Chapter XIII: Indian Ways

I tried once to take a snapshot of a group of friendly Indians gathered around a camp-fire. It was a picturesque scene—the rude brush lodge, the dusky-faced Indians squatted on boughs and robes, the lean dogs lying around, and the bright fire blazing up in the centre. What a fine picture it would make! But, alas! when the negative was developed, how great the disappointment! Instead of the bright blaze, there was a hideous blur, almost blotting out the figures grouped around. The beauty of the scene was gone; it could not be captured.

This is something like an attempt to describe the Indians of the North. To visit them in their camps, watch their quaint ways, and talk with them, is one thing; to paint them in words which will be real, picturesque, and living is quite another matter. There is as much difference as between the bright, sparkling blaze and the blur upon the negative.

A few men have succeeded in a wonderful manner in describing the life of the Indians, such as Longfellow in his “Hiawatha,” and Fenimore Cooper in his “Leatherstocking Tales.” If Bishop Bompas had so wished, what marvellous stories he could have told of his forty-one years among this interesting people! He did describe some of their manners and customs in two little books, “Northern Lights on the Bible,” and a “History of the Diocese of Mackenzie River.” But he has told us all too little. In this chapter it is, of course, impossible to tell all about the ways of the Indians in the vast field over which he travelled, for that field of work comprised 1,000,000 square miles; but we will suppose ourselves in a very fast and successful flying-machine, which will take us from place to place, and give us brief glimpses of these dusky children, scattered away up North over countless leagues of forest, mountain, and plain.

Indians are ever on the move, and well have they been called “People of the Wandering Foot.” They do not stay long in one place, and for this reason their houses are made of skins of the deer or moose, stretched over slender poles in the shape of beehives or haystacks. When they wish to break up camp, they take the skins and leave the poles. In some places, especially in the Yukon, to-day they live in log-houses, and have regular villages in the fashion of white people.

To see a band of Indians breaking up camp is an interesting sight. Everything is bustle and confusion. The women do most of the work, and great is the chattering and scolding which goes on. The dogs lie around, and even the smallest dog has its pack to carry of the household effects, according to its strength. They have no furniture to move, for the ground is bed, chair, and table combined. The women do not have to trouble about their dishes and silverware, as a few tin cups and kettles are all they have, and fingers take the place of forks.

“When the Indians shift camp, which they often do every week or two, the men-folk start first, unencumbered but with their guns; and after making a track for ten or twelve miles, they mark out a spot for the next encampment, and then proceed on the chase till evening. The women, with their families and dog-sleds, loaded with tent, bedding, and utensils, trudge slowly after, and on arriving at the intended camp, after clearing the snow, they strew the space with pine-branches and erect the tent. After arranging this by disburdening the sleds of their loads, they proceed to collect fuel for firing, and have all ready for a repast by evening, when the husbands return, bearing the produce of their hunt. If a large animal has been killed, the wives walk to the spot the next day to carry home the meat and hide. The men, however, now more than formerly take a share in the camp duties.”

_From a photograph by the Rev. C. E. Whittaker_]

The writer once, seeing a strange band of Indians thus getting ready to depart, brought his camera to bear upon the interesting scene, but so great was the indignation displayed by the Indians that he was glad to beat a hasty retreat. They have a superstitious dread of the little black box with the mysterious click, which accounted for their anger.

As white men go among the Indians, the old-time dress gradually disappears, and instead the men wear fine, factory-made clothes, and the women are gaily adorned in gaudy dress material and many-coloured ribbons, of which they are very proud. They are exceedingly fond, too, of perfume, and some will spend almost their last cent upon the sweet-scented stuff. But, get the Indian away in the wild, his real home, and there you will find him the most picturesque of beings. Clothed in a suit made of fur, deer-skin, or dressed leather, with a skin blanket, and with moccasins on his feet, you have the typical Indian of whom we love to read.

