INDIAN WAYS
I tried once to take a snapshot of a group of friendly Indians gathered
around a camp-fire. It was a picturesque scene—the rude brush lodge, the
dusky-faced Indians squatted on boughs and robes, the lean dogs lying
around, and the bright fire blazing up in the centre. What a fine picture
it would make! But, alas! when the negative was developed, how great the
disappointment! Instead of the bright blaze, there was a hideous blur,
almost blotting out the figures grouped around. The beauty of the scene
was gone; it could not be captured.
This is something like an attempt to describe the Indians of the
North. To visit them in their camps, watch their quaint ways, and talk
with them, is one thing; to paint them in words which will be real,
picturesque, and living is quite another matter. There is as much
difference as between the bright, sparkling blaze and the blur upon the
negative.
A few men have succeeded in a wonderful manner in describing the life of
the Indians, such as Longfellow in his “Hiawatha,” and Fenimore Cooper
in his “Leatherstocking Tales.” If Bishop Bompas had so wished, what
marvellous stories he could have told of his forty-one years among this
interesting people! He did describe some of their manners and customs in
two little books, “Northern Lights on the Bible,” and a “History of the
Diocese of Mackenzie River.” But he has told us all too little. In this
chapter it is, of course, impossible to tell all about the ways of the
Indians in the vast field over which he travelled, for that field of
work comprised 1,000,000 square miles; but we will suppose ourselves in a
very fast and successful flying-machine, which will take us from place to
place, and give us brief glimpses of these dusky children, scattered away
up North over countless leagues of forest, mountain, and plain.
Indians are ever on the move, and well have they been called “People of
the Wandering Foot.” They do not stay long in one place, and for this
reason their houses are made of skins of the deer or moose, stretched
over slender poles in the shape of beehives or haystacks. When they
wish to break up camp, they take the skins and leave the poles. In some
places, especially in the Yukon, to-day they live in log-houses, and have
regular villages in the fashion of white people.
To see a band of Indians breaking up camp is an interesting sight.
Everything is bustle and confusion. The women do most of the work, and
great is the chattering and scolding which goes on. The dogs lie around,
and even the smallest dog has its pack to carry of the household effects,
according to its strength. They have no furniture to move, for the ground
is bed, chair, and table combined. The women do not have to trouble about
their dishes and silverware, as a few tin cups and kettles are all they
have, and fingers take the place of forks.
“When the Indians shift camp, which they often do every week or two,
the men-folk start first, unencumbered but with their guns; and after
making a track for ten or twelve miles, they mark out a spot for the next
encampment, and then proceed on the chase till evening. The women, with
their families and dog-sleds, loaded with tent, bedding, and utensils,
trudge slowly after, and on arriving at the intended camp, after clearing
the snow, they strew the space with pine-branches and erect the tent.
After arranging this by disburdening the sleds of their loads, they
proceed to collect fuel for firing, and have all ready for a repast by
evening, when the husbands return, bearing the produce of their hunt. If
a large animal has been killed, the wives walk to the spot the next day
to carry home the meat and hide. The men, however, now more than formerly
take a share in the camp duties.”
[Illustration: AN INDIAN SUMMER CAMP AT PEEL RIVER.
_From a photograph by the Rev. C. E. Whittaker_]
The writer once, seeing a strange band of Indians thus getting ready to
depart, brought his camera to bear upon the interesting scene, but so
great was the indignation displayed by the Indians that he was glad to
beat a hasty retreat. They have a superstitious dread of the little black
box with the mysterious click, which accounted for their anger.
As white men go among the Indians, the old-time dress gradually
disappears, and instead the men wear fine, factory-made clothes, and
the women are gaily adorned in gaudy dress material and many-coloured
ribbons, of which they are very proud. They are exceedingly fond,
too, of perfume, and some will spend almost their last cent upon the
sweet-scented stuff. But, get the Indian away in the wild, his real home,
and there you will find him the most picturesque of beings. Clothed in a
suit made of fur, deer-skin, or dressed leather, with a skin blanket, and
with moccasins on his feet, you have the typical Indian of whom we love
to read.
