TRYING TIMES
The summer of 1884 was again a sickly one; a severe influenza cold
attacked almost everyone. The bishop had accomplished two visitation
tours, when a cry of distress came from Albany. The sickness was there;
many in the prime of life were dying. Archdeacon Vincent was himself ill.
The bishop went. Morning, noon and night he was by the bedside of the
sufferers, or making up medicines for them, till at length a change took
place; and after a stay of four or five weeks he was able to return to
Moose, taking with him Mr. Vincent and his eldest daughter.
It was September, and he was at once plunged in a whirl of business, for
the battered old ship had come again, and it had brought so many fine
packages of eatables and necessaries that every spare foot of the mission
premises was filled with them.
The ship was again nearly a month behind her time. For a thousand miles
she had contended with ice, and had been very severely handled. After she
had sailed on her return voyage the various autumn works were rapidly
proceeded with: garden produce was taken up; the cattle and byres were
made snug and taut; and for house and school 120 cords of wood were cut.
Then the Indians, who had spent three or four months at the station,
began to disperse, to shoot the geese and ducks so plentiful at that
season, and to hunt the fur-bearing animals, which had by this time
donned their valuable winter coats.
All are anxious to get to their winter quarters whilst the river is
available for the canoes. They assemble for a last Sunday service at the
station; family after family come to receive the bishop’s parting words
of counsel and advice; then the farewell is spoken. ‘Farewell,’ they say;
‘we will not forget.’ The last shake of the hand is given, and they go
to their homes in the wilderness, not to return until the spring, unless
some adverse or untoward circumstance compels them to come in.
Winter came. It set in severely, and much earlier than usual, preventing
the fall fishery, much depended upon for the supply of winter food. All
the more thankful was the bishop for the founding of the Moose store.
In January he wrote: ‘It is a very great relief to know that the food
is here. As to the store being put up, that must bide its time. Every
person has as much as he can do, myself included. Just now wood and fire
take precedence of everything else. Day after day chopping and hauling
are going on, while the disappearance of our immense piles of wood tells
pretty plainly of the difficulty we have in keeping up the necessary
warmth in our houses.’
The past year had been a very chequered one, outwardly full of trouble,
bad seasons, unprecedented storms, fatal epidemics, cases of starvation,
much to discourage and depress. Yet the bishop could write thankfully
that he had been enabled to labour so continuously in this inclement and
isolated land, he and his faithful band of assistants having visited
nearly the whole of the great diocese in the course of the year.
Everywhere the Gospel was received with readiness. ‘We have now no active
opposition,’ he says; ‘indeed, there are very few persons in the diocese,
except those in the far north, who have not been baptized, by far the
greater part into our own beloved Church. For those on the north-western
part of the bay a man admirably adapted for the work has been appointed
in the person of the Rev. J. Lofthouse, who longs, with God’s blessing,
to gather into Christ’s fold the Eskimo of that region, as the Rev. E. J.
Peck has done on the eastern side of the bay.
‘For the present winter Mr. Lofthouse is at York Factory, in the place
of Mr. Winter, who is in England on account of his wife’s health; but I
expect them back in the summer, when Mr. Lofthouse will go to his more
northern home.’
The Rev. E. J. Peck visited Fort George and Great Whale River, and
started from Little Whale River for the distant station of Ungava, at
the entrance of the Hudson’s Straits, to see the Indians and Eskimo of
that quarter. He was then to embark on board the Hudson’s Bay Company’s
steamer for Quebec, whence he was to proceed to England.
‘The Rev. H. Nevitt remained at Moose all the summer, conducting services
and school, and attending to the numerous needs of our large summer
population.
‘As soon as the river broke up, I set off for Long Portage House, a
station one hundred and twenty miles distant, on the way to Canada. The
Indians there are Ojibbeways, and as yet have not made much progress in
the religious life; but they received my message with attention, and I
trust will yet become emancipated from the superstitions which oppress
them. Returning from Long Portage House, I remained a short time at
Moose, and, making all necessary arrangements, went in my mission boat to
Rupert’s House, which I formerly visited yearly, and where I have long
wished to see a missionary permanently settled, and for which I had too
fondly hoped to see one arrive from England last autumn.
‘Sad troubles have come upon my much loved people there during the last
few years, numbers of them having died of starvation from the failure of
deer, which were formerly very numerous in their hunting-grounds. I trust
that such stories of misery and death as I was constrained to listen to
will never fall on my ears again. My mission was very successful, for I
was enabled not only to minister to all the Rupert’s House Indians and
residents, but likewise to the Indians of the far interior, who came in
the different trading brigades from Mistasinnee, Waswanepe, Machiskun,
and Nitchekwun. These are all Christians, many of them communicants,
and the greater part of them read and write the syllabic characters
very well. Rupert’s House is a great centre of trade, hence the vital
necessity of the establishment of a strong mission there.’
