A DAY AT BISHOP’S COURT
The bishop was now contemplating a visit to England. He had not seen his
wife or children for six years, and looked forward to meeting them in
the fatherland once more. He hoped to leave Moose in June 1888, to be in
time for the Lambeth Conference in July. He intended the summer following
to visit York and Churchill, in North Moosonee, which could be more
conveniently done in starting from England. ‘To visit them from Moose,’
he said, ‘would involve a very, very long and expensive journey, and a
winter’s stay, which is now quite unnecessary, seeing that both stations
are well occupied, and I can do much more for the missions in England
than I could there.’
In February ‘the packet’ came, and friends from all the surrounding
stations gathered together to bring and receive letters, and to wish him
God speed on his proposed journey.
May-day came, and a depth of snow lay upon the ground. The river was
still ice-bound. All Nature was hushed, not even the ‘goose call’ was
heard, for the weather was so severe that the geese kept close. One
of the mission party went off early, and sat for many hours in his
goose-stand with his decoy geese professionally arranged, but he returned
unsuccessful.
The bishop too was up early. ‘I always am,’ he wrote, ‘wishing to have
an hour of perfect quiet before the duties of the day begin. I generally
read a chapter of the Hebrew Bible every morning. I was never taught to
read it. I never heard a word of it read, except what is contained in the
English Bible; yet I have read the Hebrew Bible right through, carefully
and grammatically. Hebrew is a very difficult language, but it is not
insurmountable, and the word impossible must never find its way into
the vocabulary of one who intends to devote himself to mission work. A
man who is daunted by difficulties, who thinks there is a possibility
of his not acquiring the language of the people to whom he may be sent,
had far better never put his foot on ship-board for foreign work. He
will in the end prove a bitter disappointment, both to himself and
those who are associated with him. “I can do all things through Christ,
who strengtheneth me,” must be the watchword of every one who enters
the diocese of Moosonee. And now look at the 84th Psalm in the Revised
Version; observe the beauty of the sixth verse. It is superlatively sweet
and consolatory: “Passing through the valley of weeping, they make it a
place of springs; yea, the early rain covereth it with blessings.” Then I
read the third chapter of St. Paul’s Epistle to the Ephesians, in Greek;
what beauty, too, there is in this chapter, especially in verses fourteen
to nineteen.
‘Before I had completed the second chapter my three young grandsons,
Fred, Arthur, and Sydney Broughton, had come into my sitting-room to wish
me good-morning, when the two elder ones remained to receive a lesson
from me, which they do every day. Family prayers were held at eight
o’clock punctually, for I am a very punctual man, never keeping anyone
waiting, and we then discussed our frugal breakfast. There was myself
and my daughter Chrissie—her husband having some time before gone to the
Hudson’s Bay Company’s establishment to preside at breakfast there; my
two grandsons, and the Rev. E. Richards, my much beloved native helper;
Arthur and his beautiful little mischievous sister, Gertrude, taking
their breakfast with their nurse in another room. We had one rabbit, the
last, I am afraid, for the season, a little imported bacon, and some good
bread to eat, while to drink we had excellent coffee.
‘A little after ten o’clock I should have had the first class of our
school in my room, but thinking the shooting of a goose or duck as
necessary an accomplishment in Moosonee as writing a letter, I had given
the bigger boys a week’s holiday to go goose-hunting, and had moreover
promised a prize to the most successful hunter. Then our doctor came in,
and we discussed the various cases under his care. I take a deep interest
in his work, and always assist him when he requires help. I am extremely
sorry to find that the condition of a good young man, married, with one
child, is very critical. Consumption will, I fear, at no distant day make
him its victim. For dinner we had a little cold beef, a part of the
store laid by last autumn, when the whole beef of the year was killed;
it was still quite fresh and good; some mashed potatoes, and afterwards
a nice raspberry tart. We drink spruce beer at dinner, a most wholesome
non-intoxicating drink, refreshing and an excellent digestive. After
dinner much of my time was spent with two of my sick folk, who delight in
hearing the Word of God read to them.’
The rest of the bishop’s day was filled up with study with his divinity
students, the ever continuing work of translation, and lessons to
an evening class of young men of the Hudson’s Bay Company. He never
permitted himself an idle moment. ‘He had,’ he said, ‘no desire to rust
out.’ And there seemed little danger of it.
On May 31, 1888, the bishop left Moose Fort for England. It was his
fourth visit in the course of thirty-seven years of missionary life in
the Great Lone Land.
‘What a day,’ he writes, ‘was my last Sunday at Moose! How fully were
all the services attended! What a large number of communicants, and how
solemn was our ordination service, when the Rev. E. Richards was made
priest! How painful were the partings of the succeeding week, for every
one at Moose is to me as a son or a daughter. As the hour of departure
approached a crowd assembled at the head of the island, where I was to
embark. At four o’clock I stepped into my canoe, and standing up, the
people being on the high bank, I gave them my fatherly blessing. I had
two companions to go with me to Canada—a young grandson, eight years
of age, and a most loved young friend, who was to stay with her uncle
in Montreal. My daughter and her children accompanied me, to remain for
the night, and the evening was one of cheerful sadness. Our encampment
seemed like a small canvas village, so many had come off in their canoes.