“The women’s dress,” so Bishop Bompas tells us, “mostly consists of a long leather coat trimmed with cloth or beads, and sometimes a cloth hood for the head. The women’s faces were, till recently, often slightly tattooed with dark lines on the chin, formed by drawing a thread loaded with gunpowder or colouring-matter under the skin. The men were formerly much addicted to painting their faces with vermilion, but this has fallen into disuse among the tribes in contact with Europeans. The Eskimo young men stripe their faces with vermilion as a distinguishing mark when they have killed an enemy.”

In olden days the Indians wove baskets of roots close enough together to hold water. This water was heated for cooking purposes by plunging into it several hot stones. Meat was baked by being buried in the earth and a fire made over it. Now the boiling is done in iron or copper kettles, and the roasting on wooden spits or skewers before the fire.

Their food generally consists of meat and fish, but they are coming more and more to use the delicacies of the white man. Tea and tobacco they love, and the effects are often none too good. In times of famine they will drink a large amount of tea, and then complain of “sore heart.”

“An idle Indian,” says Bishop Bompas, “may be more inclined to allay the pangs of hunger with his pipe than to brave the cold of winter in hastening to the chase. Many of the Indians complain of pains in the chest, which may arise from their incautiously imbibing the caustic ashes with which they often load their empty pipes in lighting these at their fire embers.”

Before the arrival of Christianity the lot of the Indian woman was very hard. A man multiplied his wives as one would his cattle. They were only useful for hauling and chopping wood; they were slaves in the hardest sense of the term. Often mothers, knowing what their little girl-babies would have to suffer when they were grown up, destroyed them. One woman confessed to the first missionary among them that she had killed thirteen. But since the Gospel has reached them changes have taken place. Although women yet have much of the work to do, they are treated far better, and regarded with more affection.

“In Indian marriages it seems to be a part of the etiquette that the bride should show great reluctance to be wedded, till she has at times to be forcibly dragged from her camp. Her friends also may exhibit great opposition to the intended match; and yet this is, in fact, only a part of the ceremony. Among some Indians it is understood to be absolutely forbidden to a mother-in-law to look her son-in-law in the face at least until the birth of his first child. This does not seem to be enforced among the more northern Indians, but a son-in-law is looked upon as a sort of hunter for his wife’s parents. Their daughter does not leave her parents’ camp, and even after marriage appears to be more under their control than that of her husband.

“As soon as a child is born, its parents usually drop their own name and assume that of the child; and this is continued a good deal even in the case of baptized Indians; so that you may hear John’s father or Jane’s mother so spoken of in preference to their own name. A wife, instead of speaking of her husband, will prefer to speak of her boy’s father. Polygamy was practised among the non-Christian Indians chiefly by the chiefs and leading men, and with the excuse that more than one wife was required by them to dress their furs and skins, and carry their meat and effects, and do other camp duties.

“The infant Indians are, as is well known, enveloped in bags of moss, which, in this severe climate, are admirable preservatives against cold and exposure. In these bags the infant is tightly laced up, confining the limbs, and leaving only the head exposed. This process of mummification does not seem to weaken the limbs, nor to give discomfort to the patient. The swing is the usual accompaniment of the moss-bag, where the swaddled infant is lulled to rest. Slung over her shoulder, this moss-bag is the constant burden of the mother’s travels.

“In sickness the Indians are very pitiful. They soon lose heart, and seem to die more from despondency than disease. Their need is often not so much medicine as good nourishment and nursing; but this is hard to obtain. Food is often scarce even for those in health to seek it, and for a sick Indian it may be hard to find a friend in need. The constant removals are trying to the weak and infirm, and in times of distress those who cannot follow the band are left behind to perish. Indians have been known to devour their own children in cases of absolute starvation; but such instances are rare, and may, perhaps, be attributed to a temporary mania. Those who are believed to have perpetrated such an act are feared and shunned.

“The dying are often hastily wrapped up and laid aside, even before the last sigh has escaped, for there is a reluctance to handle the dead. There is no fear of the resuscitation of the corpse, which is, for the most part, stiffly frozen as soon as removed from the camp-fire. Chocolate is a favourite beverage with the sick where it can be obtained, and it is looked upon as a medicine. The Indians universally give it the name of ‘ox-blood,’ because it was mistaken by them for the blood of the musk-ox when first they saw it used by the whites. Rice, which is called ‘white barley,’ is another luxury coveted by the sick. Flour is known by the Tukudh Indians as ‘ashes from the end of heaven.’ Tobacco is ‘warmth’ or ‘comfort,’ and the pipe the ‘comforting stone.’”

