With the Harmony to Labrador Part 6

SUNSET, MOONRISE AND AURORA BOREALIS.

Now we have got fairly out to sea. The light land breeze has ceased and we are lying becalmed. What a sunset there is over that Alpine range of snowy mountains! Yonder dark hills to the north of Ramah are glowing as if they were red hot through and through. True this is a glory that fadeth, yet the cloudless sky long retains the brilliant hues, and the seaward horizon has a broad red band shading off above and below into blue. Still more beautiful is the paler pink reflection, tinting the smooth surface of the water on all sides of us save the west. There the sun has just gone down, and the lingering glories of the sky are reflected on the rippling waves in a wonderful network of bright yellow and deep orange. Look southward again, now that the darkness is beginning to tell on the scene. Over yonder great iceberg the rising moon sends a path of silvery light across the water, now a broad waving band, now innumerable sparks and circlets dancing like fairy lights upon the gently swelling sea.

All this is beautiful, but what follows is a rarer sight.

"Mr. La Trobe, the northern lights."

"Thank you, captain, I will be on deck in a moment."

I have seen many pictures of the Aurora Borealis, and we have already had some fine displays during this voyage, but I never witnessed anything like this. Truly the heavens declare the glory of G.o.d and the firmament sheweth His handiwork! Undulating bands of bright white light are swiftly scintillating across the sky, now curving upwards from the horizon, now stretching in broad stripes right over the zenith. Sometimes the Aurora is stationary and the smooth surface of the sea reflects the steady light; in the next moment it is moving rapidly all over the heavens. The swifter the motion the more brilliant the red or pink or green, which at times fringes the lower edge of the broad white bands of light.

_Monday, September 17th._--Early this morning I went on deck and found we were a considerable distance outside the Kangertluksoak Fjord. We were much nearer the entrance for the greater part of yesterday, but a strong contrary wind kept us tacking to and fro the whole day, till the darkness made it impossible to reach Hebron, which lies in a little side bay to the north of the great fjord. There were many large icebergs around us, and we pa.s.sed quite close to some floating fragments, which proved to be great lumps of ice, necessitating a turn of the helm to avoid collision with them. It was evident from the number of these, that a berg had recently broken up. I was told that yesterday a large piece fell off one near us with a crack like a cannon shot. I would like to see an iceberg turn over, as they sometimes do, but I do not wish to be too near it in that case. Last night the wind fell and the currents drifted our little vessel perilously near one of the great bergs, which was probably aground. It was an anxious time for those on the watch, but the Lord preserved us.

The headland to the north of us is Cape Uivak. Uivak is simply the Eskimo word for promontory, and the names of Cape Webuck on this coast and Quebec in Canada, are evidently derived from it. There is a board on that little island, and through the gla.s.s one can read the betters S.F. What does that stand for? Well, that identifies "Friday Island,"

so-called after Sophia Freitag, the wife of a worthy missionary. Once the captain of a steamer read it S.E., so he steered north-west, and safely entered Hebron Bay. He afterwards congratulated our captain on having put up so good a way-mark.

To-day the wind has veered round a little to the north, which enables us, at last, to run straight in at the mouth of Kangertluksoak Fjord, past three great icebergs, which stand in a row as if to defend the entrance. The sailors call them "men-of-war." Our rapid progress soon brings us in sight of the mission premises, whose red roofs stand out against the bare rocky background of the steep hillside, tinted a warm red-brown by the autumn hues of the mosses. There is the church with its cupola in a line with the long one-storied mission-house. The store buildings and the boat-house are nearer the landing stage. Some skilful tacks bring us into the Hebron Bay, and ere long the "Harmony"

lies at her anchorage, here farther from the station than at any other place on the coast. What a lively scene! Ten or a dozen boats have already came round us--these Eskimoes are bold sailors--and our anchor is scarcely down before we are boarded in friendly fashion by numerous natives. Yonder white boat is the "Harp," and it brings four good gentlemen in sealskin coats. The patriarch of the band is our venerable Mr. Kretschmer, who came to Labrador in 1852. This year he leaves his loved land after thirty-six years of service, during which he has been home once, twenty-seven years ago. He is followed by the missionaries Kahle, Wirth, and Hlawatschek, who report their wives and children all well.

Ere long we visitors, Mr. and Mrs. Dam and myself, are ready to go ash.o.r.e with them. Landing from the boat, we climb the hill to the mission-house, farther from the sh.o.r.e than any other. The sisters and children welcome us at the door, and for the sixth time I enjoy the hospitality of a Labrador mission family.

The chapter ent.i.tled "A busy week at Nain" would serve as a general description of the time spent at this or any of the stations.

