“FAINT, YET PURSUING”
When on a visit to one of his mission-stations during his later years,
the Bishop was asked to write a few lines in an autograph album. He
at once complied with the request, and wrote the words, which he felt
applied to him as they did to Gideon and his 300, “Faint, yet pursuing.”
Years of strenuous work were telling upon his gigantic constitution, and
he began to realize that ere long he must lay down the staff of office.
For some time he had his attention turned towards the southern portion
of the diocese, to the Indians who were gathered at Caribou Crossing,
which had become quite an important railway centre. In August, 1901, he
and Mrs. Bompas bade farewell to all at Forty Mile, and started on their
journey up the river. Whitehorse was only in its infancy, and the Rev. R.
J. and Mrs. Bowen had just returned from England to take charge of the
Church work. In their little tent they received the venerable couple,
and did all in their power to minister to their comfort. The welcome at
Caribou Crossing was most meagre. A tent which belonged to Bishop Ridley
gave them shelter for a few hours, when, hearing of a bunk-house across
the river, they at once rented it, and afterwards purchased it for $150.
It was dirty and uncomfortable, but the Bishop placed a rug and blanket
on the big table for Mrs. Bompas to rest while he went to explore. The
house was infested with gophers, which ran along the rafters, causing
great annoyance. But, notwithstanding the toil of the day, evening
prayer was held in Bishop Ridley’s tent. Here services were conducted
till the fall, when the weather grew so cold that Mrs. Bompas’s fingers
became numb as she played at the little harmonium which she brought
with her. After that, services, morning and evening, were held at the
mission-house, “which,” as Mrs. Bompas tells us, “had been used as a
road-house and post-office, and possessed one good-sized room, over the
door of which there still exists the ominous word ‘Bar-room’ (now hidden
behind a picture); and in this room we had to gather—Indians and white
people—for Sunday and weekday services, for baptisms, marriages, and
funerals, for school-children and adult classes, etc.”
In 1903, Bishop Ridley, of Caledonia, paid a visit to Caribou Crossing on
his way to Atlin. The description he gives of the episcopal residence and
the life of the venerable occupants is most interesting, a few extracts
of which must be given here:
“There on the platform stands the straight and venerable hero of the
North, Dr. Bompas, the Bishop of Selkirk. I jumped from the train and,
though I had never met him before, I grasped his hand and exclaimed, ‘At
last! at last!’ We knew each other well by letter only. He was as placid
as the mountains and the lakes they embosom.”
Then a glimpse is given of the “Bishop’s house, built of logs, on the
sand. The flooring-boards were half an inch apart; so shrunken were they
that it would be easy to rip them up and lay them down close together.
Then the roof: it was papered, with battens across the paper. I was
anxious to see inside less of the light of heaven through the rents.
Ventilation is carried to excess. Everything around is as simple as
indifference to creature comforts can make it, excepting the books, which
are numerous, up-to-date, and as choice as any two excellent scholars
could wish.
“The question that has often sprung from my heart has been this: if
this poor thirty-pound affair is by comparison delightful, what of the
contrivances that have sheltered them in the past forty years?
“Never in my life did I value hospitality so much, or feel so
honoured, as here, under the roof of these grand apostles of God. Two
septuagenarians of grace and broad culture, whose years have been spent
nobly in God’s eyes, have deliberately chosen an austere type of service,
not for austerity’s sake, but for Christ’s sake, under circumstances the
average citizen of the Empire would feel to be past endurance. They are
as happy as heroic. She, accomplished far beyond the standard one meets
with in London drawing-rooms, unless among the most cultured circles;
he, a fine scholar, steeped in Hebrew and Syriac lore, as well as in the
commoner studies of the clergy, live on, love on, labour on in this vast
expanse, little trodden but by the Indians for whom they live and will
die.
“If such lives fail in Christ’s cause, that cause is doomed. Let those
who criticize cease their cackling, and try to imitate by self-sacrifice
such lives as those I have just touched on; and they, too, may have some
share in the betterment of mankind—the expansion of Christ’s kingdom and
the eternal welfare of humanity.”
Anxious days followed the Bishop’s removal to this place. The diocese was
scarce of clergy, and when Mr. Bowen left Whitehorse earnest appeals were
sent “outside” for men. Then it was, upon the Bishop’s earnest request,
that the Rev. I. O. Stringer arrived in November, 1903, to take up the
work laid down by Mr. Bowen. Much pleased was the Bishop to have Mr.
Stringer so near, and at once marked him as his successor.
Then followed the death of his old friend Archbishop Machray, and as
senior Bishop of the province of Rupert’s Land, he was summoned to
Winnipeg. A message reached him from Mr. John Machray, nephew of the
late Primate, telling him of the Archbishop’s death, with the addition:
“As senior Bishop, it is important that you should attend a conference of
Bishops in Winnipeg to select a successor.”
