Sarah needs no introduction. I had heard of her before reaching Hebron, and one cannot be in the place long without making her acquaintance. She is a woman of energy and resource. Last year she lost her good husband Hieronymus, the oldest native helper at Hebron. She continues, however, to be a leader in the concerns of the community, and her influence is good. She is a prominent chapel servant, and a leading singer in the choir. To be sure, tact is needed to keep Sarah in good humour, and direct her energies into useful channels. She has a turf house for winter occupation, but when I visited her she was living in her summer abode—a log hut. The interior was very tidy. In the outer room I noticed a harmonium; and in the inner one, besides a table and some chairs, there were pictures and ornaments and a sewing machine, on which she kindly did some work for me.
Seated near us, among the numerous visitors in the schoolroom, are a mother and daughter, whose names are already well known to us. That dark-looking old woman is Marianna, the widow of Gottlob, whose grave we saw at Ramah. She is now a valued native helper here. The younger person is Nicholina, bright and strong in mind and heart though rather bent and crippled in body. Here, as formerly at Ramah, she serves as school mistress, and I am told has considerable capacity both for imparting knowledge and for maintaining discipline. She stands in regular correspondence with several friends of the mission in Europe. She had something to tell them in her last letters, for not long ago she and her mother with eight other Eskimoes were nearly drowned in the bay about where the "Harmony" lies at anchor. A sudden gust of wind capsized the sailing boat, in which they were coming home from their fishing place. One good feature of the Eskimo character is their presence of mind in danger. There was no panic, though the boat sank instantly. Happily she was towing a little flat. One of the men promptly cut the rope, and so all were brought safe to land, some in the flat, others hanging on to its sides. Old Marianna was one of the latter, and when her numbed hands lost their hold, they tied her wrists to the gunwale of the little boat. She has recovered from the shock and exposure, but like the rest has been impoverished, for they lost their all in the boat, which went down.
Thomas, Enoch, and John are the three native helpers. Since the death of Hieronymus, Thomas has been the oldest in the office, but, as he feels, has not yet sufficient influence or force of character to lead his countrymen at critical times. He is, however, a humble child of God, and growing in grace as well as experience. John has a little speech to make, and here is the literal translation of it:—"Sometimes when we are busy, we do not always use the Scriptures daily. Mostly we do. The distress of our body often causes us to seek the Word of God. If the everlasting Gospel were well considered by all, there would be visible love."
A SLEDGE DRIVE.[ToC]
September 22nd, 1888.—My good friends are determined that I shall see a real sledge and team of dogs start and travel. So after dinner the sledge is brought to the gate of the mission premises. It consists of a couple of iron-bound wooden runners about fifteen feet long and eight inches high, across which many cross-pieces of wood are secured with thongs. Nails would soon be pulled out or broken off on a journey over hummocky ice or uneven ground. First the sledge is laden with everything necessary for a winter journey. A great white bear skin is folded and laid along the front, making a comfortable seat. That bruin must have been an enormous creature. The box comes about the middle; it contains the traveller's traps. Behind it some coats, a gun, a harpoon (we may see a seal if we go on the ice), some wood (we shall want a fire for camping out, and I hope matches have not been forgotten), the coats of the men, a sleeping sack and a pair of sealskin trousers. Those two oval frames like a large lawn tennis bat without handle, are a pair of snow-shoes. All these traps are secured by a sealskin thong passing over the ends of the cross-boards, and pulled tight. It would not do to lose anything on the way.
Now seat yourself there in front of the box. But the dogs are not attached to the sledge. Seat yourself; they are all harnessed. Each has a band of sealskin round his neck and another round his body, and to this simple harness is attached the separate trace or thong by which he does his share in pulling the sledge. In one moment the sledge rope will be passed through the loops of all their traces, and they will be off almost before you can say "Hoo-eet," for they, like the Eskimoes standing round, seem to enjoy the fun. We are supposed to start southward for Okak, and to come home, by way of Ramah. I seat myself and get a good hold, with my back against the box and my feet well off the ground. "Hoo-eet!" The dogs are directed by the voice, and that is the word used to start them. Shout "Owk, Owk," and they will run to the right, or "Ra, Ra, Ra," and you will soon find yourself going to the left. Say, "Ah, Ah," and your dogs will lie down. Now you have all your directions so "Hoo-eet," we are off, gliding easily over the grass, for snow and ice there is none this warm autumn day after a night when there were two or three degrees of frost. So it is rather hard for the dogs, when we turn the corner of the mission enclosure and are going a bit up-hill through the long grass. Thomas, one of the Eskimoes, is running in front of the dogs in his sealskin boots with the fur outside—a handsome pair. Enoch is minding the sledge, now running beside me, now throwing himself down on it in front of me, or lifting the front end of the runners from right to left, or vice versâ to turn a corner or avoid a stone. "Owk, Owk," he shouts as we wish to turn the corner to the right. A third Eskimo, who is running between us and the dogs with the whip, takes up the sound and the dogs obey. But as it seems hard for them through the long grass, I get off and run after till we come to the corner by the church. It will go easier along the path to the left. I seat myself again and the driver cries "Ra, Ra, Ra." Away we go. It is well I was wary of the stones, another inch and that rock just passed would have given me a sore foot or a sprained ankle. "Owk, Owk." We leave the path on our left and turn away to the right over rocks and moss. The ground is broken but the long runners of the sledge make it go fairly smoothly. "Ah, Ah," or as Thomas pronounces it long drawn, "Aw, Aw." At this sound the dogs stop and lie down, with their tails curled over their backs. We are supposed to have arrived at a halting place where we shall camp out for the night. The wood is unloaded; to make the fire would be the first thing and then perhaps a snow-house for a shelter. The sleeping sack is ready to be my night's couch on the floor. Meanwhile, the dogs lie quite contentedly, and we use the first opportunity to count them. There are fourteen in harness and two are running beside them of their own accord, entering into the spirit of the thing in spite of their fear of that formidable whip. Nine of these useful animals belong to the mission. Their names are Yauerfritze, Purtzelmutter, Purtzel, Caro, Pius, Fanny (an exceptionally friendly Eskimo dog), Ammi, Kakkortak and Takkolik. The others belong to different natives.
TRAVELLING IN LABRADOR.