Conferences with the missionary band, daily services in the Church or the house, the special meeting for my address to the congregation, visits to and from the natives, inspection of the mission premises and their surroundings, pleasant strolls in the intervals of daily duty and the routine of a mission-house, one or two more extensive walks on the hills around, profitable evenings in the mission circle, all these made eight days at Hebron pa.s.s very quickly, whilst as ever I was lovingly cared for by my hosts. Hebron is, to use the expressive term of the Newfoundland fishermen, a "bl.u.s.terous" place. It is beyond the northern limit of trees on this part of the coast, and the wind sweeps down the bare, rocky slopes with great force. This is the reason for the exceptional construction of the mission premises.

THE VISITING MISSIONARIES' LEVEE.

My dear fellow-travellers from Hopedale used to be stationed at Hebron, and it is astonishing to see how affectionately these people gather around them. Their temporary abode here is the schoolroom, and it is just as well that it is a good size and easily accessible. Look in upon them at any hour of the day, and you will probably find that they have Eskimo visitors. Last Sunday they held quite a levee, for men, women, and children flocked in after service to greet them.

Come and make acquaintance with some of these Eskimo brethren and sisters. Several are introduced as relatives of Abraham and Tobias, who visited Germany and France in 1880. In their letters home the poor fellows confessed that there was far more sea between Labrador and Europe than they had any idea of, before they and some heathen from Nachvak were induced by an agent of Hagenbeck's in Hamburg to allow themselves to be brought over and exhibited. They were very home-sick for Labrador, but they never returned, for one after another was taken fatally ill. The last survivors died in Paris early in 1881. The Christians among them did credit to their profession, had their daily worship, exercised a good influence over the heathen members of the party, and died in simple trust in Jesus as their Saviour.

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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d.

If the everlasting Gospel were well considered by all, there would be visible love."

A SLEDGE DRIVE.

_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 pa.s.sing 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 pa.s.sed 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 gra.s.s, 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 gra.s.s. 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 versa_ 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 gra.s.s, 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 pa.s.sed 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 p.r.o.nounces 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, f.a.n.n.y (an exceptionally friendly Eskimo dog), Ammi, Kakkortak and Takkolik. The others belong to different natives.

[Ill.u.s.tration: TRAVELLING IN LABRADOR.]

Our imaginary night has been short enough, and we are supposed to be preparing for a new start. "Look, see," says Thomas to me, and pours some water on the iron of the runners, for the sledge has meanwhile been turned upside down. Were it winter, that water would at once freeze on the iron and form a splendid smooth surface for the sledge to run on over ice or snow. "Hoo-eet." The sledge has been turned right again and repacked, and the dogs get up. No, there is nothing left behind. "Hoo-eet;" away we go. It is astonishing how widely the dogs spread themselves in pulling. However, the course of the sledge, as it follows them, depends more on the nimble drivers. See yonder dog is getting to the wrong side of that post, by way of ill.u.s.trating the difficulties of travelling through a wood. Hebron is beyond the northern limit of trees, but our missionaries at Hopedale have often great trouble in pa.s.sing through forests of stunted fir-trees. The front dogs also have got their traces foul of the two other posts in our forest of three trees without any branches. So we are brought to a standstill until, all the harness being cleared, we are ready for a fresh start down that slope to the right. "Owk, Owk," is the word, but at the brook our wild career is brought to a sudden stop. Our specimen sledge trip would not be complete without an accident. The bed of the little stream proves just too wide for the sledge to clear it, and the points of the runners have bored into the further bank. The thong of the sledge has broken in two places with the jerk, and the dogs who were pulling with might and main are suddenly released. Four or five have been caught by our nimble Eskimoes, but the majority are off home. Were the station three hours or three days distant and we were left in the snow it would be a bit different to the present situation.

The station is about three minutes distant, and we have time for a good laugh before our dogs are caught and brought back. What has become of the pa.s.senger? Oh, he is unhurt; the shock did not even unseat him. There he sits on the sledge, which stretches like a little bridge from bank to bank. It is freed from the earth, and the dogs are again attached, after a fierce little quarrel between two or three of them, just to keep up their credit as quarrelsome creatures. Order and obedience restored, "Hoo-eet," away we go homeward, but at a more moderate pace, for it is uphill. By the mission-house the road bends to the left, "Ra, Ra, Ra." At the corner a number of women are standing and laughing, and as the sledge approaches, they ran, according to their usual custom, and throw themselves on to it, so the poor dogs finish their course with an extra load, and are quite willing to lie down in obedience to the final command, "Ah, Ah." If you were on a real journey, you would learn by experience to avoid that interjection in your conversation, for the weary animals would at once take the permission to stop and lie down.

