostly among large lakes. There were no
birds, no creatures of any kind visible, except when we were crossing the
portages, and here we saw quite enough of the dreaded mosquito. On the
third day we came upon two men engaged in erecting a house, which was
to be a trading post in opposition to the great traders of the country,
the Hudson’s Bay Company. On our fifth night, when we were not very far
from New Brunswick, we were so troubled by mosquitoes that we could get
no sleep, and we were not at all sorry when the light of the early morn
allowed us to pursue our way over a bare and swampy portage.
‘This ended, we once more got into our canoe, and in a few hours found
ourselves at the little post of New Brunswick. Here were some Indians,
but not very many, and with them I spent the day, praying with and
teaching them. They are as yet mere infants in the faith, knowing but
little; but I would fain hope that much good has been already effected
by the preaching of the Gospel. They were very low, but some among them
have already been baptized, and are walking consistently. The new trader
they have among them is an old friend, who takes deep interest in the
spiritual welfare of those who come to him for the purposes of trade.
‘Work done, we once more entered our canoe, passed through Brunswick Lake
out into the broad Brunswick branch of the Moose River, and here our real
troubles began. It rained heavily for several days. It was bad enough in
the canoe, but it was much worse on the portages. Fancy a narrow rough
path through the woods, with thick bushes on either side, and the path
deep in mud and water. I was much afraid my dear daughter Chrissie would
suffer from such exposure, but she bore up cheerfully, and proved herself
an expert traveller.
‘When the portages were passed we had 150 miles further to go; but the
wind became fair, and we almost flew over the water. On Tuesday morning,
July 22, we rounded the head of Moose Island, and our home stood before
us. There was a great running and calling, and a hoisting of flags. The
guns gave their loud welcome, and the dear ones who had been left behind
came out to greet us; and there was joy—deep, oh, how deep and grateful!
for God had indeed dealt very graciously with us. Our first evening
passed. It has left the impression of a pleasant dream. I cannot record
our sayings and doings—our exclamations, our tones of joy and sorrow as
we spoke of this friend’s success, or that one’s distress: of this one
being born, and that one dying; it was an evening unique in our history.
We had no “pemmican,” for we are not in the land of the buffalo; it is an
article of food unknown here. Neither had we “salt goose,” a viand which
takes the place of the pemmican; we had something better for that evening!
‘I at once set to work; life is too short and precious to waste much of
it; and since then every day has been crowded. I sometimes scarcely know
what to do first, and yet I find time to sit down and write a line or two
to a friend. The way I manage it is this. I get my work of translation
forward by devoting to it a few extra hours daily, knowing that a packet
time will come, and that it is necessary that every hour of packet week
must be given up to writing; the bonds of Christian friendship must not
be lightly broken. The translation work is very heavy and trying. This
is what I have accomplished since I returned in July: I have revised
our Indian hymn-book, adding to it a large number of new hymns. I have
translated all the first lessons between the tenth Sunday after Trinity
and the first Sunday in Lent, as well as some for many of the holy days.
What I wish to accomplish is the Psalter, the first lessons, and the New
Testament, to be bound up in one volume. If I go on as I have done, I may
get the whole ready in twelve months from this time. I shall give myself
no rest until my people have the whole of the Word of God in their hands.’
Thus the good bishop worked on, happy in the conviction that if things
were not hurrying onward to perfection, they were at least moving slowly
in the right direction—his exertions being helped by his Heavenly Father,
to whom he attributed all progress.