LIGHT AT EVENTIDE
In a famous picture an old warrior, scarred in many a fierce battle, is
seen hanging up his sword; his work ended, he could afford to rest. But
not so with Bishop Bompas, the faithful soldier of the Cross. No thought
of ease entered his mind, but only more work for the Master. As St. Paul
of old handed on his commission to his son Timothy, so did this veteran
apostle of a later day pass on the torch to a younger son in the faith,
that he might be free for other work. Then came the end, the last scene
in the life of this noble man, for “God’s finger touched him, and he
slept.”
Far away in dear old England, 7,000 miles from a quiet grave in the great
Canadian northland, the following account of those last days has been
beautifully written as a loving tribute by her, the faithful wife, who
for long years bore with the devoted Bishop the burden and heat of the
day:
“The storms on Lake Bennett, on the shores of which Carcross is situated,
are at times pretty severe. The winds blow in gusts down the steep
mountain gullies, and toss into fury the waters of the lake. The depth
of that lake between Carcross and Bennett is very great. It has often
been sounded, and no bottom reached. Many a hastily run-up scow, full of
brave, enterprising miners, has been wrecked on these waters, and many
a nameless grave in the white man’s territory marks the resting-place
of some poor fellow who was strong to venture, but had not learnt to
realize the many dangers and vicissitudes of a miner’s life. But the lake
has its periods of calm no less than those of turmoil and unrest. Mark it
on some evening of summer, when scarcely a ripple stirs its surface. The
reflection of the mountains on the water is so clear and vivid that one
is tempted to doubt which is the reality and which is the shadow.
[Illustration: ON THE TRAIL
The writer’s last trip into Livingstone Creek, seventy miles from
Whitehorse. The scene is on a large mountain lake, with towering rocks on
every side. The Indian, Jimmy Jackson, is at the rear of the sled.]
“Such a calm, such a change from turmoil into peace, marked the evening
of the life we have been considering. We believe that God’s servants have
been given a premonition of the approach of death. The Bishop had laid
his plans some months ahead, and made necessary preparations for a winter
down the river. He had always been remarkable for physical strength and
energy. For his winter travelling he was always seen running, with the
jaunty pace of the Northern tripper, ahead of his sledge. He was ever
ready to help the men hauling up a boat at some of the portages, or in
pushing it down the bank into the river. Among our party it was always
the Bishop who insisted on charging himself with the heaviest articles,
and it was only within the last two years that he abstained from hauling
water from the lake for the whole of our household. But symptoms of some
diminution of strength and vigour in this strong man were beginning to
show themselves. The eyes that had pored so long with imperfect light
over the pages of Hebrew and Syriac, in which he so delighted, were
failing, and had to be strengthened by glasses stronger and yet stronger
still. Since his last attack of scurvy he had lost all sense of smell or
taste. No one could be with the Bishop many hours without observing an
expression of weariness and dejection in his countenance, which was as
intense as pathetic. He was often heard whispering, ‘Courage, courage!’
To more than one of his friends he had given his impression that he had
not long to live. To his brother he wrote just a year before his death:
‘For myself, I am most thankful to be in this happy retirement. When
the time comes, I hope for as tranquil an earthly ending as that of our
brother George, though perhaps mine may be more sudden, and possibly not
even in my bed.’
“The Bishop’s burden of responsibility had of late years been greatly
increased by the advent of the white men. The population of the diocese
had increased sevenfold and at rapid strides. The problem of providing
for the spiritual needs of these people, and especially of keeping the
Indians from the allurements of the whisky traffic and the snares of the
gambling-table, was weighing heavily upon him. But the darkest hour is
the hour before the dawn; the labourer’s task was nearly accomplished.