The aged are at times left on the trail to die. When they are too feeble to keep up with the others, they are given some food, and generally a rifle and cartridges. For a while they struggle on, but after a time they give up the attempt and are heard of no more, unless a prospecter, missionary, or mounted policeman happens along.

This native was brought into Whitehorse by the Mounted Police. He had been left by his people alone on the trail. This is not uncommon among some of the natives in certain places.]

This has long been the custom among these Northern Indians, but only now prevails where the influence of the Gospel has not been felt. During the fall of 1771, when Samuel Hearne, the great explorer, was retreating from the Arctic coast with a band of Indians, one of the wives of the native men, in the last stages of consumption, could go no farther. “For a band short of food to halt on the march meant death to all. The Northern wilderness has its grim, unwritten law, inexorable and merciless as death. For those who fall by the way there is no pity. A whole tribe may not be exposed to death for the sake of one person. Giving the squaw food and a tent, the Indians left her to meet her last enemy, whether death came by starvation, or cold, or the wolf-pack. Again and again the abandoned squaw came up with the marchers, weeping and begging their pity, only to fall from weakness. But the wilderness has no pity; and so they left her.”[2]

“The Indians were formerly accustomed, instead of burying their dead, to place them on high scaffolds above ground; but this habit was probably owing to the ground being for many months in the year frozen too hard to dig it. The raising on scaffolds was also a safer preservative than burying under ground from the ravages of animals of prey. Since mingling with the whites, however, the Indians conform to European habits of burial. It was also formerly a superstitious custom to place with the deceased his bow, arrows, and other necessaries; and even in later times a gun, ammunition, tobacco, fire-bag, and other articles, have been buried in the grave of a dead Indian. Such a superstition it is hard to eradicate; and perhaps it needs some care not to quench too roughly the idea of a life continued after death, until the knowledge of a spiritual immortality and a final resurrection can be instilled to supplant the instinctive notion of a continued mundane life.

“The Indians had formerly much superstitious dread of using any clothing or other articles belonging to a person deceased. In case of a death, all the clothing and effects of the departed were thrown away or destroyed; and even the relatives would destroy their tents, guns, and other property, either out of grief, or from dread of using again anything that the deceased had come in contact with. These inconvenient customs are being gradually relinquished.”

Little white tents are placed over graves on high hills. In some places the spots are well tended, and adorned with neat palings and quaint coverings. Often flags are erected on long poles. In olden days, in Southern Yukon, the Indians burned their dead, and placed the ashes in boxes, over which they built rude structures. During the Klondyke rush, in some places, these boxes were disturbed by the gold-seekers, which angered the Indians exceedingly.

The natives live by the chase, and for this reason, if for no other, they must be ever on the move to obtain a living. When game is plentiful the Indians live well, and, having enough for to-day, seldom take thought for the morrow. All kinds of game abound, from the lordly moose and the savage grizzly bear to the timid rabbit and the jaunty ptarmigan.

To visit a fur-trader’s store and watch the various skins brought in for barter is an interesting sight. You will see the skin of the lynx, beaver, wolverine, bear, martin, ermine, wolf, and the different kinds of fox, from the common red fox to the costly cross or black fox. For this latter the Indians are ever on the watch, as it is worth very much. One black fox is a fortune. The animal is quite rare, and when one is sighted weeks and months are often spent in obtaining the prize. A few years ago an Indian started after one which he had seen the day before. It was drawing towards spring, when the tops of the foothills were losing their covering of snow, owing to the hot rays of the sun. Noticing Mr. Reynard on one of these bare places anxiously searching for mice, the Indian dressed himself in a suit of white cotton, made for the occasion, and crept cautiously to the edge of a bunch of trees near by. Then he began to squeak like a mouse. Soon the fox pricked up his ears and trotted off towards the woods, hoping for a nice morsel. As he drew near the Indian levelled his rifle, and shot the poor brute right through the head. This fox-skin was an excellent one, and the fur-trader who purchased it valued it at from 2,000 to 3,000 dollars.

