Chapter IV: In Danger Among the Eskimo

People get very much excited over the North Pole explorations. They praise, too, the few men of the Royal North-West Mounted Police, who in these days patrol the Arctic coast at the mouth of the Mackenzie River. But how few know about the missionary heroes who have advanced into those desolate regions, facing hardships and even death to bear the Gospel message to the Eskimo living in those places. It was Mr. Bompas who first went as a missionary to the Arctic coast at the mouth of the Mackenzie River, and the story of his experiences and narrow escape from death is one of the most thrilling in missionary annals.

On a journey to Fort Yukon he had met a number of Eskimo at Fort McPherson, who requested him to go with them down to the coast. He could not get these poor creatures out of his mind, so in the spring he went back over the mountains for the purpose of visiting them. These natives, with their strange, uncouth manners, strongly appealed to his noble nature, and he expressed his feelings for such in the following beautiful words:

“At the funeral of the great Duke of Wellington, it was considered to be a mark of solemn respect that the obsequies should be attended by one soldier from every part and regiment of the British army; and it is a part of the Saviour’s glory that one jewel be gathered to His crown from every tribe of the lost human race. It is an honour to seek to secure for our Lord one such jewel from even the remotest tribe.”

Leaving Fort McPherson on April 18, 1870, Mr. Bompas started down the river in company with two Eskimo, hauling a small sled with blankets and provisions. On the way he received a message from the Chief of the Eskimo telling him to go back, as the natives “were starving and quarrelling, and one had just been stabbed and killed in a dispute about some tobacco.” But this message had no effect upon the missionary; he was busy in his Master’s service, and he knew that same Master would take care of His servant, and undaunted, he pressed bravely forward.

For three days they continued to travel without any difficulty, camping at night on the river-bank, and making a small fire of broken boughs. But the glare of the spring sun was very severe, and Mr. Bompas was stricken with snow-blindness. This affliction is one common in the North, and only those who have themselves suffered on the trail can fully realize what it means.

“As the sun rises higher,” wrote Mr. Bompas, “and has more power in the months of March and April, to walk long over the snow in the sunlight becomes distressing to the eyes from the dazzling brightness. This is especially the case in traversing a wide lake or in descending a broad river, where there are no near forests of dark pines to relieve the gaze, but an unbroken expanse of snow.

“The effect of this is to produce, after a time, acute inflammation of the eyes. These, in the end, may be so entirely closed as to involve a temporary blindness, accompanied by much smarting pain.... The voyager feels very helpless during the acute stage of snow-blindness, and, like Elymas the sorcerer, or St. Paul himself, he ‘seeks some one to lead him by the hand.’”

For three days in awful darkness he was led by the hand of the native boy, making about twenty-five miles a day, till the first Eskimo camp was reached. It was only a snow-house, and to enter it with closed eyes, stumbling at every step, was a most disagreeable introduction.

A description of what a snow-house is like is given by the Rev. Mr. Whittaker, who years afterwards lived among the Eskimo at Herschel Island.

“I remained,” he says, “at the village [Kitligagzooit] just two weeks, and a most uncomfortable time it was, principally on account of the cold. They are all in snow-houses now, and the temperature required to preserve a snow-house will not conduce to a white man’s comfort. I suffered constantly and almost unremittingly with cold hands and feet, and no amount of clothing would keep them warm. My blood appeared to stagnate and afford me no heat. The intense cold made me ravenously hungry, and although deer meat was plentiful, I craved fat, and at length was tempted to try some of the white whale that had lain in the ground since summer. It was strong, even burning my throat, but after a little I ate it with relish. It is eaten about half-frozen—raw, of course.

“In the house where I stayed were two Huskie families, seven of them and myself all in one room about the size of an ordinary bedroom. There we ate, drank, slept, and lived the daily round. The houses are just such as you may see in any pictures of Arctic scenes. There is no fire in them except the big seal-oil lamp, over which they do much of their cooking.”

And yet such sufferings were little considered by Mr. Bompas. “They are delights,” he once said. “The first footprint on earth made by our risen Saviour was the nail-mark of suffering, and for the spread of the Gospel I, too, am prepared to suffer.”

After one day of rest in the snow-house, he recovered his sight, and then, moving forward, reached another camp. His appearance at each place, so he tells us, “excited a great deal of observation and curiosity, as they had never had a European among them in the same way before.”

In this camp he was disturbed “by yelling and dancing” on the very spot where he was lying. This was caused by an old woman “making medicine—that is, conjuring in order to cure a man who was, or was thought to be, sick.” Mr. Bompas, unable to stand the terrible confusion, tried to stop them by saying that medicine-making was all a wicked lie, whereupon the old woman threw herself upon the missionary, and in no gentle manner vented upon him her wrath. After this he left the place and betook himself to another camp, where he lay down and “enjoyed a good night’s rest.” Next morning, seeing the man who was the cause of all the trouble, Mr. Bompas found he was suffering from a sore head, for which he gave him a “small piece of soap and a few grains of alum to rub it with.” When he saw the man some time later, he was told that his conjuring was very strong.

