THE PACKET MONTH
‘February is the most interesting month of the year to us; it is the
“Packet Month,” the month in which we have our one communication with the
outer world during the dreary months of our long winter. On the third day
of the month, 1886, we had two arrivals—Mr. Broughton and Mr. Vincent,
the agents from Rupert’s House and Albany—each bringing the “packet”
of his respective district. The news was generally good, but from the
smallest post of all—English River—came the saddest possible. Three
children of the only resident there, the whole of whom were in robust
health in the autumn, were cut off by diphtheria in the course of eleven
days, in the beginning of winter.
[Illustration: AN INDIAN TRAVELLING ON SNOW-SHOES]
‘On the 5th, a little after breakfast, the “packeters” were espied
crossing the river, in snow-shoes. Directly they arrived their precious
load was transferred to the Hudson’s Bay Company offices; there hammers
and chisels, seized by willing hands, soon knocked the covers from
the boxes, and the work of distribution commenced. All my letters are
thrown upon the table; the eye travels along them somewhat nervously,
brightening as this and that well-known hand is seen, looking with sad
inquiry at such as are black-edged, and disappointedly anxious if those
expected most are not forthcoming. The receiving of letters is good;
the answering of them, when they are many in number, is great drudgery.
Telephones have not come our way yet, and the nearest telegraph office is
about four hundred miles distant.
‘On the 7th the break-up of our party commenced. Mr. Broughton started
for Albany. In the evening the packet was closed, and the next morning
the “packeters” once more turned their faces southwards, and set out on
their three hundred miles’ tramp to Abbitibbe; thence the packet will be
forwarded to Temiscamingue and Matawa, and twelve days more will take it
to England.’
In March Mr. Nevitt left Moose Fort for Rupert’s House, with the purpose
of at length establishing a permanent mission at that station. ‘For many
years I had longed, with a most earnest longing, to see a missionary
established there, until the heart was beginning to grow sick, and at
last I determined to give up all help here at Moose, rather than allow
my dear hungering people to remain longer without a shepherd to watch
over them. I therefore told Mr. Nevitt to prepare for departure. This was
neither unexpected nor disagreeable to him. A train of dogs and a sledge
arrived from Rupert’s House, which, after a few days’ stay here, were to
return thither with supplies of various kinds. Here was an opportunity
not to be neglected. A few necessaries were collected and placed in the
sledge, and, after having been commended to God’s providential care, he
set out for his new home, accompanied by two members of his future flock.
One of them, Richard Swanson, was educated at our mission school at
Moose; the other, Samuel Wesley, at the school at Albany.’
This spring there was a flood of a somewhat serious character at Moose.
At three o’clock one morning in April, a heavy crash awoke all the
inhabitants of the fort. An immense field of ice was borne in on the
land, the water rose several feet at once, and everyone was on the alert.
Nothing serious happened during the day, and Mrs. Peck, who was staying
at Moose on account of her health, and the servant retired to bed about
half-past nine.
At eleven the alarm bell was rung; almost everyone fled to the factory;
the bishop took Mrs. Peck to one of the mission buildings further from
the river, he himself remaining up to watch. Early the next morning they
went to the company’s establishment, where the bishop spent the day in
bed, for he had passed the greater part of two nights without removing
his clothes. Had the water risen only a little higher, the results would
have been very disastrous. As it was, the scene all around was desolate
in the extreme. However, Easter Sunday dawned bright and fair, the ice
yielded to the current, and the water found again its proper channel.
When May came that year the snow had disappeared, the grass was becoming
green, the air was mild and genial, and the birds were singing in the
woods, despite the huge ice blocks which still were lying there. June,
1886, was the finest month the bishop had ever known in Hudson’s Bay.
Generally at that time winter has scarcely departed, and the trees show
no appearance of life; but now the poplars were bursting into leaf,
the willows were already clothed with the first fresh flush of green,
birds hopped among the branches, the cattle bells told that the cows
were grazing near at hand, and the meadows formed one superb carpet. The
hearts of all in that sterile land rejoiced, but Moose was comparatively
empty, for the season being so advanced the Indian brigades had left
early.
