ORGANISATION AND TRAVEL
The marked feature of the year 1875 was the organisation of the four
dioceses, into which the old diocese of Rupertsland was divided, into
an ecclesiastical province, the first synod of which was held in the
beginning of August. This necessitated the bishop’s going to Winnipeg,
Red River, a journey of fifteen hundred miles. ‘In going I visited the
stations of New Brunswick, Misenabe, and Michipicoton. At New Brunswick
much progress is being made; most of the Indians are now baptized, and as
the present agent of the Hudson’s Bay Company there is a great friend of
missions, and one who will do all in his power for the spiritual benefit
of those attached to his trading post, I hope it will not be long before
heathenism will have taken its entire departure, and Christianity be the
professed religion of that important portion of my charge. From all the
stations I receive good reports, but before that advance can be made for
which we so deeply long, we must have more labourers. We are so few, and
the field is so large. In the autumn the mission was strengthened by the
arrival of the Rev. J. H. Keen from England, and a valuable gift he is
proving himself to be. I trust another man equally good will be sent next
autumn.
‘In May I hope to set apart Mr. Saunders, a native of the country, for
the work of the ministry among his countrymen (the Ojibbeways). Thus I
shall be enabled to occupy three most important posts, so that, should
I further carry out my plans, I shall consider that I have the diocese
tolerably well in hand. The places I hope to occupy are Rupert’s House,
to which an immense extent of country looks as its head; Matawakumma,
which will guard the frontier from Roman Catholic encroachment; and Whale
River, opening up communication with the interesting but much neglected
Eskimo of the north-eastern coast of Hudson’s Bay. Another place, Flying
Post, I had likewise hoped to supply with a permanent competent teacher,
but the man intended for it, a pure Indian, will not be ready this year.’
The Rev. J. H. Keen had been assisting the bishop at Moose, but the
people at Rupert’s House were still without a missionary, so at Christmas
he was given up to them, and the bishop took the work at Moose Fort
alone. The Christmas Day services began ere the stars had disappeared
from the firmament, and continued till late in the afternoon. ‘After
this,’ he writes, ‘I felt considerably fatigued, but a cup of tea revived
me, and I spent a quietly happy evening with my wife and youngest
children.’
In the following summer the bishop joined Mr. Keen at Rupert’s House.
‘Among those who came down to meet me,’ he says, ‘were our old friends
Matamashkum, Wapunaweshkum, Snuffers, and many others. Our joy was mutual.
‘Soon arrived the brigades from Mistasinnee, Waswanepe, and Nitchekwun,
hundreds of miles up the Rupert’s River. We were busy morning, noon,
and night. Every moment was employed, for these children of ours would
have but a few days’ intercourse with their father, and then would again
return to their distant homes. We had marriages to perform, many children
to baptize, candidates for confirmation to prepare, communicants to
instruct, the disobedient to rebuke. There was not much of this, however,
and the days ran rapidly and happily on. The Psalter, beautifully printed
from my translation, had come to us the previous ship time, and the
Indians were delighted. After a little while it was most cheering to hear
how well they read together their appointed portions. They gave me a
very good collection, a good number of beaver; that is to say, they did
not give me a large pile of beaver skins, but our native teacher, Jacob
Matamashkum, had made a list of all the Indians, and after each name he
had written down the man’s contribution in beaver. When the list was
completed it was given to the resident trader, who credited me with three
shillings for each beaver. Altogether it amounted to a considerable sum.’
Some time after this the bishop made a voyage in the Mink to Big River
and Great Whale River, both on the eastern coast of Hudson’s Bay. At
Great Whale River the work was of a varied character, amongst Indians,
Eskimo, and English. The Eskimo were assembled in some numbers for the
whale fishery. But it was not a success that season. The whales, or
rather porpoises, remained outside the river, and would not come in. ‘A
whale fishery when the whales are numerous is a very exciting sight. I
myself,’ says the bishop, ‘have engaged in a fishery in which a thousand
were killed, but that was many years ago. The Eskimo gave much cause for
encouragement; no matter what they were about, when summoned to school or
service the work was dropped instantly, their little books were taken up,
and off they trotted, singing, listening, praying; they showed that they
were thoroughly in earnest.’