“The women’s dress,” so Bishop Bompas tells us, “mostly consists of a
long leather coat trimmed with cloth or beads, and sometimes a cloth
hood for the head. The women’s faces were, till recently, often slightly
tattooed with dark lines on the chin, formed by drawing a thread loaded
with gunpowder or colouring-matter under the skin. The men were formerly
much addicted to painting their faces with vermilion, but this has fallen
into disuse among the tribes in contact with Europeans. The Eskimo young
men stripe their faces with vermilion as a distinguishing mark when they
have killed an enemy.”
In olden days the Indians wove baskets of roots close enough together to
hold water. This water was heated for cooking purposes by plunging into
it several hot stones. Meat was baked by being buried in the earth and a
fire made over it. Now the boiling is done in iron or copper kettles, and
the roasting on wooden spits or skewers before the fire.
Their food generally consists of meat and fish, but they are coming more
and more to use the delicacies of the white man. Tea and tobacco they
love, and the effects are often none too good. In times of famine they
will drink a large amount of tea, and then complain of “sore heart.”
“An idle Indian,” says Bishop Bompas, “may be more inclined to allay
the pangs of hunger with his pipe than to brave the cold of winter in
hastening to the chase. Many of the Indians complain of pains in the
chest, which may arise from their incautiously imbibing the caustic ashes
with which they often load their empty pipes in lighting these at their
fire embers.”
Before the arrival of Christianity the lot of the Indian woman was very
hard. A man multiplied his wives as one would his cattle. They were only
useful for hauling and chopping wood; they were slaves in the hardest
sense of the term. Often mothers, knowing what their little girl-babies
would have to suffer when they were grown up, destroyed them. One
woman confessed to the first missionary among them that she had killed
thirteen. But since the Gospel has reached them changes have taken place.
Although women yet have much of the work to do, they are treated far
better, and regarded with more affection.
“In Indian marriages it seems to be a part of the etiquette that the
bride should show great reluctance to be wedded, till she has at times to
be forcibly dragged from her camp. Her friends also may exhibit great
opposition to the intended match; and yet this is, in fact, only a part
of the ceremony. Among some Indians it is understood to be absolutely
forbidden to a mother-in-law to look her son-in-law in the face at least
until the birth of his first child. This does not seem to be enforced
among the more northern Indians, but a son-in-law is looked upon as a
sort of hunter for his wife’s parents. Their daughter does not leave her
parents’ camp, and even after marriage appears to be more under their
control than that of her husband.
“As soon as a child is born, its parents usually drop their own name and
assume that of the child; and this is continued a good deal even in the
case of baptized Indians; so that you may hear John’s father or Jane’s
mother so spoken of in preference to their own name. A wife, instead
of speaking of her husband, will prefer to speak of her boy’s father.
Polygamy was practised among the non-Christian Indians chiefly by the
chiefs and leading men, and with the excuse that more than one wife was
required by them to dress their furs and skins, and carry their meat and
effects, and do other camp duties.
“The infant Indians are, as is well known, enveloped in bags of moss,
which, in this severe climate, are admirable preservatives against cold
and exposure. In these bags the infant is tightly laced up, confining the
limbs, and leaving only the head exposed. This process of mummification
does not seem to weaken the limbs, nor to give discomfort to the patient.
The swing is the usual accompaniment of the moss-bag, where the swaddled
infant is lulled to rest. Slung over her shoulder, this moss-bag is the
constant burden of the mother’s travels.
“In sickness the Indians are very pitiful. They soon lose heart, and
seem to die more from despondency than disease. Their need is often not
so much medicine as good nourishment and nursing; but this is hard to
obtain. Food is often scarce even for those in health to seek it, and
for a sick Indian it may be hard to find a friend in need. The constant
removals are trying to the weak and infirm, and in times of distress
those who cannot follow the band are left behind to perish. Indians have
been known to devour their own children in cases of absolute starvation;
but such instances are rare, and may, perhaps, be attributed to a
temporary mania. Those who are believed to have perpetrated such an act
are feared and shunned.
“The dying are often hastily wrapped up and laid aside, even before the
last sigh has escaped, for there is a reluctance to handle the dead.
There is no fear of the resuscitation of the corpse, which is, for
the most part, stiffly frozen as soon as removed from the camp-fire.
