STIRRING DAYS AT FORTY MILE
A grand picture rises before the mind as we think of Bishop Bompas far
away in the Northland, worn by years of toil, and yet pressing on to new
work. If I were an artist, I would sketch him standing at Fort Norman in
front of the rude mission-house. He is looking away to the west, towards
the Rocky Mountains, with his left hand to his ear, as if listening to
voices from the great Yukon River. In his right hand he clutches two
letters, one urging him to come to Manitoba to rest, the other pleading
with him to return to England to spend the rest of his life in peace.
Which call will he heed? That is the question, as we see him standing
there in the “Valley of Decision.” His own terse words give the answer,
which might well be placed below the picture. “I find,” he wrote, “the
needle points west rather than east, and north rather than south.”
Yes, that was always his idea, to be going farther to reclaim the sheep
of the wilderness. He shrank from the thought of going back to England.
He had been now twenty-five years in the North, and loved the wild.
“To life in England,” he wrote, “and to my relatives there, I feel so
long dead and buried that I cannot think a short visit home, as if from
the grave, would be of much use. If over fifteen years ago, when I was at
home, I felt like Samuel’s ghost, how should I feel now?”
Leaving Fort Norman, he went again across the Rocky Mountains, and spent
the winter of 1891-92 at the lonely rampart-house. He did not mind the
loneliness, for he spent the time at his beloved studies. In the spring,
when the snow had disappeared from the land, he would walk through the
woods drinking in the beautiful things of Nature.
“I find,” he said, “a few flowers even in this Arctic clime, such as
the pretty wild-rose, the lupin and bluebell. There are also berry
blossoms, and plenty of the white blossoms of what we call ‘marsh tea.’
These blossoms really make rather pleasant and aromatic tea. The leaves,
when used for the same purpose, are rather bitter. Raspberry-shoots,
birch-buds, and some other berry-trees are also at times used to make tea
in the absence of the genuine article, but they are rather medicinal. The
west side of the mountains is, on the whole, more flowery than the east
side.”
In the spring, after the ice had gone out, he went down the Porcupine
River to the Yukon. It was here he met Mrs. Bompas, who was returning
from England. They had not met since 1887, and Mrs. Bompas vividly
describes this meeting. After speaking about the trip up the river from
St. Michael’s, she mentions the great excitement which ensued on July 26,
when “two Indians came on board, bringing news of the Bishop, who is at
the next village, ‘Showman.’ But a delay took place owing to the boiler
being cleaned, and it was not until midnight that ‘two bells’ sounded, a
signal for the boat to stop. I pricked up my ears, and then another bell,
which meant, ‘Stop her.’ It must be for wood, of course; but I sprang
from my berth, and looked out of my small window to see a pretty Indian
camp, and—my husband on the beach, grey and weather-beaten, but in health
better than I had expected!”
From here they went up the river to Forty Mile, where there was a large
camp of miners and Indians. In the log-house, which had been built by
poor Ellington, the Bishop and his faithful wife took up their new burden
among complete strangers. Their special work was among the Indians, and
for the children a school was at once started. There was much to do about
the place—repairs of all kinds to be made, and the Bishop was kept very
busy.
From time to time we catch brief glimpses of the life in the
mission-house. Occasionally Mrs. Bompas lets in a little light, which is
most interesting. We see the Bishop turning from the cares of the diocese
to provide for some Indian child, or do necessary work around the house.
She tells how the Bishop “has been busy carpentering and devising a
number of things for our comfort—a beautiful cupboard to hold the girls’
clothes, shelves and brackets, new bench for dining-room, bedsteads
mended, a new door for our little dining-room, frames for double windows,
new dining-table, and old one repaired. This, with his self-imposed duty
of waiting upon everyone, superintending the kitchen, and doctoring any
sick members, has filled up his time the last few weeks. I feel thankful
when for a short time in the evening he retires to his study and takes up
his beloved Syriac.”
