In March 1885, the bishop had at last been able to commence the erection of a new and large building in which to place the winter stores.
A PAGE OF THE CREE ‘PILGRIM’S PROGRESS’
‘We have been logging,’ he wrote; ‘I have two men and a boy cutting logs, and sawing them with large pit saws. They are working at Maidman Island, three miles distant. We shall not be able to get our boards home until open water, but when the sawing is completed we shall get on with the frame.’
April brought with it a second epidemic of influenza; the packeters returning from Abbitibbe with the letters conveyed it to Moose. Everyone, except a few Europeans, was attacked, and work was at a standstill. Many deaths resulted, and the bishop’s heart was sad. The poor folks at Moose had been disappointed too by the failure of grey geese and wavies, as well as the beautiful snow-buntings, which generally come in clouds, just before the geese. The bishop greatly feared that when the Indians came in from their hunting-grounds they would all take the dreaded influenza, and that their tents would become the scene of disease and misery.
On May 8 the great guns, the break-up signal, were fired. The Indians follow the ice down, and so as soon as the passage was practicable canoe after canoe appeared opposite Bishop’s Court, and the bank was alive with men, women, children, and dogs. ‘There they were,’ says the bishop, ‘just as well as when they went in the autumn. We soon entered the house of prayer to thank our Heavenly Father for the loving care He had exercised towards those who for so many months had had their home amongst the gloomy forests of Moosonee. Each family was then seen apart, and I was made acquainted with the whole history of the winter.
‘In June a dispersion took place, when most of the men manned the boats which take the supplies to the stations in the interior, and most of their wives and families going off to the fishing-stations, only to come in on Saturday to take part in the Sunday services. The morning of departure presented a busy scene—from the store issued the men, carrying bags of flour, kegs of pork and gunpowder, bales of cloth, calico, and leather, cases of guns, chests of tea, and all the things mentioned in a trader’s inventory. All is snugly packed in the boats, the signal given, and they push off from the launch. It is a pretty sight, the men are all standing up, and their long ironclad poles for a time rise together as they force their respective boats forward, bending to the work, and putting forth their strength.
‘Two of the boats were under the guidance of Jacob Mekwatch, “our prince of hunters.” The other three boats were under the charge of James Gideon, another excellent Indian and good hunter, who had several men among his crews who could conduct a service and deliver a very good address—for all of the most intelligent Indians are trained to do this, so that when there is no clergyman at the place one of them may be able to lead his fellow Indians in worship. All looked well, no one complained. But many days had not elapsed before influenza attacked the boats’ crews; one after the other of the poor men succumbed, and was brought back to be under medical care. James Gideon became so ill that it was feared he would die, and many of his crew were but little better. It was a sad time, for many were taken ill so far up the river that it was judged best for them to remain with the boats. Happily, though there was so much sickness, there were no deaths. It was a sad, sad time.’