What a forlorn hope lay before this missionary in trying to uplift and save such wild, uncouth creatures, who were ever around him! Yet there were many things which appealed to him. He looked deeper than the mere surface, and, studying them very carefully, saw there was much cause for encouragement. He noticed how ingenious the Eskimo was in the formation of implements “out of any old iron which he is able to obtain, such as files, saws, etc., from which he will forge variously shaped knives, gimlets, and other tools, with which he constructs his boats and canoes, as well as arrows, bows, spears, fishing-hooks, nets and tackle, sledges, and all other implements for the chase, as well as furniture for his tent.”

Then he watched his skill in building the snow-house, which he could “compare to nothing but the skill of the bee in making its honeycomb.... The snowy material is so beautiful that the work proceeds as if by magic. The blocks of frozen snow are cut out of the mass with large knives, and built into solid masonry, which freezes together as the work proceeds, without the aid of mortar. Being arched over, a dome-shaped house is formed, with a piece of clear ice for a window, and a hole, through which you creep on all-fours, for a door or entrance. One-half of the interior is raised about two feet, and strewn with deer-skins as beds and sofas, on which the long nights are passed in sleep, for which an Eskimo seems to have an insatiable capability and relish.” People who were so clever and artistic, he well knew, must have a love for the beautiful, and were capable of higher things.

He studied their religious instincts, and found they were very low. They were addicted to lying, stealing, and even stabbing. “They practised heathen dances, songs, and conjuring, and placed much dependence upon spells and charms.” And yet, sifting all this, he found they believed in two spirits: one “an evil, named Atti, which seems to symbolize cold and death, and which they seek to exorcise or appease by their charms and spells; the other, a dim idea of a good spirit connected with the sun, as the source of warmth and life.” Their faint idea of heaven was that of a “perpetual spring, and the name they give to ministers who bring them tidings of the world above is ‘Children of the Sun.’” He also learned that they possessed a tradition of the Creation, and of the descent of mankind from a single pair.

Though he found them at times very treacherous, yet there was a spirit of true hospitality still existing, which he felt could be fanned into a flame, and which would work a great change. His own difficulty was the language, and he maintained that the best hope would be to bring a Christian Eskimo from Labrador, as the Moravian missionaries there and in Greenland had mastered the language in the course of many years’ labour.

Though the language was a great obstacle, still Mr. Bompas determined to do the best he could. He collected many Eskimo words, and, with his remarkable linguistic ability, made fair progress in a short time. He found they expressed great willingness to be taught, and he says:

“They have received the little instruction I have been able to give them with great thankfulness. At the same time, their ignorance and carelessness are so great that they seem quite unable at present to apprehend the solemnities of religion. The chief idea they have in seeing my books is to wish that they could be metamorphosed into tobacco, and, indeed, at present smoking seems to be the sole object of their lives.”

He accompanied them on their various hunting and fishing journeys, and lost no opportunity of studying them and winning their affection. He stood by their side as they fished for hours through holes in the ice, and, observing their great patience, he himself became strengthened in the greater task of fishing for souls, and expresses the thought in the following words:

“We may admire the patience of an Eskimo fishing for hours over the blow-hole for a seal; and such should be the perseverance of a watcher for souls. ‘Lord, we have toiled all night, and have taken nothing; nevertheless, at Thy word I will let down the net.’”

During the cold weather Mr. Bompas slept with the Eskimo in their small, crowded houses, and the inconvenience he suffered must have been great, as the following words will show:

“The Eskimo sleep in their tents between their deer-skins, all together in a row extending the whole breadth of the tent; and if there are more than enough for one row, they commence a second at the foot of the bed, with the head turned the other way. For myself, I always took care to commence the second row, keeping to the extremity of the tent, and thus generally rested without inconvenience, except, perhaps, a foot thrust occasionally into my side. At the same time, it must be confessed that the Eskimo are rather noisy, often talking and singing a great part of the night, especially the boys; and if any extra visitors arrive, so that the tent is overfull, it is not exactly agreeable.”

When the warmer weather arrived, Mr. Bompas began to camp by himself outside, and found it much better. The days became so long that he found it difficult to tell what time of the day or night it was, as he “thought it most prudent” not to carry his watch with him. Seldom did the missionary speak of his hardships; but, reading between the lines of the few words he utters, one can see they were of no ordinary nature.

In a letter to Mrs. Loft, in England, Mr. Bompas gave a vivid description of these Eskimo.

