The station is very prettily situated on a long point of land which runs almost across the lake. There are a few houses representing the fur-trading establishment. At a short distance is the modest parsonage-house and neat church, both of which have been almost entirely erected by the Rev. J. Saunders’ own hands. It was the most isolated station in Moosonee, but it is so no longer, as at only two days’ journey distant runs the great Canadian Pacific railroad, by which all supplies are now introduced into that part of the country.
There is at present no danger of starvation here, but formerly, when all supplies were got up from Moose, and were consequently limited, great privation was frequently experienced. If the rabbits failed, famine stared the inhabitants in the face. The worst year ever known was the one the bishop first spent in the country, when a fourth of the entire population died, some from actual starvation, the rest being killed and eaten by their friends! The tales of that terrible winter are heartrending in the extreme. The most painful case was that of a man and his wife who lost their whole family of six children.
Among the Indians of Matawakumma was one named Arthur Martin.
‘I forget his Indian name,’ says the bishop. ‘I give the name he received at his baptism. At the time referred to he was a young man, and was not subjected to as great privations as some of his countrymen. I received him into the Church in 1852, and in 1854 I received his wife, on my first visit to Matawakumma, where I married them. Many of the Indians there clung very closely to their old superstitions, and the drum and the conjuring tents were in constant requisition. Some of them still hold back, not having yet taken the Saviour to their hearts.
‘But this was not the case with Arthur and his wife; when once they had put their hand to the plough, they looked not back again. Their Saviour was their all in all. They both learnt to read, and made themselves well acquainted with the books as they came out in the Ojibbeway language, the only one they knew, and they did their best to train their children in the ways of the Lord. Their eldest son, Louis, one of the most intelligent Indians I have ever known, followed in his father’s steps, and eventually became a valuable catechist in the mission. His letters were excellent, while to Mr. Saunders he was invaluable, assisting him in everything; for he handled hammer, axe, and paddle with equal facility, and he was his constant companion in his journeys through the country. I had hopes that eventually I might ordain him, and thus increase both his influence and usefulness among his countrymen; but this was not to be. He went with Mr. Saunders to their railway station, Biscotasing; in getting into a carriage while in motion, he fell and injured his leg. It required amputation; the operation was performed, and it was hoped that all would go well; but a few days after mortification set in, and the end soon came. He seemed necessary for our work; it never occurred to us that we might be obliged to do without him. Truly
God moves in a mysterious way.
‘The death of this son was a heavy blow to his father, now growing old; but he was soon resigned to the will of God, and went on his Christian course. Like Job of old, he was tried by personal suffering; in that, too, his faith remained firm and steadfast. A mist and darkness came over him—blindness took possession of both his eyes. It was thought that his sight might be restored by an operation, and he was sent down to Moose for that purpose. He was quite alone, having no relative with him, but he was taken good care of by a Christian woman, who tended him with sisterly devotion.
‘For awhile he kept well, was never absent from the house of God; then weakness attacked him in the legs, and he could no longer attend the services, yet not a word of complaint fell from him. He longed for news from home, and this he received; his wife was very unwell, but hoped soon to see him back with her again. Inflammation of the lungs set in, and in three or four days he had passed away. God was with him in his trial, and supported him. He made all his bed in his sickness. I saw him on the day of his death, September 12, between the morning and afternoon services. Blind and speechless, he lay in his tent surrounded by a few Christian friends, who said that he was quite insensible. He regained consciousness as I spoke to him of Jesus and His love. When I asked him whether he felt Jesus near, a joyous, assuring smile came over his countenance, more expressive than the most eloquent of speeches.
‘He was waiting in peace the Master’s call, and it was not long in coming. I commended him to God in prayer, and, shaking him warmly by the hand, hurried off to church to conduct service. Soon afterwards the messenger arrived to summon him to the Master’s presence. With the Lord he went through the dark valley; with Him he crossed the dividing river, and then entered the joy of his Lord.’