Many are the risks the native runs in his various wanderings after the daily food. At times an angry moose threatens to impale him with his great antlers, or a wounded bear hurls himself upon the hunter. A few years ago an Indian, standing by his lodge, saw a huge bear coming towards him. Slipping back, he seized a small rifle and fired a shot at the brute. It was enough to anger the monster, and with a terrific roar he rushed upon the man. The Indian fought hard, but he was as a child in the fearful grip. His clothes and flesh were ripped and torn in a most frightful manner, and but for the timely arrival of several Indians the man would have been torn to pieces. As it was his life was despaired of, and it was all the police doctor from Whitehorse could do to cure him. When the bear had been killed the Indians cut him all to pieces, and threw the portions to the four winds of heaven. This is an old custom, and unless this be done it is believed the injured man cannot get well. As he did recover, however, the credit was given to their prompt action in scattering the bear’s body, and not to the skilful attention of the “white man’s doctor.”

A sad incident happened about 100 miles back of Whitehorse. An Indian was out hunting with his little boy, about twelve years old. One day, seeing the fresh tracks of a moose, which circled around the camp, he told the lad to remain in the lodge while he started in pursuit. As the hunter crept stealthily along on his noiseless snow-shoes, he saw the bushes move in front of him. Thinking it was the moose quietly browsing, he fired right at the spot, and then rushed forward. What were his feelings to find, instead of the lordly animal, his own little son lying bleeding on the snow, dead. The poor boy, disobeying his father’s command, had started off to do some hunting on his own account, and was thus struck by the fatal bullet.

In many places the power of the wily medicine-man is still strong among the Indians. This is especially so where the Gospel message has not taken firm root. The natives still believe that the conjurer has influence over things in the heavens above and the earth beneath, and to gain his favour various are the gifts which are slipped into his hands. One of the most interesting superstitions is called “fox medicine.” The Indian, wishing to have success with his season’s hunting, before he departs will give the medicine-man money or furs; he then thinks the foxes will be urged to come to his traps. At Little Salmon, on the Yukon River, a fur-trader suggested to the Indians that they should pay the conjurer after the season’s hunt, according to the animals they had caught. This they did, though the medicine-man did not like it at all, for he received very few gifts from some of his people.

The same trader was once travelling with an Indian on a long trail. When pitching camp for the night, a branch fell and struck the native a heavy blow on the head. He imagined he was seriously injured, and sat for some time over the fire in a most despondent attitude. At length he looked intently into the trader’s face.

“You got ’um paper?” he remarked.

“Yes,” was the reply; and a leaf torn from a small note-book was handed to him.

“You got ’um pencil?” was the next request. This, too, was given; and then the Indian slowly and laboriously traced the figure of a cross upon the leaf. When this had been accomplished to his satisfaction, he threw it into the fire, at the same time blowing vigorously with his breath. Watching the flames catch the paper and carry it aloft, he gave a sigh of contentment, while a new expression came into his face.

“What did you do that for?” asked the trader, much interested in the proceeding.

“Oh, medicine-man say when me leave on dis trip, if anything matter, me make all same cross on paper, and put ’um in fire; him get word dat way, and make me all same well Injun. Me better now;” and, suiting the action to the word, he leaped to his feet as if nothing had happened. What the cross had to do with it is hard to say. Perhaps it was some faint glimmering of the power of the Cross of Christ which had come to the medicine-man, and this he used to further his own plans.

In some places the conjurer is of a very jealous nature, and it is dangerous for anyone to interfere with him. Mrs. Bompas, years ago, at Fort Simpson, on the Mackenzie River, had a thrilling experience, which might have proved quite fatal.