The Rev. I. O. Stringer had been nominated by the Bishop and approved
by the Church Missionary Society and the Canadian Board of Missions as
successor to Bishop Bompas in the See of Selkirk (now called the See of
Yukon). He was a good man and an earnest Churchman, and had had some
years’ experience of mission-work among the Indians of Peel River and the
Eskimo of Herschel Island, at the mouth of the Mackenzie. Mr. Stringer
was consecrated Bishop in St. John’s Cathedral, Winnipeg, December
17, 1905, and his arrival in Selkirk Diocese was ardently looked for.
With him was expected the Rev. A. E. O’Meara, of Toronto, to be placed
in charge of the newly-started mission at Conrad, twelve miles from
Carcross, the centre of a new mining camp.
“And so, with the mission staff a little better equipped, with the work
of the diocese passing into younger and less toil-worn hands, our Bishop
could now turn his thoughts to his own plans for the coming months.
The Church Missionary Society had suggested to him a retiring pension,
but this he declined to accept, unless he continued in some department
of the work of the mission. His great desire now, and one which had
for a long time past occupied his thoughts, was to start a new mission
on Little Salmon River, where there are often congregated together 200
Indians who have seldom come within sound of the Gospel. But Bishop
Stringer and others dissuaded him from the new venture, thinking that
the work of starting a new mission, with the prospect of having to
build a house and get in supplies for the coming winter, was one for
which neither the Bishop himself nor his wife, at their advanced age,
were fitted. Accepting this disappointment as God’s will, Bishop Bompas
prepared to go down the river to Forty Mile, below Dawson. Now was there
bustle and unrest on the mission premises at Carcross preparatory to the
departure.
“A passage for the Bishop and Mrs. Bompas and two Indian girls had
been secured on one of the river steamers to sail on Monday. This was
Saturday, June 9, a day calm and bright, as our summer days in the far
North mostly are. The Bishop was as active as ever on that day. Twice he
had walked across the long railway bridge, and his quick elastic step
had been commented on as that of a young man. Later on he had been up to
the school, and on to the Indian camp to visit some sick Indians. Then
he went home, and remained for some time in conversation with Bishop
Stringer, into whose hands he had already committed all the affairs of
the diocese. Then the mission party dined together, and at eight o’clock
they all reassembled for prayers. After prayers the Bishop retired to his
study and shut the door.
“Was there, we wonder, any intimation of the coming rest in the breast
of that stalwart warrior, whose end of life was now so near as to be
reckoned, not by hours, but by minutes only? Was there any consciousness
of having fought a good fight, and finished his course? We know not.
Sitting on a box, as was his custom, he began the sermon which proved to
be his last. Presently the pen stopped; the hand that so often had guided
it was to do so no more. Near him was one of his flock, an Indian girl,
who needed some attention, and as he arose he leaned his elbow on a pile
of boxes. And while standing there the great call came: the hand of God
touched him, and the body which had endured so much fell forward. When
Bishop Stringer reached his side a few minutes later, the Indian girl
was holding his head in her lap. Nothing could be done, and without a
struggle, without one word of farewell, the brave soul passed forth to a
higher life.
“And so the tale is told, the chapter ended, of that life begun
seventy-two years since. A suffering, uneventful life, and yet, we hope,
not all unfruitful of God’s glory, and of souls won for the fold of the
Good Shepherd. Most aptly do the words of the poet apply to him:
“O good grey head which all men knew,
O voice from which their omens all men drew,
O iron nerve to true occasion true,
O fallen at length that tower of strength,
Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.
Such was he whom we deplore.
The long self-sacrifice of life is o’er.”
“The awe and silence which overspread the camp, and school, and mission
that night and the following day were very striking. By the morning
of Sunday tidings of the Bishop’s death had been flashed to Ottawa,
and London, and all down the river. On Tuesday morning notices of the
Bishop’s life and work were in many American and Canadian newspapers,
with his portrait.
[Illustration: THE BODY OF BISHOP BOMPAS TAKEN IN A BOAT FROM THE CHURCH
TO THE GRAVEYARD
Mrs. Bompas and Mrs. Cody are sitting in the back part of the boat. As
there was no team available on the Mission side of the river, the boat
was the only means of conveyance.]