Chocolate is a favourite beverage with the sick where it can be obtained,
and it is looked upon as a medicine. The Indians universally give it the
name of ‘ox-blood,’ because it was mistaken by them for the blood of the
musk-ox when first they saw it used by the whites. Rice, which is called
‘white barley,’ is another luxury coveted by the sick. Flour is known by
the Tukudh Indians as ‘ashes from the end of heaven.’ Tobacco is ‘warmth’
or ‘comfort,’ and the pipe the ‘comforting stone.’”
The aged are at times left on the trail to die. When they are too feeble
to keep up with the others, they are given some food, and generally a
rifle and cartridges. For a while they struggle on, but after a time
they give up the attempt and are heard of no more, unless a prospecter,
missionary, or mounted policeman happens along.
[Illustration: AN OLD INDIAN DESERTED BY HIS PEOPLE
This native was brought into Whitehorse by the Mounted Police. He had
been left by his people alone on the trail. This is not uncommon among
some of the natives in certain places.]
This has long been the custom among these Northern Indians, but only now
prevails where the influence of the Gospel has not been felt. During the
fall of 1771, when Samuel Hearne, the great explorer, was retreating
from the Arctic coast with a band of Indians, one of the wives of the
native men, in the last stages of consumption, could go no farther.
“For a band short of food to halt on the march meant death to all. The
Northern wilderness has its grim, unwritten law, inexorable and merciless
as death. For those who fall by the way there is no pity. A whole tribe
may not be exposed to death for the sake of one person. Giving the squaw
food and a tent, the Indians left her to meet her last enemy, whether
death came by starvation, or cold, or the wolf-pack. Again and again the
abandoned squaw came up with the marchers, weeping and begging their
pity, only to fall from weakness. But the wilderness has no pity; and so
they left her.”[2]
“The Indians were formerly accustomed, instead of burying their dead, to
place them on high scaffolds above ground; but this habit was probably
owing to the ground being for many months in the year frozen too hard
to dig it. The raising on scaffolds was also a safer preservative than
burying under ground from the ravages of animals of prey. Since mingling
with the whites, however, the Indians conform to European habits of
burial. It was also formerly a superstitious custom to place with the
deceased his bow, arrows, and other necessaries; and even in later times
a gun, ammunition, tobacco, fire-bag, and other articles, have been
buried in the grave of a dead Indian. Such a superstition it is hard to
eradicate; and perhaps it needs some care not to quench too roughly the
idea of a life continued after death, until the knowledge of a spiritual
immortality and a final resurrection can be instilled to supplant the
instinctive notion of a continued mundane life.
“The Indians had formerly much superstitious dread of using any clothing
or other articles belonging to a person deceased. In case of a death, all
the clothing and effects of the departed were thrown away or destroyed;
and even the relatives would destroy their tents, guns, and other
property, either out of grief, or from dread of using again anything
that the deceased had come in contact with. These inconvenient customs
are being gradually relinquished.”
Little white tents are placed over graves on high hills. In some places
the spots are well tended, and adorned with neat palings and quaint
coverings. Often flags are erected on long poles. In olden days, in
Southern Yukon, the Indians burned their dead, and placed the ashes in
boxes, over which they built rude structures. During the Klondyke rush,
in some places, these boxes were disturbed by the gold-seekers, which
angered the Indians exceedingly.
The natives live by the chase, and for this reason, if for no other, they
must be ever on the move to obtain a living. When game is plentiful the
Indians live well, and, having enough for to-day, seldom take thought
for the morrow. All kinds of game abound, from the lordly moose and the
savage grizzly bear to the timid rabbit and the jaunty ptarmigan.
To visit a fur-trader’s store and watch the various skins brought in
for barter is an interesting sight. You will see the skin of the lynx,
beaver, wolverine, bear, martin, ermine, wolf, and the different kinds of
fox, from the common red fox to the costly cross or black fox. For this
latter the Indians are ever on the watch, as it is worth very much. One
black fox is a fortune. The animal is quite rare, and when one is sighted
weeks and months are often spent in obtaining the prize. A few years ago
an Indian started after one which he had seen the day before. It was
drawing towards spring, when the tops of the foothills were losing their
covering of snow, owing to the hot rays of the sun. Noticing Mr. Reynard
on one of these bare places anxiously searching for mice, the Indian
dressed himself in a suit of white cotton, made for the occasion, and
crept cautiously to the edge of a bunch of trees near by. Then he began
to squeak like a mouse. Soon the fox pricked up his ears and trotted off
towards the woods, hoping for a nice morsel. As he drew near the Indian
levelled his rifle, and shot the poor brute right through the head. This
fox-skin was an excellent one, and the fur-trader who purchased it valued
it at from 2,000 to 3,000 dollars.