But, alas for “the beautiful cupboard and shelves” which the Bishop
had so carefully made! Boards were very scarce—not enough even to make
coffins in which to bury the dead, and the shelves had to be taken down
to make a coffin for an Indian who had been brought in from the distant
hunting-grounds. Mrs. Bompas, who relates this incident, tells most
pathetically of the trials they had in connection with burying the dead
on the Mackenzie River. The Indians would beg packing-boxes from the
Hudson’s Bay Company’s officers, and as these were generally too small,
arms and legs would often be seen hanging out of the box as it was
lowered into the grave.
Whenever the Indians arrived from their hunting-grounds, the Bishop was
kept busy almost night and day attending to their wants, and instructing
them in the faith, if only for a few days. This teaching was by no means
lost, for out on the hills and mountains the Indians had their daily
services, when appointed leaders would instruct the others.
Many were the wants the good Bishop relieved. He always kept a store of
medicine in the house, and became quite expert in his knowledge of Indian
troubles. To them he was doctor as well as teacher, and they always
turned to him in time of trouble. He was tireless even to the last in
his attendance upon sick persons. Sometimes he even performed surgical
operations. With nothing but a pocket-knife he has been known to sever a
diseased toe or thumb of some member of his dusky flock. Once he cut off
a man’s leg with a common hand-saw, and the man is living and able to
work to-day.
One spring, east of the mountains, he was public vaccinator. Smallpox
was raging, and the previous summer over two thousand Indians are said
to have died. The Bishop found at times much trouble in persuading the
natives to submit to the operation, but, in spite of difficulties, he
vaccinated about five hundred.
He had himself suffered from snow-blindness, and knew how painful it
was. When he saw many of his flock thus afflicted, his heart was moved,
and he did his best to relieve them. He had never studied at a medical
college, but his keen powers of observation and the study of some of
the standard medical books that he had always at hand stood him in good
stead on many an occasion. He had witnessed so often the sufferings
endured by his flock owing to snow-blindness in the spring that, when he
returned home for consecration, he took advantage of the visit to attend
several lectures at an eye hospital, and was henceforth able to treat
the patients who came to him with splendid success. Great was the faith
the Indians had in the Bishop’s healing powers. Only a few years ago an
Indian along the Yukon River, who had been treated by the police doctor
for some time, was heard to say, “P’lice doctor no good;” and then with
animation continued, “Ah! Beeshop heem moche good!”
So now at Forty Mile the Indians came to him with all kinds of troubles.
One day a young woman arrived with her hand in a pitiable condition,
and asked the Bishop to give medicine to make it well. She had had a
quarrel with one of her neighbours, words led to blows, and then a
rough-and-tumble fight ensued, and even hair-pulling. During the affair
the woman’s hand was badly bitten and lacerated by the sharp teeth of her
opponent.
On another occasion a woman was brought prostrate and disfigured from a
fight with her “man.” (They never say husband here.) She was bleeding
from mouth and ears, and must have received hard usage. We are not
permitted to know the cause of their troubles, but no doubt they happened
quite often, and the good missionary was quite accustomed to them.
But his patients were not all like these. There were other cases which
touched his heart most deeply. A little boy, named Andrew, was one day
brought into the mission-house with a broken leg. Carefully the Bishop
set it, and this gave the child much relief. He became quite contented
with his new home, and “sang and whistled in his bed so prettily,” Mrs.
Bompas tells us. It was difficult to keep the little fellow still, so the
Bishop slept in his room every night so as to be near. Then, when the boy
was well enough, the Bishop lifted him in his strong arms and carried
him out on the platform. Andrew’s face was radiant with joy, and how
beautiful a sight it was to see his noble protector gazing fondly down
upon him!
Not only did the women and children need his attention, but the men of
the flock as well. Though many were quiet, and gave little or no trouble,
there were always others of a turbulent nature. Of these the Bishop had
no fear. He never hesitated to speak the word of rebuke, or to interfere
in order to stop a fight.
One day two Indians became engaged in a serious fight close by the
mission. One, Roderick by name, was determined to kill the other, and was
making desperate thrusts with a long, sharp knife. The Bishop, observing
the encounter, made for the contestants, and taking Roderick by the
collar, quietly said, “Come.” But the Indian still fought and slashed
with his knife, the Bishop all the time retaining his hold, and saying,
“Come, come with me.” After much effort he succeeded in separating them,
and half leading, half dragging, drew Roderick to the mission-house. Then
the Indian, completely exhausted, sank upon a large stone near by. Ere
long he began to realize how he had been saved from committing murder,
and reaching out his hand, seized that of the Bishop to thank him for
what he had done.