“The funeral had to be on Monday, June 11, Festival of St. Barnabas (the
Son of Consolation). Messages came from the Indians down the river, as
well as from friends elsewhere, expressing deepest sympathy with Mrs.
Bompas in the terrible shock she had sustained. The Indians heard with
extreme satisfaction that their friend and Bishop had once expressed
a wish to be buried among them. Two of them came and offered to dig
his grave, adding, ‘You no pay me.’ In the Indian cemetery, therefore,
beautifully situated less than a mile from Carcross, was the grave made
ready. The mountains, clad with their dark pine-woods, looked down grave
and solemn on the Indians’ burial-ground. There were not many graves, but
they were well and carefully kept and tended, for they were all friends
who lay there, and we knew the life and history of each one. Below the
cemetery were the waters of the lake, in summer ever studded with swift
canoes, or white man’s row-boats, or the steamer _Gleamer_ and smaller
vessels. But on this day there was no movement on the lake. All vessels
had their flags half-mast high, and deferred their sailing that their
captains and men might attend the funeral. It took place at five o’clock.
On account of the distance, only two of the Bishop’s clergy were able to
take part in the solemn service, Mr. O’Meara, of Conrad, and Mr. Cody, of
Whitehorse.
“The little church of St. Saviour’s was now filled with all the white
population of Carcross and all the Indians who had come to do honour to
the great man who had fallen in their midst. The two hymns chosen from
the Hymnal Companion were most appropriate. One, ‘For all the Saints,’
telling of the triumph of the saints of God after earth’s hard fight;
the other, ‘Jesus lives,’ breathing forth the blessed hope of victory
over the grave and a glorious resurrection. The service was conducted
by Bishop Stringer, assisted by the two clergymen; and then the dear
Bishop’s body was lifted into a boat waiting at the foot of the bank,
and rowed by two natives over water as smooth as glass to the cemetery.
Three white men and three Indians carried the body from the shore to
the grave; and after the beautiful service had been read, the children
of the Indian mission-school came one by one and dropped into the grave
their little offerings of wild flowers, which had been gathered for the
occasion.
“There is a humble grave in one of the loveliest and most secluded spots
in the Yukon territory. Dark pine-forests guard that grave. During the
winter months pure, untrodden snow covers it. It is enclosed by a rough
fence made of fir-wood, which an Indian woodman cut down and trimmed,
leaving the bark on, and then fixed strong and stable around the grave.
But none will disturb that spot: no foot of man or beast will dishonour
it; the sweet notes of the Canadian robin and the merry chirp of the
snow-bird are almost the only sounds which break the silence of that
sacred place. The Indians love that grave; the mission children visit
it at times with soft steps and hushed voices to lay some cross of wild
flowers or evergreens upon it. There is a grey granite headstone with the
words, ‘In the peace of Christ,’ and the name and age of him who rests
beneath. It is the grave of Bishop Bompas.”
“On the night of the Bishop’s death,” says Bishop Stringer, “one group
of Indians after another came to the Bishop’s house with sorrow depicted
on each face as they asked at first if the sad news were true, and then
other questions, showing their deep concern. In the morning they came
one by one to look for the last time on the face of him who was always
their friend. Never more could he listen patiently to all their troubles;
never again would he get up from the midst of his work and tramp off
half a mile to their camps to see a sick person, and give all the relief
possible in medicine, food, and clothing, and, above all, advice in their
many adversities and, oftentimes, complicated troubles.
“The day after the funeral an Indian and his wife arrived on foot from
Skagway. As Mrs. Bompas went out to shake hands with them as old
friends, she said, ‘Bishop has gone.’ The woman looked interested,
thinking she meant he had gone to visit some of the other missions. Mrs.