Many are the risks the native runs in his various wanderings after the
daily food. At times an angry moose threatens to impale him with his
great antlers, or a wounded bear hurls himself upon the hunter. A few
years ago an Indian, standing by his lodge, saw a huge bear coming
towards him. Slipping back, he seized a small rifle and fired a shot at
the brute. It was enough to anger the monster, and with a terrific roar
he rushed upon the man. The Indian fought hard, but he was as a child in
the fearful grip. His clothes and flesh were ripped and torn in a most
frightful manner, and but for the timely arrival of several Indians the
man would have been torn to pieces. As it was his life was despaired of,
and it was all the police doctor from Whitehorse could do to cure him.
When the bear had been killed the Indians cut him all to pieces, and
threw the portions to the four winds of heaven. This is an old custom,
and unless this be done it is believed the injured man cannot get well.
As he did recover, however, the credit was given to their prompt action
in scattering the bear’s body, and not to the skilful attention of the
“white man’s doctor.”
A sad incident happened about 100 miles back of Whitehorse. An Indian was
out hunting with his little boy, about twelve years old. One day, seeing
the fresh tracks of a moose, which circled around the camp, he told the
lad to remain in the lodge while he started in pursuit. As the hunter
crept stealthily along on his noiseless snow-shoes, he saw the bushes
move in front of him. Thinking it was the moose quietly browsing, he
fired right at the spot, and then rushed forward. What were his feelings
to find, instead of the lordly animal, his own little son lying bleeding
on the snow, dead. The poor boy, disobeying his father’s command, had
started off to do some hunting on his own account, and was thus struck by
the fatal bullet.
In many places the power of the wily medicine-man is still strong among
the Indians. This is especially so where the Gospel message has not taken
firm root. The natives still believe that the conjurer has influence over
things in the heavens above and the earth beneath, and to gain his favour
various are the gifts which are slipped into his hands. One of the most
interesting superstitions is called “fox medicine.” The Indian, wishing
to have success with his season’s hunting, before he departs will give
the medicine-man money or furs; he then thinks the foxes will be urged
to come to his traps. At Little Salmon, on the Yukon River, a fur-trader
suggested to the Indians that they should pay the conjurer after the
season’s hunt, according to the animals they had caught. This they did,
though the medicine-man did not like it at all, for he received very few
gifts from some of his people.
The same trader was once travelling with an Indian on a long trail. When
pitching camp for the night, a branch fell and struck the native a heavy
blow on the head. He imagined he was seriously injured, and sat for some
time over the fire in a most despondent attitude. At length he looked
intently into the trader’s face.
“You got ’um paper?” he remarked.
“Yes,” was the reply; and a leaf torn from a small note-book was handed
to him.
“You got ’um pencil?” was the next request. This, too, was given; and
then the Indian slowly and laboriously traced the figure of a cross upon
the leaf. When this had been accomplished to his satisfaction, he threw
it into the fire, at the same time blowing vigorously with his breath.
Watching the flames catch the paper and carry it aloft, he gave a sigh of
contentment, while a new expression came into his face.
“What did you do that for?” asked the trader, much interested in the
proceeding.
“Oh, medicine-man say when me leave on dis trip, if anything matter, me
make all same cross on paper, and put ’um in fire; him get word dat way,
and make me all same well Injun. Me better now;” and, suiting the action
to the word, he leaped to his feet as if nothing had happened. What
the cross had to do with it is hard to say. Perhaps it was some faint
glimmering of the power of the Cross of Christ which had come to the
medicine-man, and this he used to further his own plans.
In some places the conjurer is of a very jealous nature, and it is
dangerous for anyone to interfere with him. Mrs. Bompas, years ago, at
Fort Simpson, on the Mackenzie River, had a thrilling experience, which
might have proved quite fatal.