After the tents were all erected, we soon had a good fire roaring in the
forest, by which we cooked our meal; then we had a very solemn service,
and by half-past nine the fires were out, the tents were closed, and all
was quiet.
‘We were astir in the early morning, when we again bent the knee together
in prayer, after which the last farewells were uttered, the last kiss
given—my last to my sweet little granddaughter, Gertrude, who was too
young to understand the nature of “Good-bye,” and who would for many
a day wonder why grandpapa did not come and have a romp with her, and
take his accustomed place at table. Then we descended to our respective
canoes; they to return to Moose, we to pursue our solitary way up the
mighty river, until we came to the great sign of modern civilisation,
the iron road of the steam-engine at Missenabie, a station of the
Canadian Pacific Railway. I had five Indians with me, all good fellows,
Christians, in whom I had the fullest confidence, and who, I knew, would
do their very best to bring us in safety to the place of our destination.
They divided themselves into two bodies, and took turn and turn about
at the tracking. A long line was attached to the canoe; to this one
party harnessed itself, for in going against the stream the paddle is
but little used, the principal work being done by the tracking line and
pole—the latter a powerful instrument of propulsion about nine feet long,
and shod with iron, wonderfully useful among the rapids.
‘At breakfast time we all went ashore; a fire was kindled, the kettle
boiled, a little meat cooked, and, sitting on boxes or stones, the meal
was consumed; after which we continued our way until dinner-time, when
there was another halt. Then we went on again until eight o’clock, when
we put up for the night. This was quite a business, for we could not
encamp everywhere. We went up into the woods; axes were brought into
requisition, and a large space was cleared; the marquees were put up, and
everything was made as comfortable as possible, so that presently we were
quite at home; supper, conversation, and service finished the day, when
we lay down, grateful for continued mercies.
‘In the morning, during the breakfast hour, all met near the fire;
we first had a hymn, after which I read a portion of Scripture, and
prayers from the Prayer Book. Prayer-time was to us a season of great
refreshment. We had sometimes heavy rains; this caused us much trouble,
greatly increasing the difficulty and danger of the rapids. Frequently we
were all obliged to get ashore, and make our way as best we could through
the pathless woods, where the fallen trees were lying about in every
direction. This was intensely hard work.
[Illustration: A LARGE CANOE SHOOTING A RAPID]
‘On one occasion we had ascended a terrible and long rapid, and had got
by the easiest side of the stream just opposite the foot of our longest
portage, but between us and it ran the swollen and fiercely flowing
river. We all grasped a paddle firmly, and bending with our full strength
dashed out into the stream; we could get no further, and were swept down
like lightning into the boiling rapid. The sight was the most dangerous
I had ever witnessed, but the men were equal to the emergency. Turning
round in the canoe, the bow became the stern, and we were kept clear of
the rocks which threatened our destruction.
‘Then on we went again to face fresh dangers, to meet with new
difficulties; still ever onwards, till on Saturday morning we came into
the smooth waters of the Missenabie Lake. Missenabie was a small and
inconsiderable post which up to this time had been buried deep in the
wilderness, but which by the carrying of the Canadian Pacific Railway
through the country, had been brought to the very confines of the
civilised world, being only fifty miles from a railway station.’
After spending Sunday at Missenabie, a day’s journey brought the
travellers to Missenabie station. The Indians heard for the first time
the voice of the ‘steam giant.’ Paddling with some difficulty under
the wooden bridge which is the path of the ‘fire-sledge,’ the station
was presently reached. It was a dreary spot—a tent or two, a couple
of tumbledown stores, a house or two for the railway officials, and
multitudes of mosquitoes. A railway truck was the bishop’s parlour; in
the booking-office he held services in three languages, Cree, Ojibbeway,
and English. Very early in the morning the train came in from the West,
and carried the party away. To the little grandson, aged eight, all
things were new and strange. A lad passed through the cars with oranges
and apples for sale; the child had never seen either an apple or an
orange in his life, and when one of each was handed to him, he asked,
‘Grandpapa, which is which?’
At Ottawa, Montreal, and the grand old town of Quebec, our travellers had
some few days’ rest. At the latter place, Master Fred saw a Punch and
Judy show for the first time, and enjoyed it; and the bishop enjoyed it
‘almost as much as he.’ Grandfather and grandson visited the site of the
battle which gave Quebec to England, and the monuments erected to the
memory of the brave Generals Montcalm and Wolfe. Twelve days later they
were in England. ‘But,’ says the bishop, ‘the heart was still far away
across the water, amid the secluded forests of Moosonee.’