In returning from Rupert’s House on a former occasion, somewhat late
in the cold season, the bishop very nearly lost his life. He set off
in a cariole, with a train of dogs, accompanied by two young Indians,
travelling by night, to escape the danger of snow blindness from
the glare of the sun on the snow. They crossed Rupert’s Bay, and at
Cabbages Willows took breakfast with an Indian woman whose husband was
goose-hunting. After resting some hours they went on to the east point of
Hannah Bay, intending to cross that night, but the air had become warm,
and rain indicated a possible breaking up of the ice, so they reluctantly
turned into the woods and encamped. In the morning the weather was
again cold with a strong wind, so on they went. When they had reached
the middle of the bay, about ten miles from the nearest land, the guide
suddenly exclaimed:
‘What is this! the tide is coming in, and the ice is breaking up.’
They looked seaward, and saw mass after mass rise up on end and fall
again. The guide had a small stick in his hand; he struck the ice on
which they were standing, and it went through; clearly there was but a
step between them and death.
‘Get into the cariole at once!’ cried he, ‘and let us hurry back. We may
be saved yet!’
The bishop did so, and almost instantly the hinder part of the cariole
went through the ice into the sea. Faces blanched a little, but happily
the dogs seemed aware of the danger and made no halt, but hurried onward
as fast as they could go; there was no stoppage for a moment.
Running by the side of the cariole, one of his companions said to the
bishop:
‘Perhaps God is not pleased at your leaving the Indians so soon. Should
we get back safely, the Indians will be very glad to see you again, for
they are not tired of the teaching you gave them.’
In the afternoon they came to the Indian hut before alluded to. It was
full now; several hunters were there, and geese were abundant. They were
made very welcome, and sitting round the fire, all listened with wrapt
attention to the guide as he narrated the incidents of the day. When he
had finished they expressed their wonder and joy at the escape.
‘Not long afterwards,’ says the bishop, ‘I went out to have a look at
our surroundings. I soon came upon a curious sight: a high cross-like
erection with lines attached to it covered with bones of animals and
birds, and pieces of red and blue cloth and other things. I had never
seen anything of the kind before, and had no idea what it was intended
for. I called Wiskechan, the proprietor of the tent, and said, “What is
this?”
‘“Oh,” said he, “this is my _mistikokan_ (conjuring pole), which I shake
in this way when I do my conjuring.”
‘Looking solemnly at him, I replied, “I have come to tell you of better
things, of God’s willingness to give you all things through Jesus Christ,
His Son. If you wish to accept the message I have brought, you must give
up this.”
‘Without a moment’s hesitation he called for his axe, and instantly
chopped the pole down. What a glorious end to a day of danger! My
thanksgivings that night were very hearty. I slept in peace, surrounded
by my red-skin brethren, and a little after the next noontide was again
at Rupert’s House.’
Rupert’s House, which is called after Prince Rupert, cousin of King
Charles II., to whom and a band of associates the king granted a charter,
giving them exclusive rights to trade with the inhabitants of Hudson’s
Bay, is situated near the mouth of Rupert’s River, which empties itself
into the beautiful Hudson’s Bay, studded with picturesque islands. It
lies one hundred miles east of Moose, from which it is reached by a sea
voyage in summer along the southern shore of Hudson’s Bay, and by a
snow-shoe or cariole journey in winter.
As a fur-trading post it is of considerable importance, being the
head-quarters of a large district.
The posts dependent on it are East Main, Mistasinnee, Waswanepe,
Nitchekwun, and Machiskun; and every summer large canoes come from each
of those places, bringing all the furs collected during the previous
twelve months, and taking back with them full loads of bags of flour,
chests of tea, casks of sugar, bales of cloth, kegs of gunpowder,
shot, cases of guns, and all the other etceteras which comprise an
Indian’s wants. The furs are examined, counted and sorted, made up into
large bales, shipped on board the Moose schooner, and taken to Moose,
where they remain until they are put on board the yearly ship, to be
transported to England.
At Rupert’s House the number of residents in the service of the Hudson’s
Bay Company was about fifty; these were all half-castes, but speaking
English as well as if born in England. They were very well conducted,
several of them were communicants; ‘and although there is not yet, I am
sorry to say,’ wrote the bishop at that time, ‘a resident clergyman among
them, all are punctual in their attendance at an English service held for
them by their trader every Sunday.