‘Before starting they came to me, mostly one by one, each to give me his
little confidence. One said: “I have not yet given my subscription to
the church, and will give it now, but I am not able to do as much as I
did last year; then I made a good fur hunt, this year but a very poor
one; but I know we must not appear before God empty, so I will do what
I can.” Another said: “Pray for me while I am away. I know I have given
you a great deal of trouble, and I am very sad at heart at thinking how
wickedly and foolishly I have acted, but I hope I shall be very different
in future.” Another: “My wife has been taken ill; I shall be glad if
you will go to her, and read and pray by her.” Another and another and
yet another required a book, some two, a Prayer and hymn-book; then
all descend to their boats, which speedily make from the shore, and,
impelled by heavy oars, they commence their journey.’
On July 1, 1886, the bishop wrote: ‘It is hot; we are being literally
baked, and from the heat there is scarcely any shelter, for the houses,
all made of wood, retain the heat in such a manner that they are like
ovens. But we are getting exactly the weather we need, with a prospect of
very fair crops of potatoes and turnips, and, what is better, of being
free from the terrible epidemics which have caused so much sorrow during
the last few years. The packet, or rather the first instalment of it,
reached us late in the evening of Sunday, June 20—the first news from
the outer world since the beginning of February; and then for a day or
two we were deep in letters and newspapers. But the 23rd was the great
day of arrivals, for we had no less than three. In the early morning,
soon after getting up, we saw a large boat coming up the river; the boat
from Rupert’s House, coming for supplies for the mission. Presently we
saw a large canoe, and from the shape of it we knew it must be from Fort
George, and that our dear friend and earnest worker, Mr. Peck, must be in
it; and very soon I had the pleasure of grasping by the hand a sunburnt,
weather-beaten son of toil, who, after more than four months of hard and
continuous work—of travel by snow-shoe, dog-sledge, and canoe—returned
to his wife, to find her as well as she had ever been in her life, and
hoping to see a steam-launch, which had been sent out for his use, ready
for sea, that he might at once leave again for his northern home. But
in this he was disappointed, for the job of putting the various parts
together was more difficult than we had anticipated. During the whole
month the hammers were giving forth their noise from four o’clock in
the morning until night. All the mission staff, setting aside their
work, spent day after day in steaming planks, nailing them on, in sawing
wood, in caulking, and painting, and puttying. On the same day came the
remainder of the packet.
‘Throughout the first days of July all were still occupied with Mr.
Peck’s boat. The hammering went on; nail after nail was driven, and
the caulking went on incessantly; the air was filled with the odour
of burning tar. On the 9th the craft was ready to be launched. In the
evening almost everyone in the place was at the mission, either as a
spectator or a helper. We had a long way to drag the boat, and this
occupied nearly two hours. Then we had the pleasure of seeing it descend
quietly into the water, in which, I trust, it will make many voyages for
the extension of the kingdom of our Lord among the Indians and Eskimo of
the wide district of East Main.
‘All now were busy in preparation for departure, for the sooner our
friends arrived at their place of destination the better. Saturday was
so employed, and so was Monday; while on Sunday we held three delightful
services, at two of which Mr. Peck preached.
‘On Tuesday the boat was loaded with casks of flour, cans of beef
and salt pork, chests of tea, and all the other etceteras needful to
housekeeping, for at Fort George the nearest shop is three hundred miles
away. About two o’clock in the afternoon it went down the river. An hour
afterwards, Mr. and Mrs. Peck and our kind doctor entered a canoe and,
amid the blessing and prayers of a large number of people assembled on
the bank of the river, they set off. Canoe and boat went on to Ship’s
Sands, an island eight miles down the river. Here they passed the night.
The next day Mr. Peck went on board his boat, while Mrs. Peck continued
her voyage in the canoe. In a few days East Main was reached; here Mrs.
Peck rested for a night. East Main was formerly the principal Hudson’s
Bay Company’s station in James’ Bay, but the river silting up and
preventing the annual ship from getting near enough for protection from
the open sea, Moose became the head-quarters of the fur trade. A hundred
and fifty miles had yet to be travelled, which would occupy five or six
days. At last Fort George, a few miles up the Fort George River, was
reached, the home of the faithful missionary and his brave and faithful
wife.
[Illustration: THE CHURCH AT FORT GEORGE]
‘When the Pecks had left, an influenza cold attacked almost everyone
at Moose, persistently clinging to the sufferers; but is it any wonder
that we have colds here, when sometimes there is a difference of over
fifty degrees between the temperature of the morning and evening? In
the morning we may be almost roasting: before evening the wind may have
suddenly chopped round to the north, and, sweeping over the frozen bay,
may render fires and warm coats desirable, if not necessary.’