Though the Bishop shrank much from leaving the North to mingle with the
bustling world, yet, after a few minutes’ thought, he sent back the
following answer:
“I will try to be with you by Easter.”
And on Easter Eve, April, 1904, with Mrs. Bompas and Susie, a little deaf
and dumb girl,[3] he was met by several of the clergy at Winnipeg, and
was present at St. John’s Cathedral on Easter Day, though only as one
of the congregation, being too much overcome by the crowd and bustle of
the city to take any active part in the service. What thoughts must have
surged through his mind as he looked upon the great prairie city, which
had changed so much since last he saw it thirty long years before!
On the following Sunday he was able to preach in St. John’s Cathedral.
“His sermon,” so Mrs. Bompas tells us, “was in his usual earnest and
unembellished style, referring to the last time he had officiated in that
church, nearly thirty years before, alluding with pathos to the many who
had left the busy whirl of life during that period, and expressing his
great pleasure that, among the many changes that were taking place in the
Church, the services of St. John’s Cathedral still retained something of
their old, almost austere, simplicity.”
The Bishop’s time was fully occupied during his stay in Winnipeg. There
were old friends calling upon him, reporters seeking interviews, meetings
to attend, and addresses to deliver, which wearied him very much. His
voice was feeble, and could not be distinctly heard at the gatherings
where he told of his Northern diocese. But what did that matter? The
people thought more of the man—the man of whom they had heard such
wonderful things—and cheered him heartily.
The Archbishop of Rupert’s Land, in an address at the 107th Anniversary
of the Church Missionary Society, at Exeter Hall, London, April, 1907,
thus referred to the visit of Bishop Bompas to Winnipeg:
“Dr. Bompas, that splendid veteran missionary, who came down at the
time of my election—he was as humble as a little child—when he stood
on the platform at a great missionary meeting, and when I, introducing
him, spoke of the hardships he had gone through, corrected me thus when
he started to speak. He said: ‘It is you men at the centre, with your
telephones and your telegrams, who have the hardships. We have a soft
time in the North. Nobody ever worries us.’ That is all that he said
about his hardships. Then he told the story of his work in a simple,
childlike way.”
The city life did not agree with him. He longed for his Northern flock
and the quietness of his little log-house at Caribou Crossing. A doctor
was consulted, who strongly advised him not to return to his diocese for
some time. Before this the Bishop was uncertain when he would return; but
after the doctor’s verdict had been given, he hesitated no longer, but
fixed a date for his departure. Only three weeks did he stay in Winnipeg,
and then started northward. Acts of kindness were showered upon him on
every hand. All delighted to honour the noble missionary in their midst.
As he stood on the platform before leaving Winnipeg, an unknown friend,
knowing that the Bishop would not afford himself the luxury of a good
berth, slipped into his hand a ticket for one in the Pullman car.
When once again in his own diocese, the longing grew stronger for
rest, and he became impatient for the time when his successor would be
appointed. Then, the delay in the election of the new Archbishop gave
him much concern. He felt it was his duty to go once more to Winnipeg to
hasten matters, and many were the letters written and received before
everything was finally arranged. His annual trip down the river to visit
the various mission stations became more and more of a burden, and he
wished to stay quietly in one place to carry on his desired work.
And that desired work filled him with gladness. “The daily round, the
common task” was all that he asked for. Praise might go to others; he
wished for none for himself. The Indian school occupied much of his
time, and part of each morning was given up to it. The building over the
river, which at first had been used for the school, was exchanged for
the log police-barracks, quite close to the mission-house. It was an
interesting sight to observe the venerable, grey-haired teacher among a
number of stirring young Indian pupils. Gladly did he leave his beloved
translations to be awhile the teacher.
“Freely the sage, though wrapped in musings high,
Assumed the teacher’s part.”
Though the Bishop used to say that to teach Indians was a very difficult
task, “like writing in the sand, instead of graving in the rock,” yet he
never gave up, but went bravely on till the last.
A portion of his time was devoted to letter-writing and translation work.
He was always an early riser, and his letters were written in the early
morning in the quietness of his study. Letter-writing he seemed to love,
and seldom did he pen less than six or seven missives a day. It was in
this manner he could express himself most freely, and sometimes, when
wishing to convey a message to a member of his household, he would do so
by letter, at times leaving it at the post-office to be delivered later
in the day.
[Illustration: AN INDIAN BOY AT PLAY
When the Indians come into town the dusky lads are fond of imitating the
ways of the white people. Too often they copy the worse side. But this
little fellow is certainly engaged in innocent sport.]
[Illustration: AN INDIAN BOY AT WORK
Indians on the Yukon dislike work. Around the towns they will beg for
food and clothing. At the Whitehorse Rectory a pile of unsplit wood was
kept ready, and the able-bodied natives were made to earn their food and
clothing.]