“It would be easy for you to realize,” he wrote, “and even experience, the whole thing if so minded. First go and sleep a night in the first gipsy camp you can find along some road-side, and that is precisely like life with the Indians. From thence go to the nearest well-to-do farmer and spend a night in his pig-sty (with the pigs, of course), and this is exactly life with the Eskimo. As this comprises the whole thing in a nutshell, I think I need give you no further description. The difficulty you would have in crawling or wriggling into the sty through a hole only large enough for a pig was exactly my case with the Eskimo houses. As to the habits of your companions, the advantage would be probably on the side of the pigs, and the safety of the position decidedly so. As you will not believe in the truth of this little simile, how much less would you believe if I gave you all particulars! So I prefer silence to exposing myself to your incredulity; but if I had to visit them again, I should liken it rather to taking lodgings in the den of a polar bear. The first time, in God’s good providence, he did not show his claws.

“Harness yourself to a wheelbarrow or a garden-roller, and then, having blindfolded yourself, you will be able to fancy me arriving, snow-blind and hauling my sledge, at the Eskimo camp, which is a white beehive about six feet across, with the way a little larger than that for the bees.... As to one’s costume, you cannot manage that, except that a blanket is always a good cloak for us; but take a large butcher’s knife in your hand, and that of itself will make you an Eskimo without further additions.

“If you will swallow a chimneyful of smoke, or take a few whiffs of the fumes of charcoal, you will know something of the Eskimo’s mode of intoxicating themselves with tobacco, and a tanyard will give you some idea of the sweetness of their camps. Fat, raw bacon, you will find, tastes much like whale blubber, and lamp oil, sweetened somewhat, might pass for seal fat. Rats you will doubtless find equally good to eat at home as here, though without the musk flavour; but you must get some raw fish, a little rotten, to enjoy a good Eskimo dinner.

“Fold a large black horse’s tail on the top of your head, and another on each side of your face, and you will adopt exactly the Arctic lady’s head-gear; then thrust a knife through the centre of each cheek, and leave the end of the knife-handle permanently in the hole, and you will experience the agreeable comfort of the Arctic cheek ornament. After this, get a dozen railway trucks tackled together, and load them with large and small tow-boats, scaffold-poles, a marquee, three or four dead oxen, the contents of a fishmonger’s stall and of a small rag-shop, and then harness all your family, and draw the trucks on the rails from Alford to Boston, with a few dogs to help, and thus you will have a very close resemblance to an Eskimo family travelling in winter with their effects over the frozen ice. As I have formed one of the haulers on such an expedition, I speak from personal experience.”

Writing to his brother George, he says:

“Do you know that the Eskimo took me for a son of Cain, probably Mahujael, for they said on my visit that in the first family in the world two brothers quarrelled, and the one killed the other, and the murderer had to wander away, and they concluded that the white men who now came to meet them were probably sons of the murderer.”

Several years later, referring to these Eskimo, he wrote:

“Both the Rev. Mr. Canham and myself often showed the Eskimo the _Illustrated London News_, when, on meeting with an elephant, they would recognize it, apparently by its trunk, exclaiming ‘Kaleh!’ as an exclamation of surprise. The interpreter, an Eskimo, who speaks English well, told me that they knew the animal, because, though not now alive in their country, they thought it was not long since it was so from finding its body or skeleton. As elephant bodies are known to have been found on the Siberian coasts, it is still less strange that they should be found near the Mackenzie, for the current sets eastward from Behring’s Strait. The bodies might, however, lie embedded in the ice for thousands of years without decomposition, and may have been floated hither at the time of the flood.”

Mr. Bompas gives an amusing account of the food he ate, but from the description, how disagreeable it must have been! Bishop Reeve made a visit in 1892 to a tribe of Eskimo, known as Huskies, eastward along the shore of the Mackenzie River.

“The men were all out hunting whales,” he wrote, “but the women and children soon came around and gazed at the strange white man. In the evening the men came in. They had had a successful day’s hunt, and hauled home many whales. The whales they catch here are white whales, averaging from eight to fifteen feet in length, and very stout. These they cut up into about six pieces. Then they skin these pieces, and put the fat or blubber into bags, and hang up the meat to dry, first cutting it into slices. This is the work of the women. The fins and tails seem to be considered delicacies, and are eaten raw. Some of the fat and meat is stowed away in caches for winter use. These caches are small holes in the ground, about five feet deep, sometimes lined with logs, but generally without any lining except the frost. The whale meat becomes very strong after being in these a while in the summer, and then it is ready to eat. One day, sitting in one of the tents, while the Huskies were having one of their many meals, I was given a delicious piece of fin—at least, by the way the natives were devouring it, I thought it must be delicious. I cut off a very small piece and put it into my mouth. The Huskies were watching to see how I would like it. I slipped the rest into my pocket, and after a while slyly got that piece out of my mouth. I suppose they thought I had eaten some, but I had not, and I nearly lost my dinner in the bargain. The thought of that delicious whale-fin haunted me for days; but then it was raw, and had not been pickled in a cache for several days.”

