A peaceful voyage of nine days in a schooner, the first that for twenty years had visited York Factory, brought the bishop to Moose Fort. It was quite dark when he landed, but a great crowd had gathered on the beach to welcome him, chief amongst them his daughter, Mrs. Broughton, and her husband, and their three youngest children, and Archdeacon Vincent, who had been in charge at Bishop’s Court.
‘I was really at home, and felt so overjoyed and so thankful; I was happy, and so seemed all around me. Monday was devoted to the affairs of the mission, and it gratified me to find that things had gone on so well during my absence. I visited all the people in their houses, for they are very dear to me, and found all well.’
But his own house was lonely, and would be lonelier still in the winter, for the Broughtons were to be now stationed at Rupert’s House. He had not been expected to return so soon to Moose; the archdeacon had the work there well in hand, whilst at Albany Mr. and Mrs. Nevitt were fully installed. He himself needed some little quiet and rest. He decided, therefore, to go with his daughter and grandchildren to Rupert’s House for the next months.
The Moose ship, Lady Head, had already arrived. The season was advanced, a parting service was held, and once more the bishop went on board the Mink, and sailed with his dear ones for Rupert’s House. Here he came in contact with Indians from various stations, bringing in furs for barter at the factory. The Rev. E. Richards assisted him in all his ministrations. A cheerful Christmas was followed by quiet work, and then a busy and a happy Eastertide, notwithstanding the ‘snow which lay several feet deep on the ground, biting winds, and the death-like appearance of all Nature.’
The spring was very dreary. There was nothing for the geese to feed upon, and the hunters came home evening after evening having shot nothing. When the Indians from the surrounding districts came in, there was amongst them one very sad and reduced party. Where were the rest? All, to the number of eighteen, had perished from starvation.
As the summer approached, the bishop went northward to East Main River—now a small outpost, but once the most important place in the bay. About one hundred Indians had met together there, and every moment was made the most of, for they seldom saw a clergyman.
The bishop thence went in a boat to Fort George. This is almost the most interesting bit of travel in the country. High and rocky islands, some of them well wooded, others majestically rugged, rise in constant succession.
A week was spent at the Fort, and then, with Mr. Peck as his companion, the bishop pushed on to the dreary storm-beaten land of Great Whale River—a hard and difficult journey along an inhospitable and dangerous coast. Sometimes they met a few Indians on the way, and the desert was made to rejoice with ‘some of the songs of Zion.’
One morning they put ashore among a body of Eskimo, who had their books with them. The bishop heard them all read; for one woman, who could not read as well as the rest, they made the apology that she had but just recently joined them from the north, and could not be expected to do very well yet; but she was getting on, for they taught her every day. The next day, and half of the following, was spent here, then the travellers proceeded, the canoe flying before a threatened storm. Just before midnight they reached the mouth of the river, and two or three hours afterwards the storm broke with terrible violence, lasting without intermission for a couple of days.
‘Three days of intense work (I wish it could have been three weeks), and the schooner was ready for sea; so, leaving Mr. Peck to continue his labours, I took a passage kindly granted me, and bidding farewell to all, I set off on my way south.’