“On going down to the camp one evening,” so she tells us, “we were attracted to one of the leather tents or lodges, where a low, droning sound announced the medicine-man’s presence. ‘Do let us go and see it!’ exclaimed Maggie; and I, hardly reflecting on the prudence of the step, turned toward the spot whence the sounds proceeded. It was in Mineha’s tent, and here I discovered my little pet widow. Her hand had been poisoned in some way, and she was suffering great pain. She was lying down, with her hand extended, and beside her crouched a young Trout Lake Indian, lately come in, a deserter from one of the portage boats. Fancy the scene! The woman moaning, with closed eyes; the Indian bending over her and singing a low, monotonous song, which is a kind of conjuring the Indians call ‘making medicine.’ Beside her lay a small bark vessel with a few spoonfuls of blood, which the young man drank from time to time, and then proceeded with his operations. There was a deep silence in the camp, except for these two sounds, when suddenly I appeared before them, and exclaimed, partly in Indian, at the absurdity of their doings. I knelt down by Mineha, and, taking her hand out of that of the man’s, began to examine it. Then I pushed back my conjurer, which made his hat fall off, and evidently distressed his sense of dignity.

“By this time all the women of the other camps came gathering round the door. My hero persisted in his droning song, and I in my remonstrances and assurance that it was all rubbish, and displeasing to God. When at last the man gave over, he retired to the back of the tent, where I suddenly became aware of his gun, which the Indians usually kept loaded. For a moment I thought it was all up with me, and Maggie says I exclaimed: ‘Do it, then!’ However, he contented himself with bending towards me three times, with eyes almost on fire with passion, and uttering each time a word which was anything but a blessing! Well, the game was stopped, and so he quitted the tent. The man seemed fallen back in a state of exhaustion, and was trembling all over. The fact is, this medicine-making seems to be a kind of possession, which they give themselves up to. His condition then was pitiable to behold. However, there was nothing more to be done, as the feeling was so strong against me that Mineha would not let me prescribe for her poor hand; so we came away, rather thankful to escape safe and sound. I hear the poor woman is still suffering agonies from her hand, in spite of her having had medicine made over it again, during the whole of one night, by another man!”

Several years ago Bishop Holmes gave an interesting description of the medicine-man in the Diocese of Athabasca.

“Their faith in,” he says, “and fear of medicine-men was unshaken; their love for heathen feasts and practices was as strong as ever. Nearly all sickness, accidents, and misfortunes were attributed to the use of _muche muskeke_ (bad medicine), directly or indirectly, by the medicine-men. They supposed that the medicine-man obtained himself, or employed some other to obtain, a hair from the head of his intended victim, and that the hair was put into the bad medicine, and the effect was according to the medicine-man’s intention. They believed that the antidote could be obtained from the Indian doctor, but it meant a good round sum in blankets, horses, tobacco, etc. They believed that their medicine-men had direct intercourse with the _muche manito_ (evil spirit), through whose assistance they were able to perform most wonderful feats. Insanity was attributed to the direct possession of an evil spirit. An insane person was called a _wetigo_ (cannibal). When any person—man or woman—manifested symptoms of ‘wetigoism,’ the old Indian doctors were called in to practise all their incantations and exorcise the evil spirit, which in very few cases was successful. The first symptoms of cannibalism manifest themselves in dreams and insomnia. The evil spirit is said to appear in a vision with a plate of human flesh, about which there is an awful and irresistible fascination. The _wetigo_ is strictly guarded by the medicine-men, who, with the noise of their drums and rattles in order to frighten the evil spirit away, would drive any sane man out of his mind. The last and most dangerous stage is when the _wetigo_ has accepted from the evil spirit the meal of human flesh, after which he is securely tied with cords. He refuses any kind of food, and has an intense craving for human flesh. In this stage they suppose that ice forms in the breast of the _wetigo_, and they firmly believe that they have seen the _wetigo_ vomit ice. The last remedy applied is the axe. Within the nineteen years I have been at Lesser Slave Lake three _wetigos_ have been killed with axes, like animals, by their own friends.

“Another heathen custom was the cruel neglect of the aged and infirm. Starvation was the means employed among the Indians of getting rid of them.

“Such a description of the ‘noble red man,’ without a reference to his good points, might lead people to think that there is a good deal of truth in the saying that ‘the only good Indian is a dead Indian.’ But in the character of all Indians there are three redeeming features. First, their belief in the _Kesa Manito_ (the Great Spirit), and, I might add, their strong belief in the personality of the Devil. Secondly, their generous hospitality. They have all things in common, and would give any traveller, be he Indian or white man, their last morsel, even if they had no prospect of another meal themselves for the next week. Thirdly, their passionate love for children. I could trust my children with them under any circumstances, for I should know that so long as there was a meal left the children would get the best of it.”

