Called Upstairs: Moravian Inuit Music in Labrador 9780228018353

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c a l l e d u p s ta i r s

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McGill-Queen’s Indigenous and Northern Studies (In memory of Bruce G. Trigger)

John Bor rows, Sar ah Carter, and Arthur J. R ay, Editors The McGill-Queen’s Indigenous and Northern Studies series publishes books about Indigenous peoples in all parts of the northern world. It includes original scholarship on their histories, archaeology, laws, cultures, governance, and traditions. Works in the series also explore the history and geography of the North, where travel, the natural environment, and the relationship to land continue to shape life in particular and important ways. Its mandate is to advance understanding of the political, legal, and social relations between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples, of the contemporary issues that Indigenous peoples face as a result of environmental and economic change, and of social justice, including the work of reconciliation in Canada. To provide a global perspective, the series welcomes books on regions and communities from across the Arctic and Subarctic circumpolar zones.

96 Plants, People, and Places The Roles of Ethnobotany and Ethnoecology in Indigenous Peoples’ Land Rights in Canada and Beyond Edited by Nancy J. Turner 97 Fighting for a Hand to Hold Confronting Medical Colonialism against Indigenous Children in Canada Samir Shaheen-Hussain 98 Forty Narratives in the Wyandot Language John L. Steckley 99 Uumajursiutik unaatuinnamut / Hunter with Harpoon / Chasseur au harpon Markoosie Patsauq Edited and translated by Valerie Henitiuk and Marc-Antoine Mahieu 100 Language, Citizenship, and Sámi Education in the Nordic North, 1900–1940 Otso Kortekangas

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101 Daughters of Aataentsic Life Stories from Seven Generations Kathryn Magee Labelle in collaboration with the Wendat/ Wandat Women’s Advisory Council 102 Aki-wayn-zih A Person as Worthy as the Earth Eli Baxter 103 Atiqput Inuit Oral History and Project Naming Edited by Carol Payne, Beth Greenhorn, Deborah Kigjugalik Webster, and Christina Williamson 104 Ǫ da gaho dḛ:s Reflecting on Our Journeys Gae Ho Hwako (Norma Jacobs) and the Circles of Ǫ da gaho dḛ:s Edited by Timothy B. Leduc 105 Called Upstairs Moravian Inuit Music in Labrador Tom Gordon

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Called Upstairs

Moravian Inuit Music in Labrador

Tom Gor don

McGill-Queen’s University Press Montreal & Kingston | London | Chicago

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© McGill-Queen’s University Press 2023 ISBN 978-0-2280-1677-9 (cloth) ISBN 978-0-2280-1678-6 (paper) ISBN 978-0-2280-1835-3 (ePDF) Legal deposit second quarter 2023 Bibliothèque nationale du Québec Printed in Canada on acid-free paper that is 100% ancient forest free (100% post-consumer recycled), processed chlorine free This book has been published with the help of a grant from the Canadian Federation for the Humanities and Social Sciences, through the Awards to Scholarly Publications Program, using funds provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada.

We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts. Nous remercions le Conseil des arts du Canada de son soutien. Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Title: Called upstairs : Moravian Inuit music in Labrador / Tom Gordon. Names: Gordon, Tom, 1946– author. Series: McGill-Queen’s indigenous and northern series ; 105. Description: Series statement: McGill-Queen’s Indigenous and Northern series ; 105 | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 2023013176X | Canadiana (ebook) 20230131778 | ISBN 9780228016779 (cloth) | ISBN 9780228016786 (paper) | ISBN 9780228018353 (ePDF) Subjects: LCSH: Moravian Church—Newfoundland and Labrador—Labrador—Music. | LCSH: Inuit—Newfoundland and Labrador—Labrador—Music. | LCSH: Missions— Newfoundland and Labrador—Labrador. Classification: LCC ML3172 .G662 2023 | DDC 781.71/460097182—dc23

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Dedicated to the memory of Karrie Obed (1959–2017) Inuk, Teacher, Musician

d

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Contents Preface: Called Upstairs

ix

Acknowledgments

xxi

Audio Examples and Musical Scores

xxv

1 Backstories

3

2

Hymns from a Feeling Heart

3

“The Seed of Music Takes Root”

109

4

Trumpets on the Roof

167

5

Taima … Nala …: Music and Leadership

227

54

6 Reading by Ear: Memory, Literacy, Aurality, and Transmission

271

7

The Inuit Voice in Moravian Music

297

Glossary of Musical Terms

345

Tables and Figures

351

Notes

357

Bibliography

399

Index

413

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Preface m Called Upstairs I was around thirteen years old when they told me to – when one of the chapel servants told me to go upstairs in church. I think it was on Easter. Easter morning. It was on a Sunday, I think.1