‘How grieved was my heart that I had no one to leave behind who might
take the Eskimo as his special charge!’ says the bishop. But the man
desired was even then approaching Moose Fort in the annual ship. It was
Mr. Peck, a layman, who had spent some of the earlier years of his life
as a sailor. ‘It was by searching the Scriptures in my mess on board one
of H.M.’s vessels that the light shone into my darkened soul; it was
then I knew its truth,’ he says. The bishop was much pleased with the
earnestness and evident fitness for the work of the young missionary.
After remaining at Moose only a week, the latter set out in a boat with
three or four Indians for his distant and lonely home. After a few months
he returned to Moose to be ordained.
‘The two events of the winter,’ writes the bishop, February 1878, ‘have
been the children’s school-treat and the ordination of Mr. Peck.
The treat was a great success. Fifty-six partook of our hospitality.
We divided them into two parties on two successive evenings; I never
saw children enjoy themselves more. We had many games to amuse them,
finishing each evening with a religious service. Edward Richards, one
of the Coral Fund _protégés_, is with us, assisting generally in the
mission. He has done good work this winter in giving instruction to Mr.
Peck in the Indian language. My son is spending the winter with us,
cheering us much, and assisting in the work. In the summer he takes his
mother, Beatrice, and Bertie to England, the two latter to go to school.
I am afraid I shall find a bachelor’s life here rather hard.’
On May 10, 1878, the bishop, with heartfelt thanksgiving, ordained Mr.
Peck deacon and priest. ‘He left us,’ writes Mr. Horden on June 18,
‘with our deepest sympathy and our most earnest prayers. He left us well
prepared for his work, and with a good insight into the two difficult
native languages he will be in constant contact with, the Cree and the
Eskimo. He is full of zeal—zeal tempered with prudence, and I think that,
should his life be spared, a noble career is before him. The surroundings
of his home are very desolate, and he needs all the help and sympathy we
can give him.’
This summer was spent as usual in almost constant travel by the bishop,
who still had not been from end to end of his vast diocese. The station
next in importance to Moose at that time was York Factory, but he had
never yet seen it, owing to the great distance. This summer he visited
Albany. Although it was the end of June, ice was still lying on the coast
when he set out in a large canoe, accompanied by six Indians. The way lay
along the western shore of James’ Bay. The scenery is very dreary, the
coast low and flat, not a hill to be seen. At the end of three days he
found himself ‘at a very small village, consisting of the residence of
the fur trader, a nice church, a good parsonage, a few well-built houses,
and a number of Indian tents.’
‘I was most heartily welcomed,’ he writes. ‘It was late in the evening
when I got out of the canoe, and the next morning early I entered the
church for service. The Rev. Thomas Vincent, who has built both his
house and church, principally with his own hands, is most indefatigable.
I saw no heathen Indians here, I heard no Indian drums, I beheld no
superstitious rites, but I heard hymns of praise rising to heaven. A
large number had been prepared for confirmation, and many knelt at the
Lord’s table.’
After a stay of a fortnight’s duration the bishop returned to Moose,
and started for Matawakumma, 500 miles distant, where the Rev. John
Saunders, a native, like Mr. Vincent, of Albany, was now located.
Matawakumma means, ‘the lake of the meeting of the waters.’ It is a large
lake, irregular in outline, surrounded by woods. The first thing which
strikes the visitor on approaching the station is the neat little church
perched on a rising ground, like a beacon set on a hill, the rallying
point for the little band of Ojibbeway Indians of the neighbourhood.
Then the residence of the fur-trader comes in sight, the store and
other buildings, and the modest parsonage-house, with its garden and
accessories. The whole way from Moose the bishop saw not more than a
dozen people. The journey took rather more than a fortnight. The road was
a broad river, impeded in its course by many rapids and shoals, and by
numerous waterfalls, some of which are very beautiful.
‘Various portages had been made, and we were going on, as we thought,
safely,’ writes the bishop, ‘when suddenly there is a heavy crash, and
the water comes rushing into the canoe. We had come with force upon a
rock, which had made a great hole in the bark. We paddle to the shore as
fast as possible, take everything out of the canoe and begin repairing
it. One goes to a birch tree and cuts off a large piece of bark, another
digs up some roots and splits them, a third prepares some pitch, and in
the course of an hour or two the bark is sewn into the bottom of the
canoe, the seams are covered with pitch, and we are once more loading our
little vessel.
‘At the end of our second week we come to an encampment of Indians. It is
Sunday, and we stay and spend the day with them. They are old friends,
Henry Martyn and his wife and others. Indians who are Christians,
baptized and communicants. Indians who can give a reason for the hope
which is in them. Indians who can read their books and write their
letters, and who may be depended upon quite as much as any Europeans.