As the miners continued to arrive, the Bishop became much worried over
the change that took place among his Indians, and sadly he wrote:
“Nothing could be of greater contrast than the squalid poverty and want
of all things in which the Indians here lived thirty years ago and the
lavish luxury and extravagance with which they now squander hundreds of
dollars on needless food and dress, if not in a still more questionable
manner. The Indians now place such high price on any meat or fuel, or
other things which they supply to the whites, such as leather or shoes,
that it is hard for your missionaries to live with economy among them,
and the worst of all is that the younger Indians are only too apt to
imitate the careless whites in irreligion and debauchery.”
Then the white men exerted a baneful influence upon his Indians,
demoralizing them through drink and in many other unlawful ways. He had
to contend with the same difficulties as other missionaries in like
circumstances. It was Hans Egede, the great apostle to Greenland, who,
in 1730, said that while able in perfect security to sleep in the tents
of the natives, he had to keep a watch and fire-arms by his bed as a
protection against his fellow-Christians. Bishop Bompas remarked, after
several years’ sad experience with the whites among his little flock,
that “the advent of white population strengthens the call for missions to
the natives. While they are in the minority in population, they are not
so in Church attendance. At Dawson, with a population of 4,000 or 5,000,
no weekday services can be maintained, while at Moosehide, Klondyke, with
only 500 inhabitants, frequently 50 attend daily evening prayers.”
In January, 1895, the Bishop gave a description of this Northern
settlement: “A town is laid down at Forty Mile, and they have two
doctors, library, reading-room, debating society, theatre, eating-houses,
and plenty of ‘saloons,’ as public-houses are called in the West, besides
two stores or shops, and a few tradesmen. One debate was as to which has
caused the most misery in the past century, war or whisky. It was decided
to give the enviable preference to whisky. This was truly appropriate in
a mining camp.”
Though the miners, for the most part, were a hard-working, well-meaning
class of men, there were a few who were bent on mischief and playing
practical jokes. Some of these latter, at times, proved more serious
than they anticipated, as it was in Ellington’s case. Observing the
venerable Bishop moving steadily about his daily work, with his thoughts
on higher things, they imagined it would be a fine idea to spring upon
him a practical joke. So one day a man with a very serious face came to
the mission-house and asked the Bishop to bury a certain miner who had
recently died. This the Bishop agreed to do at the appointed hour. When
the man had departed, Mr. Totty, who was at Forty Mile, remarked that it
was strange that they had not heard of the man’s illness. At this the
Bishop became suspicious, so, going to the white settlement, he asked
a store-keeper there when the man had died. “He is not dead,” was the
reply. “Some of the boys wanted to have a little fun and watch you read
the Burial Service over an empty box.”
Though, fortunately, the attempt upon the Bishop failed, this trick had
imposed upon Mr. Ellington some years before. He, in all sincerity, stood
by the open grave, and read most feelingly the beautiful Burial Service
from beginning to end, only to find out at last it was all a farce.
Notwithstanding certain jokes of this kind, the miners had the
profoundest respect for the Bishop and his devoted wife. Though many of
them were indifferent to all things spiritual, still, they could admire
nobleness when they beheld it, as they did every day in the two faithful
soldiers of the Cross in their midst. As a token of their esteem, on
Christmas Day, 1892, a splendid nugget of gold was presented to Mrs.
Bompas, with the following address, signed by fifty-three miners:
“It is proposed to make a Christmas present to Mrs. Bompas, the wife of
the Rev. Bishop Bompas (for which purpose a collection will be taken
up amongst those who are willing to contribute), and that the present
shall be in the form of a Forty Mile nugget, as most appropriate to the
occasion, as a mark of respect and esteem from the miners of Forty Mile,
irrespective of creeds or religions; and, further, that it be distinctly
understood to be a personal present to the first white lady who has
wintered amongst us.”