‘The Indians did number somewhat over three hundred, but for the last
few years they have suffered greatly from a failure of food. And many
of them have been starved to death. All are now Christians, but when I
first went to them they were in a sad state of heathenism; their minds
were very dark, and their deeds corresponded thereto. They were devoted
to conjuring, having the most superstitious dread of the conjurer’s
power. Their sick they never burdened themselves with for any length of
time; there was the unfailing remedy of relief, the bowstring; for death
required no attention save the burying of the body. Parents, as soon
as they became dependent on their children, were subjected to the same
operation. Murder for gain was rife; indeed, I could hardly point to
any place better adapted to illustrate the text, “The dark places of the
earth are full of the habitations of cruelty,” than Rupert’s House. But
of many of the Indians it might now be said, “But ye are washed, but ye
are sanctified.” All are baptized.
‘In consequence of the immensity of my charge, I am not able to visit
Rupert’s House as I did formerly every summer. When my canoe was seen
approaching, every man, woman, and child would leave their tents, and
come and stand on the river’s bank to see their “father,” as they called
me, and, if possible, to get a shake of his hand. For some years we had
no church, but assembled in a large upper room kindly placed at our
disposal. Within a short time of my arrival, it was always packed as full
as it could hold, and so it would be two or three times every day of my
stay. And then every family came to me privately, and we talked over the
events of the previous winter: how they had been off for food; whether
furs had been plentiful or not; who had been sick, and who had died; how
they had followed their religious duties; what instruction they had given
their children. The whole family history of the year was gone through,
and reproof, commendation, or encouragement given, as the case required.
‘How full of work was every day, and every minute of every day! From six
o’clock in the morning until nearly nine at night, except at meal times,
it was work, work, work; but what blessed work! How the people responded
to every call! It was work which made me bless God for calling me to
enjoy so high a privilege. And many see things now with a much clearer
eye than when they were ministered to by His servant. He directed them to
the Master, and into the Master’s presence they have entered.’
The bishop was more and more desirous to be able to place a missionary
permanently at Rupert’s House. The Rev. H. Nevitt, who had already made
acquaintance with the station, would have liked to be located there, but
he could not be spared from Moose until someone came to take his place.
The ‘someone’ expected had not come out in the last year’s ship, and was
still anxiously looked for.
In July the bishop visited Martin’s Falls, a canoe voyage of three
hundred miles from Albany. The Indians here he found not very
satisfactory, being steeped much more deeply in heathenism than any
others in the diocese, not very accessible, remaining at the station no
longer than was necessary for their trading purposes. He determined to
place a resident catechist there. He then went on two hundred and fifty
miles further, by a most difficult route, to Osnaburgh, situated on a
large and beautiful lake. Here, morning, noon, and night, the teaching
went on. The bishop’s heart was gladdened to see that God was blessing
the work, and he made up his mind to appoint one of his divinity students
as pastor at the post; in the meantime he left a trusty native agent,
himself an Osnaburgh Indian, in charge.
In 1886 this man writes as follows:
‘I wish to tell you I am doing the work you wanted me to do.
Only some of the Osnaburgh Indians listen to me. I am always
going about. Last fall I went very far to see the Cranes; they
are good people, and say prayers morning and evening. I wish
you would let Queen Victoria know that I am teaching her people
to serve and fear God and to love Jesus.
‘JAMES UMBASI.’
In July the Rev. J. Peck returned from his visit to England, bringing
with him a wife. They remained for the time with the bishop. The Moose
Church, or Cathedral, had been enlarged by means of a new chancel; the
hundred seats thereby gained were a great comfort to the congregation.
‘It is a long time,’ says the bishop, ‘since I felt happier than on the
dedication day.’
Ship time was again approaching, not quite so anxious a time, now that a
year’s provision in advance was safely stored on the mission premises.
The poor would not want, and the missionary would be fed. But how little
did any think how greatly those stores would be needed this year!
The ship, the Princess Royal, came; she discharged her precious cargo,
consisting of all the necessaries for all the inhabitants of South
Moosonee; and then she reloaded with bales of furs, huge bags of
feathers, and hogsheads of oil. She left her anchorage, and got out
over the long and crooked bar at the mouth of the river. She was then
assailed by a terrible storm of three days’ duration, which drove her
back over the bar again, and ashore on an extensive sand-bank. Here she
was fiercely buffeted by the sea, and threatened to part asunder. The
life-boat was lowered, and into it got the pilot, the second mate, and
ten of the crew, who succeeded in reaching the schooner Martin, which lay
at anchor in the river.
The captain and remainder of the crew were to follow in the pinnace,
but the risk for the pinnace was greater than that for the life-boat,
therefore they decided on remaining by the ship. The vessel was half full
of water, and after a night of anxious watching they were taken ashore by
the Martin. The vessel lay a total wreck about fourteen miles from Moose.