“On going down to the camp one evening,” so she tells us, “we were
attracted to one of the leather tents or lodges, where a low, droning
sound announced the medicine-man’s presence. ‘Do let us go and see it!’
exclaimed Maggie; and I, hardly reflecting on the prudence of the step,
turned toward the spot whence the sounds proceeded. It was in Mineha’s
tent, and here I discovered my little pet widow. Her hand had been
poisoned in some way, and she was suffering great pain. She was lying
down, with her hand extended, and beside her crouched a young Trout Lake
Indian, lately come in, a deserter from one of the portage boats. Fancy
the scene! The woman moaning, with closed eyes; the Indian bending over
her and singing a low, monotonous song, which is a kind of conjuring the
Indians call ‘making medicine.’ Beside her lay a small bark vessel with a
few spoonfuls of blood, which the young man drank from time to time, and
then proceeded with his operations. There was a deep silence in the camp,
except for these two sounds, when suddenly I appeared before them, and
exclaimed, partly in Indian, at the absurdity of their doings. I knelt
down by Mineha, and, taking her hand out of that of the man’s, began to
examine it. Then I pushed back my conjurer, which made his hat fall off,
and evidently distressed his sense of dignity.
“By this time all the women of the other camps came gathering round the
door. My hero persisted in his droning song, and I in my remonstrances
and assurance that it was all rubbish, and displeasing to God. When
at last the man gave over, he retired to the back of the tent, where
I suddenly became aware of his gun, which the Indians usually kept
loaded. For a moment I thought it was all up with me, and Maggie says
I exclaimed: ‘Do it, then!’ However, he contented himself with bending
towards me three times, with eyes almost on fire with passion, and
uttering each time a word which was anything but a blessing! Well, the
game was stopped, and so he quitted the tent. The man seemed fallen
back in a state of exhaustion, and was trembling all over. The fact is,
this medicine-making seems to be a kind of possession, which they give
themselves up to. His condition then was pitiable to behold. However,
there was nothing more to be done, as the feeling was so strong against
me that Mineha would not let me prescribe for her poor hand; so we came
away, rather thankful to escape safe and sound. I hear the poor woman
is still suffering agonies from her hand, in spite of her having had
medicine made over it again, during the whole of one night, by another
man!”
Several years ago Bishop Holmes gave an interesting description of the
medicine-man in the Diocese of Athabasca.
“Their faith in,” he says, “and fear of medicine-men was unshaken; their
love for heathen feasts and practices was as strong as ever. Nearly all
sickness, accidents, and misfortunes were attributed to the use of _muche
muskeke_ (bad medicine), directly or indirectly, by the medicine-men.
They supposed that the medicine-man obtained himself, or employed some
other to obtain, a hair from the head of his intended victim, and that
the hair was put into the bad medicine, and the effect was according
to the medicine-man’s intention. They believed that the antidote could
be obtained from the Indian doctor, but it meant a good round sum in
blankets, horses, tobacco, etc. They believed that their medicine-men had
direct intercourse with the _muche manito_ (evil spirit), through whose
assistance they were able to perform most wonderful feats. Insanity was
attributed to the direct possession of an evil spirit. An insane person
was called a _wetigo_ (cannibal). When any person—man or woman—manifested
symptoms of ‘wetigoism,’ the old Indian doctors were called in to
practise all their incantations and exorcise the evil spirit, which in
very few cases was successful. The first symptoms of cannibalism manifest
themselves in dreams and insomnia. The evil spirit is said to appear
in a vision with a plate of human flesh, about which there is an awful
and irresistible fascination. The _wetigo_ is strictly guarded by the
medicine-men, who, with the noise of their drums and rattles in order to
frighten the evil spirit away, would drive any sane man out of his mind.
The last and most dangerous stage is when the _wetigo_ has accepted from
the evil spirit the meal of human flesh, after which he is securely tied
with cords. He refuses any kind of food, and has an intense craving for
human flesh. In this stage they suppose that ice forms in the breast of
the _wetigo_, and they firmly believe that they have seen the _wetigo_
vomit ice. The last remedy applied is the axe. Within the nineteen years
I have been at Lesser Slave Lake three _wetigos_ have been killed with
axes, like animals, by their own friends.
“Another heathen custom was the cruel neglect of the aged and infirm.
Starvation was the means employed among the Indians of getting rid of
them.