[Illustration: SHOOTING A RAPID]
‘Early on Monday morning we are once more in our canoe, and soon get into
Matawakumma Lake, in which we paddle for five hours in very heavy rain.
Soaked quite through, we feel not a little glad to step ashore on the
friendly beach, and find ourselves once more with civilised man.’
And ere long the time came for the bishop’s sore trial of parting with
wife and children. The two youngest must go to an English school.
But ‘who was to take them?’ he writes. ‘There was no one but their
dear mother, and although it was hard to part with her in this dreary
and solitary land, it was absolutely necessary; and they were to be
accompanied by my eldest son, Dr. Horden, who had spent the winter with
us. Our annual ship came early, and the party was to start in her on her
return voyage. I spent one night on board. Next morning, at an early
hour, the ship’s guns told us that the voyage had commenced. I remained
until after breakfast, and then, after a sorrowful farewell, I left in a
boat, and in a few minutes found myself on the deck of the schooner bound
for Fort George.
‘Now the way to Fort George is, in part, the way to England, and so the
two vessels started in company. The day was beautiful, the wind was fair,
and we made good progress; but the great ship, spreading more canvas,
gradually got ahead—late in the evening she was about twelve miles
distant, and I thought we had seen the last of her. That night and the
next day the weather was very wild and disagreeable, but the day, after
all, was once more prosperous, and soon after breakfast we espied our
huge companion a few miles to the west of us. She drew towards us, and
when we saw the last of her, as night came on, she was about ten miles
ahead.
‘The following day we should easily have reached our destination had the
weather been clear; as it was, we could not venture near the dangerous
coast. On Sunday the weather cleared up, the high land of Wastekan Island
came in sight, and by-and-by the low and dangerous lead islands. Then the
wild and uninviting land all around showed we were at the mouth of Big
River, the tortuous channel of which we carefully threaded, and at four
o’clock we dropped anchor in front of the little village, consisting only
of six or eight houses.
‘I was agreeably surprised to find a large number of my red friends
assembled on the beach to greet me. I at once collected them together,
and we had a most interesting service. Later in the evening we had the
English-speaking people and the crew of our vessel, making altogether
quite a respectable congregation. On Friday morning we had to say
good-bye, and once more go on board. The next day was dark and dismal,
the wind blowing a hurricane, while the sea ran mountains high. At noon
we caught a momentary sight of land, but we were obliged to stand out,
as we could not see our way through the tortuous course to Moose. No one
on board slept a moment that night. The storm abated in the morning,
and at daybreak we were once more sailing in the right direction; in
the afternoon the wind was very light, and a little after six o’clock
we landed at Moose. I made my way to my own house; the loved ones, who
were accustomed to greet me with such joy on my return, were far away,
battling with the great Atlantic waves.... They were gone, and it ill
became me to sit down and mope; so I set to work to drive melancholy
away. More work came upon me than I had calculated upon.
‘This was the only winter that Mr. Saunders, the Ojibbeway clergyman,
could be at Moose for a long time, and I could not translate into the
Ojibbeway tongue without his assistance. We first attacked the Moosonee
hymn-book. This finished, we commenced the Prayer-book, and having
finished the morning prayers we put it aside to get one of the Gospels
done. The great diversity of languages in the diocese vastly increases
our labour—Cree, Ojibbeway, Chipwyan, and Eskimo—and there must be
separate translations for each. The English school, too, I manage myself,
with over thirty scholars. They are a happy lot, very well behaved,
with a great love for their school—as a proof of which I need only say
that there has been scarcely an absentee for the winter. All this,
with sermons, visiting my people, correspondence, which grows instead
of diminishing, keeps me thoroughly employed every day from morning to
night. The winter hitherto has been a very mild one. When it stands at or
a little above zero, we consider it decidedly warm.
‘Of all I received last ship time nothing gladdened my eyes more than the
sight of a box of Eskimo books in the syllabic character, printed from
manuscript sent home the previous year. I can fancy with what delight
Mr. Peck pounced on them, and with what gratification the Eskimo beheld
the raising of the lid which exposed to view so much spiritual food. Our
native library is becoming extensive, new books being added every year.
There is no language without literature. It is blessed work supplying the
aborigines of any country with the Word of Life; that Word which reveals
to them Jesus, and raises them in spiritual things to a level with the
most polished and civilised nations on earth.’