Aside from the fact that he was only thirteen years old when he was called “upstairs,” tenor Karrie Obed’s invitation to join the Nain choir followed a protocol that had been in place for close to 150 years. His was a calling in both the literal and the altruistic senses of the word. A calling to play a vital role in the spiritual and celebratory life of his community; a calling to be a steward of a unique tradition; a calling to leadership both in the choir loft – upstairs – and in the community as a whole. Soprano Mary Andersen referred to it as “being elected in.” Bass Julius Ikkusek declined his call several times for fear that he couldn’t live up to the standard of conduct required. When he finally answered the call in his late twenties, he knew he had to live a life equal to the station. For the next fifty-plus years he would be a mentor, a model, and a leader, as well as a bearer of a musical tradition that had come to represent Inuit of Labrador. Admittedly a colonial imposition from the arsenal of Christianizing tools brought by Moravian missionaries, this tradition of choral and instrumental music would become a beloved symbol of community, a vehicle for spiritual and aesthetic expression, and, perhaps ironically, an instrument for Inuit agency. This tradition is most tellingly explored through the stories of those who received “the call” – that is, the lives and achievements of those musical stewards who provided leadership not only in the choir loft and the band but also in the community as a whole. For most of a century the story of that developing tradition was recorded largely by the colonizer, the Moravian missionaries. Inevitably these early versions of the stories were coloured by the missionaries’ viewpoint. In the later nineteenth century, the teller of the stories gradually shifted from the missionaries to Inuit musicians themselves. Only then did Inuit perspectives start to emerge clearly. With the emergence of Inuit voices the tradition itself began its transformation from a foreign artistic and spiritual practice into a cultural expression reflecting Inuit aesthetic, spiritual, and communal values.

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Just as the Moravians could not escape their own objectives and the assumptions that informed them as they chronicled the story of Inuit Labrador, I too must acknowledge that I have inevitably brought my own assumptions to this telling. I am a white male, an academic trained in historical musicology, and a competent keyboard player. I am fully aware that this is not my story. I believe it would be better told by an Inuk musician and steward of this tradition. Sadly there are few left to tell their story. Over the twenty years since I first began research on Moravian music in Labrador, many of the stewards of this tradition have died. Much of their knowledge and many of their stories have passed with them. I have concluded that if this compelling story of adaptation, agency, and the power of cultural expression is to be recognized, I must share what I’ve learned. While much of the documentation of this tradition was produced by the missionaries, I believe that my understanding of it has been shaped by the extraordinary musicians who determinedly maintained the tradition across the first two decades of the twenty-first century. In order to contextualize my understanding, I will insert myself here briefly. As a meat-and-potatoes music historian, I like paper. I trust it. Over time it gives off clues that figure and then reconfigure in my mind. I cut my research teeth in the Stravinsky archives tracing circuitous routes through his sketchbooks, puzzling over how he got to the avant-garde discoveries of his early twentieth-century masterworks. So it’s no surprise that, when I stumbled upon a cache of some 20,000 unexamined pages of music manuscript on the north coast of Labrador, I felt a sense of new purpose entering my life. Those sheets of paper comprise the repertoire of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century choral anthems introduced to Labrador Inuit by Moravian missionaries early in the nineteenth century. Within half a century the students became the mentors and the choir lofts in Nain, Hopedale, Hebron, and Okak had become the domain of Inuit organists and choirmasters. These skilled musicians assumed responsibility for the annual cycle of sung anthems originally penned in faraway Europe by composers like Mozart, Haydn, and Mendelssohn, together with a legion of lesser-knowns. These same Inuit musicians also became the scribes for this repertoire, copying and recopying the choral and orchestral parts when original copies wore out. The story of Inuit agency in the shaping of the performance practice of this music is one that revealed itself across those sheets of paper. What the copyists transcribed was the music as performed, not as originally written. And what was performed increasingly distanced the music from its European sources to an essential form that reflected Inuit aesthetic values. For almost a decade I spent several weeks each summer digitizing and cataloguing these sheets of paper. My summer “digitizing holidays” in the North