“Such a description of the ‘noble red man,’ without a reference to his
good points, might lead people to think that there is a good deal of
truth in the saying that ‘the only good Indian is a dead Indian.’ But in
the character of all Indians there are three redeeming features. First,
their belief in the _Kesa Manito_ (the Great Spirit), and, I might add,
their strong belief in the personality of the Devil. Secondly, their
generous hospitality. They have all things in common, and would give any
traveller, be he Indian or white man, their last morsel, even if they had
no prospect of another meal themselves for the next week. Thirdly, their
passionate love for children. I could trust my children with them under
any circumstances, for I should know that so long as there was a meal
left the children would get the best of it.”
Indians, as a rule, are shrewder and more intelligent than many people
suppose. Someone has said that they are “instincts on legs,” but this is
wrong. They make splendid guides, and can find their way through a mazy
forest or a desolate wilderness when white men fail entirely. The early
explorers owed much to the Indians in guiding them on their long journeys.
They read the whites and understand their ways far better than many
suppose. As they sit about the camp-fires, the pale-faces are all
carefully discussed. Each man is known by some peculiarity. One is a fox,
wolf, or bear, according to some characteristic which the Indians have
noted.
They are humorists, too, and at times quick at repartee. A trader, Taylor
by name, made a visit some time ago to a band of Indians at Big Salmon.
He carried with him a dress which had been ordered for “Mrs. Charlie.”
Reaching the place, he inquired for the latter. Then the question was
which Charlie’s wife was meant. Was it Big Salmon Charlie, Little Salmon
Charlie, or some other Charlie? Much puzzled, the trader exclaimed, “Too
much Charlie!” Quick as a flash an Indian turned to him and replied:
“Taylor, heem keep road-house; Taylor, heem cut wood down trail; you
Taylor; too moche Taylor!”
Not long ago, when on a visit to England, Bishop Stringer spoke in a most
interesting way about these Indians.
“A few years ago,” he said, “those Indians were degraded, superstitious,
and ignorant, without any written language at all; but God’s Word was
given to them through Archdeacon McDonald, and the complete Bible was
translated, and there was found a people zealous to learn to read that
Word. It was the ABC of a written language to them, and it is the only
book, outside one or two others connected with our Church, and it remains
to-day the classic of all those Northern tribes on the Yukon side, as
well as the Mackenzie River. Archdeacon McDonald tells of men who in
those early days in three days learned sufficient to go off to their
Indian camps and acquire enough knowledge themselves unaided to read
God’s Word. We thank God that that was the case. He tells of men who came
long distances, some of them fifty years of age, and who learned to read
in those early days. There was one man he speaks of who came 600 miles in
order to learn to read God’s Word.
“I want to tell you of one man, a good friend of mine who has passed
away, an Indian who was ordained a deacon a few years ago, a blot out
of the superstitious darkness of that Northern land. I had the pleasure
of going with him from one camp to another across those barren forests,
sometimes on barren grounds and sometimes in the shelter of the forest.
From God’s Word he would teach his people, gathering them together, night
after night, holding little services, reading God’s Word, and explaining
it to them. After years of work amongst his people he passed away. As he
was crossing the Divide to the Yukon side to reach a distant tribe of
Indians, one man accompanied him—a young man named Amos—who had hitherto
been quite careless about religious matters. The name of the deacon
was the Rev. John Ttssietla. Ttssietla means, by the way, ‘He laughs at
a mosquito.’ There are mosquitoes in that country, and I suppose that
when he was a child he did not mind the mosquitoes, and he was called
‘He laughs at a mosquito.’ John was his Christian name. This time he was
starving. There was no food in the land; game was scarce; and he felt
that the last days were come for him unless he could get food. As he lay
dying out on the top of one of the mountains, he said to Amos, ‘Amos, I
am about to leave you, but I want to give you this Book—God’s Word—and I
want you to read it. I want you to teach it to my people.’ A few hours
afterwards he passed away, and Amos, who had been hitherto careless,
began to read that Word alone on the mountains as he lay to rest his
friend, John Ttssietla. Then he began to teach the children to read, and
then he began to teach others, and last year, when I saw him down in the
Yukon Valley, I found that he was so much advanced that I hope in a year
or two, after passing a few examinations, he will be able to take the
place of his friend, John Ttssietla, in the work.
“I have not time to tell you very much about that Northern land, but I
want to tell you this. As you go down the Mackenzie River from Edmonton
the two thousand odd miles to reach the Arctic Ocean, every two or three
hundred miles you find a place called a Hudson’s Bay Company’s post.