For a time things went very well with Mr. Bompas, and he was allowed to move from place to place and teach the simple truths of the Gospel as far as he was able. But the cruel conjurers, or medicine-men, were watching him with suspicious eyes. They did not like the man to be in their midst with the new teaching, and they therefore determined to get rid of him. Now the Eskimo have a great dread of evil spirits. So one day the conjurers made the startling announcement that evil spirits were in the camp, and that the white man was the cause of them. They determined, therefore, to drive them out, and also to drive out the missionary from their midst. Mr. Bompas was trying to sleep in one of the houses when the medicine-men began to dance and conjure about him. Finding it impossible to get any rest, Mr. Bompas went outside, and there rolled himself up in his blanket. The conjurers followed him, and continued their diabolical noise. “Only those,” says Bishop Stringer, “who have seen the Eskimo conjuring dance can realize how wild and savage it is, and how desolate a feeling it brings to one not accustomed to it.”

For a while they continued the noise, and several times they jumped upon the missionary in order to enforce their meaning, but the Heavenly Father was watching, and delivered His faithful servant. After a while the medicine-men said they had accomplished their purpose, and would let the white man live.

But Mr. Bompas did not put much dependence on these words, and knew that at any time they might turn upon him and tear him to pieces. This they attempted to do not long after. It happened, when the ice had gone out of the Mackenzie River, the Eskimo began to move up-stream to trade with the Hudson’s Bay Company at Fort McPherson, taking the missionary with them. It was a voyage of 250 miles, and much ice was encountered. For days they made slow progress, and laboured hard. Then they became angry with one another, and, stirred by the jealous medicine-men, also cast threatening glances upon the white man in their midst. They imagined that in some way he was the cause of all their trouble, and angry glances were followed by threatening gestures, and Mr. Bompas realized the situation was most critical. One night, after a day of unusually hard work—when little progress had been made—the natives became so hostile that Mr. Bompas feared they would take his life ere morning. But, notwithstanding the impending danger, the faithful servant committed himself to the Father’s keeping, and, wearied out, soon fell asleep.

His great friend among the Eskimo was the old chief, Shipataitook by name, who had at the first invited him to visit them, offered the missionary the use of his camp, and entertained and fed him with the greatest kindness and cordiality. He had taken such a fancy to the brave young white man that he could not see him murdered without making an effort to save him. He had heard the threatening words, and when the plotters were about to fall upon their victim, he told them to wait, as he had something to tell them before they proceeded farther. Then he began a strange story which, falling upon the ears of the naturally superstitious natives, had a great effect. He told them he had a remarkable dream the night before. They had moved up the river, and were almost at Fort McPherson; and as they approached they saw the banks lined with the Hudson’s Bay Company’s men and Indians, all armed ready to shoot them down in the boats if they did not have the white man with them. When this story was told, all plotting ceased; and in the morning, when Mr. Bompas awoke, he found no longer angry glances cast upon him, but the natives were attentive in their care.

On June 14 the ice left them, and the river became clear, and without more detention they continued on their way, “and arrived safely, by God’s help,” says Mr. Bompas, “at Peel’s River Fort on June 18, about midnight.”

Here a most hearty welcome was given him by Mr. Andrew Flett, the officer in charge of the Fur Company’s post, and of him Mr. Bompas wrote in the following words:

“His influence over the Eskimo, as well as the Indians, has been very beneficial, for the whole time of his residence among them—now nearly ten years—and by consistent and honourable conduct, as well as by his attention to the duties of religion, he has done much to assist the work of the missionary. Of his personal kindness to myself I have had much experience during the past twelve months.”

In this beautiful heart-felt testimony to the work and kindness of one man we see how the missionary was cheered in his great labour by earnest words of sympathy and an ever-open door of hospitality, where he could rest from his great journeys. To Mrs. Flett also Mr. Bompas was greatly indebted, for in the study of the Louchieux language she gave him much material aid. Upon the lay members of the Church of Christ devolves a noble work in cheering the hearts and upholding the hands of their leaders in their strenuous battle against the powers of darkness.

Never again was Mr. Bompas able to visit that band of Eskimo along the Mackenzie River, but he ever held them in mind, and often his heart went out to them, and he declared that “there was nothing warmer than the grasp of a Husky’s hand.”

His visit had not been in vain. He had lived among them, shared their humble camps, and, though they could not understand him, nor fully comprehend his message, yet they could understand his love for them, and long years after they spoke of him in the highest terms.