Indians, as a rule, are shrewder and more intelligent than many people suppose. Someone has said that they are “instincts on legs,” but this is wrong. They make splendid guides, and can find their way through a mazy forest or a desolate wilderness when white men fail entirely. The early explorers owed much to the Indians in guiding them on their long journeys.

They read the whites and understand their ways far better than many suppose. As they sit about the camp-fires, the pale-faces are all carefully discussed. Each man is known by some peculiarity. One is a fox, wolf, or bear, according to some characteristic which the Indians have noted.

They are humorists, too, and at times quick at repartee. A trader, Taylor by name, made a visit some time ago to a band of Indians at Big Salmon. He carried with him a dress which had been ordered for “Mrs. Charlie.” Reaching the place, he inquired for the latter. Then the question was which Charlie’s wife was meant. Was it Big Salmon Charlie, Little Salmon Charlie, or some other Charlie? Much puzzled, the trader exclaimed, “Too much Charlie!” Quick as a flash an Indian turned to him and replied:

“Taylor, heem keep road-house; Taylor, heem cut wood down trail; you Taylor; too moche Taylor!”

Not long ago, when on a visit to England, Bishop Stringer spoke in a most interesting way about these Indians.

“A few years ago,” he said, “those Indians were degraded, superstitious, and ignorant, without any written language at all; but God’s Word was given to them through Archdeacon McDonald, and the complete Bible was translated, and there was found a people zealous to learn to read that Word. It was the ABC of a written language to them, and it is the only book, outside one or two others connected with our Church, and it remains to-day the classic of all those Northern tribes on the Yukon side, as well as the Mackenzie River. Archdeacon McDonald tells of men who in those early days in three days learned sufficient to go off to their Indian camps and acquire enough knowledge themselves unaided to read God’s Word. We thank God that that was the case. He tells of men who came long distances, some of them fifty years of age, and who learned to read in those early days. There was one man he speaks of who came 600 miles in order to learn to read God’s Word.

“I want to tell you of one man, a good friend of mine who has passed away, an Indian who was ordained a deacon a few years ago, a blot out of the superstitious darkness of that Northern land. I had the pleasure of going with him from one camp to another across those barren forests, sometimes on barren grounds and sometimes in the shelter of the forest. From God’s Word he would teach his people, gathering them together, night after night, holding little services, reading God’s Word, and explaining it to them. After years of work amongst his people he passed away. As he was crossing the Divide to the Yukon side to reach a distant tribe of Indians, one man accompanied him—a young man named Amos—who had hitherto been quite careless about religious matters. The name of the deacon was the Rev. John Ttssietla. Ttssietla means, by the way, ‘He laughs at a mosquito.’ There are mosquitoes in that country, and I suppose that when he was a child he did not mind the mosquitoes, and he was called ‘He laughs at a mosquito.’ John was his Christian name. This time he was starving. There was no food in the land; game was scarce; and he felt that the last days were come for him unless he could get food. As he lay dying out on the top of one of the mountains, he said to Amos, ‘Amos, I am about to leave you, but I want to give you this Book—God’s Word—and I want you to read it. I want you to teach it to my people.’ A few hours afterwards he passed away, and Amos, who had been hitherto careless, began to read that Word alone on the mountains as he lay to rest his friend, John Ttssietla. Then he began to teach the children to read, and then he began to teach others, and last year, when I saw him down in the Yukon Valley, I found that he was so much advanced that I hope in a year or two, after passing a few examinations, he will be able to take the place of his friend, John Ttssietla, in the work.