Now the dogs are released from their harness and run away to their respective homes with glee. The sledge is unloaded, and its contents carried off by their owners. "When did you leave Ramah?" says the missionary to Thomas. "Yesterday morning," replies the good fellow, keeping up the joke with thorough appreciation. I give them my hearty thanks, "Nakungmek," for Thomas and Co. have not only given me a great pleasure, but provided interest for young friends at home, to whom I may detail my winter journey on a sunny autumn afternoon at Hebron. A real midwinter Labrador sledge journey, with the thermometer far below zero of Fahrenheit and the wind blowing hard and cold, is not so pleasant, especially if the dogs be quite invisible because of the driving snow. Should the traveller then be pitched off the sledge, and the drivers not perceive his absence at once, they may lose one another for ever. But G.o.d has watched over our travellers by sea and land, by ice and snow on many an errand of spiritual import to the settlers, or journey from station to station.

MY LAST SUNDAY IN LABRADOR.

_Sunday, September 23rd._--Morning prayers in German with the house-family. Our venerable senior missionary read the texts and the Gospel for the day, and gave out suitable hymns, which were well sung by the company of brethren, and sisters, and children a.s.sembled in the dining-room around the long table. Breakfast is enlivened with cheerful, G.o.dly converse, and shortly after we join the Eskimo congregation in the first service of the day. I like this church as well as any in the land. It is proportionate, simple, neat and light.

Mr. Wirth takes his place behind the table, and, what with residents and visitors, there is a goodly row of missionary brethren and sisters to right and left of him, facing the Eskimo congregation. Among the latter the white faces of a settler family, the Metcalfs from Napartok Bay, are conspicuous. Though the language be strange, I have already grown familiar with the liturgic forms of worship and can follow either the "Church Litany," familiar to one in English and German, or the admirable responsive compilation of tests known as the Catechism Litany. The latter is chosen this morning, and it is quite possible that a negro congregation in Surinam, or a Kaffir congregation in South Africa may be using the same form of sound words, for it exists both in Negro English and in Kaffir.

At 10 we are again summoned to the house of prayer by the bell. Mr.

Dam is the preacher, and is evidently moved by the thought that this may be his last sermon in Eskimo for many a day. A hymn and a prayer, fervent and brief, precede the giving out of his text, Rev. i. 12-20.

The sermon is listened to attentively by old and young, of whom considerably more than a hundred are present. Old Zippora is, as ever, at her place at the end of the bench. Blind though she is, she often walks miles to church over uneven ground or hummocky ice, when away at the fishing places. She seems to take her part in the worship of the sanctuary thoroughly, whether in response or sacred song, or as listener with animated face and at times an overflowing heart. While I am looking, her fingers seek the corner of her ap.r.o.n, and lifting it she wipes the tears from her sightless eyes.

But the eloquent flow of words, mostly unintelligible to me, comes to a close. A hymn is sung, and the New Testament blessing p.r.o.nounced.

Then the procession from the missionary benches files out through the schoolroom into the mission-house and the people disperse to their homes. Mere mounds they look as I see them from my window. But they are Christian homes, whence rises prayer and praise.

I was mistaken. The congregation had not dispersed, for the choir wished to give me a specimen of their powers. I returned to the church and listened to a fair selection of sacred music, including a long piece (Psalm xcv. 6, 7), well sustained by a choir of about a dozen men and women, and two or three instrumentalists. When they ceased, I spoke a few words of thanks and farewell.

Dinner was as usual very literally "the mid-day meal." Soup was followed by a joint of reindeer venison, which was a treat to me, as beef or mutton would be to my hosts. The vegetables had been grown in the mission garden. After coffee I went over to the ship for the afternoon service aboard, rowed by four Eskimoes, Thomas, Clement, one of the organists, Daniel, and Heinrich. In their endeavour to converse with me they brought out some amusing sc.r.a.ps of English, and little Heinrich informed me his name in my language was "Harry."

Whilst I was preaching to the crew there was an afternoon meeting ash.o.r.e. I returned for our solemn farewell service with the missionary band. Here, as at each previous station, this was an occasion of deep feeling. My parting word was founded on (2 Corinthians xiii. 11) "Finally, brethren, farewell. Be perfect, be of good comfort, be of one mind, live in peace; and the G.o.d of love and peace shall be with you." So I took leave of "brethren," who are faithfully serving their Lord in this cold country. Truly here is the patience and the faith of the saints. The G.o.d of all grace bless each missionary family, comfort and strengthen them in all their work, and perfect that which concerneth them and their people! How wonderfully He can and does help, I have experienced on this voyage and visit to Labrador, and so at the close of my visitation record my humble praise.

MUSIC ON THE WATER.

After the evening meal we went down to the sh.o.r.e and embarked. The people crowded the pier, and many a hand was stretched out with a hearty "Aksunai." As we rowed away they were singing, and when their voices sounded fainter across the water Thomas began of his own accord the following hymn in his own language:--

"O Lord! lift up thy countenance Upon thy Church, and own us thine; Impart to each thy peace divine, And blessings unto all dispense.

'Tis our desire to follow thee, And from experience to proclaim Salvation in thy blessed name: O bless thy servants' ministry."