There is usually a mission in connection with it. You will find around
the old Hudson’s Bay Company’s post, if you watch closely, things like
stumps which have been cut off level with the ground almost. What does
that mean? They extend right round the fort. It means that forty-five
years ago the Hudson’s Bay Company people had to have a stockade all
round those posts to protect their lives and their property. Now they
have been cut down and used for firewood. What has caused that? The
light of the Gospel truth which has gone into that land. We thank God
for what has been done in connection with that, and for the influence of
God’s Word in that Northern region.
“The Bible is, as I have said, the standard book; and the language
into which the Bible has been translated—it had to be translated into
one particular dialect—is becoming the classic of many of the tribes
in that Northern land, the central language, used by the people more
and more. Other tribes learned to use it, and learned the meanings of
words which they do not use in their own dialect. There is a great
deal of difficulty, of course, in getting words when translating the
Bible into those Northern languages. The name for God even is not
known; and Archdeacon McDonald, I think very wisely, adopted one word,
‘Vittekwichanchyo,’ which means ‘I am.’ That word is now known all
through that land in connection with the great Creator of the universe.
“The last speaker has told you that there are numerous snakes in South
America. If we had a few snakes in that Northern land we should not be
forced to translate some passages that refer to snakes in a roundabout
way, calling a snake ‘a creeping thing,’ or something else of that kind.
The sentence, ‘Wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove,’ is translated
in one of the Eskimo languages—I think, in Greenland—by ‘Wise as an
ermine, a weasel’ (because that is the wisest in the country), ‘and as
harmless as a seal-pup.’ It seems amusing, but it is quite as expressive.
“As God’s Word is sent out to that country, the Bibles are sold to the
Indians. Nobody ever gets a Bible for nothing. The Indians are quite
willing to pay for them. They pay for them, not in money, as you do here,
but in kind. They sometimes bring in dried meat or fish, or something
else of that kind. I have a little piece of dried meat here, and I think
I had better show it to you as a part of the coin of that country. This
is a very small piece, but I may tell you that this is the kind of meat
which we like to use on our long trips. You can throw it around, and you
can do anything you like with it. That piece is five or six years old
now, and it has not changed at all, and it is quite as palatable as it
was five or six years ago. It is very convenient for travelling in that
country. An Indian will bring in a piece of that about a foot wide and
about two feet long, and he will trade it for an Indian New Testament,
and about four times as much as that for a Bible. That means a great
deal for this people. Sometimes they bring in a piece of deer-skin, or
something of that kind, and sometimes they bring in about ten big fish,
and the missionary is able to turn them into money and send it to the
Bible Society. In that way these people are taught to pay for the Word
of God, and, of course, they appreciate it all the more. The price of a
New Testament in the country is one skin. You cannot understand what that
means. Its market value corresponds to about 2_s._ A whole Bible is worth
three or four skins. These Indians sometimes receive a Bible in debt, and
go off to their hunting-grounds; but the very first thing they always do,
when they come in on the next trip, if they have anything, is to pay for
the Bible which they have received. And how reverently they will use the
Bible! They wrap it in deer-skin or something like that; and they bring
back all the old Bibles again. I have had piles of old dirty Bibles. They
revere them so much that they do not want to destroy them, and I have
had to destroy them quietly after the piles became too large. It shows
the reverence that they have for God’s Word. These Bibles are carried
with them, although they are heavy. Here is one. This is not one with
the thin kind of paper, and it is very heavy; and one can realize what
it means for an Indian having one of these books on a long journey where
every pound counts so much. But you will understand how he appreciates it
when I tell you that every family in that land which I have ever seen has
had some part of God’s Word in its camp, no matter where it went on its
journeys.”
* * * * *
We have seen in a previous chapter how when Mr. Bompas was consecrated
Bishop of the Diocese of Athabasca, he had charge of a vast region of
one million square miles. In 1883, finding the field too large, he had
it divided, the northern portion being called Mackenzie River, which the
Bishop took as his own. Here he carried on the work east and west of the
Rocky Mountains for several years. But finding the task too great for
one man—owing partly to the influx of miners along the Yukon River—he
again had a division made in 1890, the region west of the mountains thus
becoming the Diocese of Selkirk (now Yukon). Archdeacon Reeve became
Bishop of the Mackenzie River Diocese, while Bishop Bompas decided to go
into the regions beyond across the mountains.