All was done that could be done for the shipwrecked mariners. The men
were taken into the employ of the Hudson’s Bay Company, one of the
carpenter’s shops being fitted up for their accommodation. Their own
cook prepared their meals. Mr. Peck was appointed chaplain to them, his
sailor experiences especially fitting him for the service. The bishop and
his divinity students held night-school for them twice a week, teaching
navigation, reading, writing, and arithmetic, closing always with singing
and study of the Scriptures and prayer.
All behaved well; the captain set his men an excellent example; never
being absent from his place in church as long as he remained at the
station.
In the midst of all this, the bishop was still occupied in his important
translation work. He had in the summer examined and revised an edition of
the _Pilgrim’s Progress_ into Cree, by the Rev. J. Vincent.
He hoped to be able to send the work home by the next ship, to be
printed. The names of some of the characters in this work are remarkable
for their length in the Cree dress. Christian is the same as in English,
but Hopeful is Opuhosalems; Faithful is Atapwawinewen; Little Faith,
Tapwayaletumowineshish; Evangelist is Miloachemowililew; Save-all is
Misewamunachetow; Money-love is Sakeskooleanas; Worldly Wisdom is
Uskewekutatawaletumowilileu! ‘I think,’ says the bishop, commenting on
the translation, ‘that the Indians of Moosonee will be as well able
to appreciate and enjoy this wondrous book as the generality of their
English brethren.’ The work was printed with the help and through the
agency of the Religious Tract Society (the friend and helper of all
evangelical workers); and we give a specimen of it, that our readers may
see what the printed page is like.
In March 1885, the bishop had at last been able to commence the erection
of a new and large building in which to place the winter stores.
[Illustration: A PAGE OF THE CREE ‘PILGRIM’S PROGRESS’]
‘We have been logging,’ he wrote; ‘I have two men and a boy cutting logs,
and sawing them with large pit saws. They are working at Maidman Island,
three miles distant. We shall not be able to get our boards home until
open water, but when the sawing is completed we shall get on with the
frame.’
April brought with it a second epidemic of influenza; the packeters
returning from Abbitibbe with the letters conveyed it to Moose. Everyone,
except a few Europeans, was attacked, and work was at a standstill. Many
deaths resulted, and the bishop’s heart was sad. The poor folks at Moose
had been disappointed too by the failure of grey geese and wavies, as
well as the beautiful snow-buntings, which generally come in clouds, just
before the geese. The bishop greatly feared that when the Indians came in
from their hunting-grounds they would all take the dreaded influenza, and
that their tents would become the scene of disease and misery.
On May 8 the great guns, the break-up signal, were fired. The Indians
follow the ice down, and so as soon as the passage was practicable canoe
after canoe appeared opposite Bishop’s Court, and the bank was alive with
men, women, children, and dogs. ‘There they were,’ says the bishop, ‘just
as well as when they went in the autumn. We soon entered the house of
prayer to thank our Heavenly Father for the loving care He had exercised
towards those who for so many months had had their home amongst the
gloomy forests of Moosonee. Each family was then seen apart, and I was
made acquainted with the whole history of the winter.
‘In June a dispersion took place, when most of the men manned the boats
which take the supplies to the stations in the interior, and most of
their wives and families going off to the fishing-stations, only to
come in on Saturday to take part in the Sunday services. The morning of
departure presented a busy scene—from the store issued the men, carrying
bags of flour, kegs of pork and gunpowder, bales of cloth, calico, and
leather, cases of guns, chests of tea, and all the things mentioned in a
trader’s inventory. All is snugly packed in the boats, the signal given,
and they push off from the launch. It is a pretty sight, the men are
all standing up, and their long ironclad poles for a time rise together
as they force their respective boats forward, bending to the work, and
putting forth their strength.
‘Two of the boats were under the guidance of Jacob Mekwatch, “our prince
of hunters.” The other three boats were under the charge of James Gideon,
another excellent Indian and good hunter, who had several men among his
crews who could conduct a service and deliver a very good address—for
all of the most intelligent Indians are trained to do this, so that
when there is no clergyman at the place one of them may be able to lead
his fellow Indians in worship. All looked well, no one complained. But
many days had not elapsed before influenza attacked the boats’ crews;
one after the other of the poor men succumbed, and was brought back to
be under medical care. James Gideon became so ill that it was feared he
would die, and many of his crew were but little better. It was a sad
time, for many were taken ill so far up the river that it was judged best
for them to remain with the boats. Happily, though there was so much
sickness, there were no deaths. It was a sad, sad time.’
But brighter days dawned at last. Entrusting the station to Mr. Nevitt’s
care, the bishop started on a long visitation tour, from which he did not
return till late in the autumn.