“I have not time to tell you very much about that Northern land, but I want to tell you this. As you go down the Mackenzie River from Edmonton the two thousand odd miles to reach the Arctic Ocean, every two or three hundred miles you find a place called a Hudson’s Bay Company’s post. There is usually a mission in connection with it. You will find around the old Hudson’s Bay Company’s post, if you watch closely, things like stumps which have been cut off level with the ground almost. What does that mean? They extend right round the fort. It means that forty-five years ago the Hudson’s Bay Company people had to have a stockade all round those posts to protect their lives and their property. Now they have been cut down and used for firewood. What has caused that? The light of the Gospel truth which has gone into that land. We thank God for what has been done in connection with that, and for the influence of God’s Word in that Northern region.

“The Bible is, as I have said, the standard book; and the language into which the Bible has been translated—it had to be translated into one particular dialect—is becoming the classic of many of the tribes in that Northern land, the central language, used by the people more and more. Other tribes learned to use it, and learned the meanings of words which they do not use in their own dialect. There is a great deal of difficulty, of course, in getting words when translating the Bible into those Northern languages. The name for God even is not known; and Archdeacon McDonald, I think very wisely, adopted one word, ‘Vittekwichanchyo,’ which means ‘I am.’ That word is now known all through that land in connection with the great Creator of the universe.

“The last speaker has told you that there are numerous snakes in South America. If we had a few snakes in that Northern land we should not be forced to translate some passages that refer to snakes in a roundabout way, calling a snake ‘a creeping thing,’ or something else of that kind. The sentence, ‘Wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove,’ is translated in one of the Eskimo languages—I think, in Greenland—by ‘Wise as an ermine, a weasel’ (because that is the wisest in the country), ‘and as harmless as a seal-pup.’ It seems amusing, but it is quite as expressive.

“As God’s Word is sent out to that country, the Bibles are sold to the Indians. Nobody ever gets a Bible for nothing. The Indians are quite willing to pay for them. They pay for them, not in money, as you do here, but in kind. They sometimes bring in dried meat or fish, or something else of that kind. I have a little piece of dried meat here, and I think I had better show it to you as a part of the coin of that country. This is a very small piece, but I may tell you that this is the kind of meat which we like to use on our long trips. You can throw it around, and you can do anything you like with it. That piece is five or six years old now, and it has not changed at all, and it is quite as palatable as it was five or six years ago. It is very convenient for travelling in that country. An Indian will bring in a piece of that about a foot wide and about two feet long, and he will trade it for an Indian New Testament, and about four times as much as that for a Bible. That means a great deal for this people. Sometimes they bring in a piece of deer-skin, or something of that kind, and sometimes they bring in about ten big fish, and the missionary is able to turn them into money and send it to the Bible Society. In that way these people are taught to pay for the Word of God, and, of course, they appreciate it all the more. The price of a New Testament in the country is one skin. You cannot understand what that means. Its market value corresponds to about 2_s._ A whole Bible is worth three or four skins. These Indians sometimes receive a Bible in debt, and go off to their hunting-grounds; but the very first thing they always do, when they come in on the next trip, if they have anything, is to pay for the Bible which they have received. And how reverently they will use the Bible! They wrap it in deer-skin or something like that; and they bring back all the old Bibles again. I have had piles of old dirty Bibles. They revere them so much that they do not want to destroy them, and I have had to destroy them quietly after the piles became too large. It shows the reverence that they have for God’s Word. These Bibles are carried with them, although they are heavy. Here is one. This is not one with the thin kind of paper, and it is very heavy; and one can realize what it means for an Indian having one of these books on a long journey where every pound counts so much. But you will understand how he appreciates it when I tell you that every family in that land which I have ever seen has had some part of God’s Word in its camp, no matter where it went on its journeys.”

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We have seen in a previous chapter how when Mr. Bompas was consecrated Bishop of the Diocese of Athabasca, he had charge of a vast region of one million square miles. In 1883, finding the field too large, he had it divided, the northern portion being called Mackenzie River, which the Bishop took as his own. Here he carried on the work east and west of the Rocky Mountains for several years. But finding the task too great for one man—owing partly to the influx of miners along the Yukon River—he again had a division made in 1890, the region west of the mountains thus becoming the Diocese of Selkirk (now Yukon). Archdeacon Reeve became Bishop of the Mackenzie River Diocese, while Bishop Bompas decided to go into the regions beyond across the mountains.