Rarely did he miss meeting the train on its arrival at the settlement,
that he might be at hand to receive his mail as soon as possible. His
tall, erect figure, with the leather travelling-bag[4] slung across his
shoulder, walking up and down the platform, was a most familiar sight.
Strangers would gaze with curiosity upon the veteran of the North, of
whom they had heard so much, and often snapshots were taken, to be
reproduced in books, magazines, or newspaper articles. This latter the
Bishop bore with good-natured tolerance, considering it a necessary
evil, and one of the discomforts of modern civilization. He told one of
his clergy—him who now wields the episcopal staff—who was busy taking a
number of pictures of the Bishop and his Indian school, that he did not
wish to see _him_ go, but he would like to see the _camera_ make a hasty
departure.
For some time the Bishop wished to change the name of Caribou Crossing,
as his letters often went to other places of a similar name, and thus
caused much delay and confusion. After careful consideration, he chose
the name of “Carcross.” Many objected to the change, and strongly-worded
articles were written in the local paper condemning the “mongrel name of
Carcross.” The Bishop remained silent, replying to none of these attacks.
At length a letter appeared, addressed to the Bishop, from the Secretary
of the Geographic Board of Canada, stating that at a meeting of the
Board “the name ‘Carcross’ was approved instead of ‘Caribou’ or ‘Caribou
Crossing.’” The Bishop smiled, but said nothing. Since then the new name
has steadily won its way.
Notwithstanding the school-work and study, ample time was found for
other duties which devolved upon him. There were Indians calling at most
unseasonable hours for advice over some perplexing question. The advice
thus freely given was often interpreted in most unexpected ways. On one
occasion he had a long talk with an Indian who had taken a young woman
as his second wife, having wearied of the first. The Bishop told him it
was wrong to have two wives, and that he should only have one. The Indian
seemed much surprised with these words, and promised to obey; but, to
the astonishment of all, he put away his old, faithful wife and kept the
younger.
Once, at a wedding of two Indians, the Bishop repeated very carefully
the words, “for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness
and in health,” etc., and told the groom to repeat them after him. The
Indian was much puzzled. He could not repeat the words, neither could
he understand their meaning, and looked vacantly around. After a time a
light illumined his face, and, turning to his passive, dusky bride, he
said: “Me sick, you take care me; you sick, me take care you—eh?”
The building of the new church at Carcross was a great comfort to the
Bishop. Services had been held in the mission-house, which was too small
to accommodate all who attended. The cost of the building was met almost
entirely by kind friends outside the diocese. In 1904 Mrs. Bompas visited
Eastern Canada, and addressed the Women’s Association at Montreal,
Toronto, Ottawa, and Quebec on mission-work in the North. Great was her
surprise when, at the annual meeting of this noble handmaid of the Church
at the Cathedral in Toronto, she was presented with the generous gift of
$800 towards the church building fund for St. Saviour’s, Carcross. Other
gifts came steadily in, and the success of the church was complete.
In the erection of this little building the Bishop was most active, not
only superintending the work, but doing much manual labour himself. With
his own hands he made a little gate for the church-door, to keep out the
numerous Indian dogs which were always prowling around during service.
This specimen of the Bishop’s handiwork remained for some time after his
death, a curiosity to all who looked upon it, especially to tourists.
It was a happy day when at last the church was opened for service. It was
consecrated on August 8, 1904, after Mrs. Bompas’s return to the diocese.
The services were of a very simple nature, for the Bishop seemed to have
an almost complete disregard for external things. Seldom did he wear his
episcopal robes—not even when visiting the different mission stations in
his diocese—being content to use the long white surplice with the black
stole, minus his Doctor’s hood. This was a cause of worry to Mrs. Bompas,
who rejoiced to see all things done “decently and in order.” Once,
on the Mackenzie River, when starting to hold a Confirmation service
some distance away, he was urged by Mrs. Bompas to take his episcopal
robes. He refused to do so, saying that the surplice was sufficient. On
that trip his boat was swamped, and everything was lost, and only with
difficulty were he and his companions saved.
Anxiously the Bishop awaited Bishop Stringer’s return from Winnipeg
to take charge of the diocese. No jealousy came into his heart at the
thought of handing over the work to another. It was his own wish, for
he knew a younger and stronger man was needed. For himself, he did not
wish to leave the Yukon or to retire. He resolved to still carry on his
Master’s work as a humble missionary much farther down the river. He was
eager to be away among his dusky flock, free from all the cares of the
huge diocese, which were becoming a great burden.
At length Bishop Stringer arrived, and at once he handed over the affairs
to him, and discussed his own plans with the enthusiasm of youth, little
thinking that the Master of Life was about to call him to a higher
service.