Bompas tried to explain. ‘Bishop dead three days,’ she said. Then the
truth seemed to dawn on the Indian woman, and she repeated, with rising
inflection, ‘Bishop dead? Bishop dead? Bishop dead?’ at the same time
giving vent to such a wail as I scarcely ever heard from a human being. I
then realized more than ever how much the loss of our dear Bishop meant
to his own people, the Indians.”
All men had a profound respect for Bishop Bompas, especially the hardy
prospectors. They had endured so much on the lonely trails that they
looked upon the Bishop as one of themselves, who had not spent his life
in ease and luxury, but struggling with Nature at her sternest. In
speaking of the late Bishop, a prospector at Carcross said:
“I feel as if I had lost my best friend. Sometimes some of us were hard
up—no funds and no food; but we always felt we could turn to the Bishop
for help. We knew that to knock at his door and ask him if there was any
odd job we could do meant always, and especially if the Bishop knew we
were hard up, that he would find something for us to do—now some wood to
get, or, again, some stove-pipe to fix, or a few nails to drive for Mrs.
Bompas, or some other work that would give him the opportunity to pay us
sufficient to keep body and soul together.”
Bishop Stringer, who records this conversation, also mentions that on the
Mackenzie River he once met a miner who had been in Dawson in the early
days. “When asked if he knew Bishop Bompas, he said he thought he had
seen him. When he was described as a pioneer in the land, he suddenly
exclaimed: ‘Oh yes; that’s the man who wrote the book. I have often seen
him and spoken to him. Many of us have read his book. The miners know
him as “the man who wrote the book.”’ He referred to the ‘History of the
Mackenzie River Diocese,’ which contains much matter of interest to the
miner about the North.”
The letters received by Mrs. Bompas were full of the sincerest sympathy.
Some were from the men of the “Old Brigade,” who had stood shoulder
to shoulder with the Bishop in his great fight against the powers of
darkness. Beautiful as well as pathetic are the words of the Venerable
Archdeacon McDonald, from Winnipeg:
“He was a man dear to me, and I thank God for the abundant grace that
was bestowed upon him, enabling him to labour patiently and persistently
among the natives, for whose sake he became a missionary. I cannot
forget that it was to replace me he first came to the North, when, as it
was thought, my earthly course was nearly run, and I would have to lay
down the Banner of the Cross. Nobly has he borne the standard; he has
fought the fight of faith, he has finished his course, and has gone to
receive, with the Apostle Paul, and all who love the appearing of our
sweet Saviour Christ, the crown of righteousness which shall be bestowed
upon them.... Thus another landmark has gone. Bishop Bompas achieved a
great reputation for devotedness and saintliness and the most heroic
courage. Like our great pattern, he constantly went about doing good.
He counted not his life dear unto him, but exposed it many times in his
great Master’s cause. He has left a splendid record and example for all
Bishops and clergy. You and the Bishop have done a magnificent work in
that Northern region—a work that has blessed not only the Indians, but,
in an indirect way, the entire Church of God.”
Thus lived and died this noble missionary in the great Northland, among
his dusky flock. Though he is dead, the results of his noble life cannot
perish. With him will always be associated thoughts of mighty rivers and
great inland lakes, snow-capped mountains and sweeping plains; thoughts
of heroism and devotion to duty; but, above all, thoughts of gratitude
for countless unknown natives of the North, on river, mountain, and
plain, who have been lifted out of darkness and brought close to the
Great Shepherd’s side, through the light of the Gospel carried by a
faithful herald of salvation—this noble Apostle of the North.
FOOTNOTES
[1] Sitka, until recently the capital of Alaska.
[2] “Pathfinders of the West,” by A. C. Laut.
[3] This girl was placed in the Deaf and Dumb Institution at Winnipeg.
She died on February 26, 1897, of tuberculosis, aged ten years.
[4] This travelling-bag was exhibited in 1909 at the Missionary Loan
Exhibition held in Montreal, and attracted much attention.
THE END
BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD