Forty-two years amongst the Indians and Eskimo

by Beatrice Batty

‘Last summer,’ he says, ‘I was on my way to Rupert’s House. A large boat just built was going there, and I took a passage in it. It was loaded with a miscellaneous cargo of bricks, potatoes, a stove, bags of flour, and bales of goods. The crew was composed of Rupert’s House Indians, fine manly fellows, and all Christians. Leaving Moose somewhat late in the day, we went but a short distance and encamped on an island, eight miles off, called Ship-sands. Here we set up our tent and cooked our supper; then we gathered together, and joined our voices in a hymn of praise. I read a portion of Scripture, and we all knelt in prayer to the God of heaven and earth, and not long after lay down to rest. At midnight there was an arrival, and I was aroused from sleep by my guide, with the cry of “Musenahekun! Musenahekun!” A packet! a packet! These are magic words. I started to my feet in an instant, for not since February had I seen a letter from home, and it was now June 17. It was, however, but a poor affair, containing no private letters from England, and but little public news. The real packet I welcomed at Rupert’s House nearly a month later.

‘In the early morn we spread our sails to the wind and went joyously forward. The east point of Hannah Bay is reached, and it now seems that further progress is impossible; there is ice, ice; block after block is pushed aside; hoisting sail, back we go, to round a projecting point. We are in a narrow, crooked lane of water, through which we move very carefully, with poles in hand, ready to do battle with any piece of ice which lies in our way, and so hour after hour slips by, and all hopes of reaching Rupert’s House are at an end; but towards evening our labours are crowned with success, and the clear sea stretches before us. There is no place to land. We set our best man at the helm, and taking reefs in our sails, trust to the protection of the Almighty. I think it was the most uncomfortable night I have ever spent.

‘In the early morning the wind abated. We once more set sail, and traversed beautiful Rupert’s Bay, with its varied scenery of hill and valley, wooded headlands and bare rocks, Gheiles Mount, the highest eminence in this part of the country, rising majestically above all. By and by, the North Point is reached, and we enter Rupert’s River. We have been seen at Rupert’s House, the flag is waving in the breeze; the few houses form a pretty picture in the morning light; and just before seven o’clock I am heartily welcomed by a crowd of Europeans and natives, who come down to the river’s bank to meet me, as I get out of the boat.’

Rupert’s House is an important post of the Hudson’s Bay Company, and the centre of their fur trade in a very extensive district. The business is managed by a trader high in the Hudson’s Bay service, assisted by a clerk, a storekeeper, and a staff of tradesmen and servants; the buildings consist of the master’s residence, houses for the servants, large and substantially built stores, and last, though not least, a capacious church. ‘That church,’ says Mr. Horden, ‘how long I had sighed for it; how hard I had laboured one summer getting logs brought to the place from distant woods, and sawn into boards for the commencement of the building! And now I see a stream of worshippers flowing from tents and marquees, gradually filling it, until there is scarcely room for another human being. What joy and gratitude did I feel! This is the fifth church in my district since Moose became my home; my next must be four hundred miles from Rupert’s House, for the Saulteaux Indians of New Brunswick.

‘There goes the bell! it is just six o’clock. I had service every morning at Rupert’s House, but this morning there is an innovation, I am one of the assembly, not the leader; I have deputed an Indian to conduct the service, and right well he performs his duty. The Litany is very impressively rendered, and a chapter of St. Matthew well read. The numerous voices mingle in their translation of “He dies, the friend of sinners dies”—Nepeu, umra ka sakehat—to Luther’s hymn; then I take the Testament and once more read the chapter and explain it, enforcing its lessons on my hearers; the hymn, “Lord, dismiss us with Thy blessing,” is sung, and the congregation separates.

‘It is time for breakfast. I take mine with my kind host, the trader, who is not only an English gentleman, but a Churchman and communicant. At nine o’clock I am in my vestry, and around me are the servants’ children. I am in a small English school, reading the English Testament, teaching English hymns, till eleven, when my Indians come to me family by family.

‘Here is Jacob Matamashkum.

‘“Well, Jacob, how did you get on last winter?”

‘“Part of it very badly, part tolerably well. It was a poor season for furs, martens entirely failed, and none of the other animals made up for the deficiency; many of the Indians will be quite unable to pay their debts to the trader. We had our prayers every day, and we kept the Sabbath, but once now and then we were obliged to look for some food on Sunday when we had nothing. We love our religion more and more, and are very glad indeed we have the church to assemble in.”