THE ESKIMOS AND THE MISSION 



benches; at the back, against the wall, is the seat 

 for the mothers, where they sit with their babies 

 sleeping in their hoods, or waking to gaze around and 

 whimper at the wonders they can see ; in between 

 are the boys and girls and grown up folks. Hardly 

 anybody stays at home : the doors are locked against 

 the prowling dogs; the frozen dinner waits upon 

 the floor. 



There is an Eskimo organist, and close to him 

 sits the Eskimo choir, ready to lead the hymns or 

 sing an anthem. 



Jerry, our Okak organist, plays by ear, and coaxes 

 splendid harmony out of our aged pipe organ with its 

 octave of pedals and its row of half-a-dozen stops. 

 For voluntaries he plays pieces from the oratorios or 

 tunes from the newest collections ; and when the 

 hymns are announced he pulls out his stops and 

 shuffles his feet on the pedals, and with a mighty 

 burst of music the congregation breaks forth into 

 singing, while Jerry, with his magic touch, leads the 

 voices steadily on, in perfect tune and stately time. 



It is a charming sound, the sound of singing from 

 these rough people ; a sound the like of which was 

 never known in Labrador before the missionaries 

 came. The Eskimos possess no native music, no 

 traditional tunes, no melodious folk-songs of their 

 own ; the only music that they knew was the dismal 

 and monotonous rhythmic chant which the heathen 

 sorcerer used to aid his works of darkness. Some- 

 how the soil was in the people, and the seed of music 

 has taken root in it and changed the Eskimo nation 

 into one of the most musical of peoples. 



Jerry is our bandmaster at Okak ; and on winter 



mornings, when the snow is powdering down, and 



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