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also introduced me to the people who remain the stewards of these sheets of paper. They were naturally curious – and not a little apprehensive – about what I was doing. I found myself drawn slowly into relationships with them. Fixated as I was on the paper, it belatedly dawned on me that I might learn more from the musicians who continued to use that paper – the organists, choristers, and violinists who maintained the tradition of performing from these manuscripts. And after years of seeing me arrive in town, root around in their choir lofts, and enthuse about what I was seeing, these Inuit musicians began to wonder if there mightn’t be something I could do to assist them in maintaining traditions that were being threatened. Cautiously we started collaborating. First, they gently corrected my gaze, which was focused on the “art music” part of the repertoire almost to the exclusion of what to them was its core: the ancient hymns sung congregationally in four-part harmony. Most importantly, they pried me away from the paper and toward their voices, reminding me that the music was in what was sung, not in what was on the paper. While the urge to document and perform my little forensic experiments on the paper never vanished, I began to shift my attention to this music as a practice. It meant sitting in the congregation through dozens of sung services: listening, recording, reflecting on what I heard both from the choir and from the congregation. It meant combing the audio archives of the local radio station, where Moravian hymns continue to top the charts – the most requested genre on call-in shows. With guidance from my more experienced colleagues, I developed an approach to an ethnographic study in what had by now become Nunatsiavut – the self-governing Inuit territory of Labrador. I prepared for a four-month residency in Nain, the northernmost Labrador Inuit community and the one with the most active continuing musical traditions. I timed my residency so that it would coincide with the musically rich seasons of Advent and Christmas. The first pillar of the methodology was to be interviews, and I developed a series of questions for Inuit musicians and church leaders aimed at defining musical preferences, transmission practices, music literacy, training, and the meaning and impact of the music. The second pillar of my methodology was observation. I had become a churchgoer of unprecedented faithfulness and was no less regular in attending community celebrations and feasts. After each event I dashed back to my laptop and set down my observations and reflections. Fortunately the length of my residency was making me a fixture in the community. After the last boat left and I was still there I started becoming part of the landscape. My uncanny resemblance to another jolly-shaped, silverbearded white guy as Christmas approached lent me an undeserved popularity at December community gatherings. That’s when my own “call upstairs” came.

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Starting from the rehearsal for the first Sunday in Advent, I joined the choir as an apprentice in the bass section, alongside the Elder Julius Ikkusek. For the next two months I learned from him and the other senior members of the choir. It was really only after I’d been called upstairs that the more insightful answers to my awkwardly formed interview questions and the meaning of my observations started to come into view. Julius took his role as mentor seriously, and I found myself in the position of choir apprentices from generations long ago. I learned the same way he had learned. Julius assumed that I did not read music, and indeed, I did not read music in the way that he and the other members of the choir did. At each rehearsal and service I stood close by Julius, holding the manuscript score from which both of us would sing. With his right hand Julius would finger the notes as he sang them into my ear. With his left hand he counted the beats – every beat. I learned that music reading in the Nain choir was a hybrid affair: pitch might be suggested by the contour of the line on the page but was largely a function of aural memory; rhythm was read – with great concentration. In addition to learning to read music experientially, my apprenticeship provided me with a deeper understanding of the aesthetic preferences of Inuit musicians. As we rehearsed one anthem or another, choir members freely exchanged observations. Elaborate, ornamented baroque anthems and arias in minor mode were described by Beni Ittulak, the choir’s lead soprano, as “right German” – a derogation seconded by other choir members. At the same time, classic arias from the age of Mozart, set in a high tessitura, unrelentingly tonal and repetitive, were singled out as favourites. So too were mid-nineteenthcentury anthems in the style of Mendelssohn. The warmest feelings were reserved for the sentimental concoctions of the Victorian hymnodists, collectively referred to as “Sankeys.” A patchwork of tastes emerged, one that sanctioned simple textures in major mode and straight-ahead rhythms, rooted in ancient Moravian chorales. When a more complex composition garnered favour, its performance practice stripped it of excess vocal embellishment and reduced rhythmic complexity to its lowest common denominator. My paper trail discoveries were being corroborated by current practice. The copyists’ recomposition was indeed a reflection of aesthetic preference. A few days after Nalujuk’s Night,2 I returned south. By that time, I had established relationships with many of the musicians on the Labrador coast. Both during our formal interviews and in less formal interactions, many expressed concerns about the future of their tradition. The brass bands had already died out in all the Nunatsiavut communities. Only the Nain choir continued to perform the entire cycle of Moravian anthems, and few members

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of that ensemble were under the age of sixty. Was there anything we could do together to secure its future? Our first response was to try to document the tradition in a way that would be meaningful to the Inuit musicians and their communities. I approached Nigel Markham, a filmmaker with a thirty-year history of making thoughtful and reflective films in the North. After a series of community consultations, we developed a project to film the Inuit musicians of the Labrador coast during Passiontide and Easter of 2011. Into the mix we added a group of graduate students and recent graduates, whom the Inuit musicians mentored in their musical traditions. Elders were able to exercise their roles as transmitters of tradition. The lead singers of the Inuit choirs were able to perform with augmented resources. There were opportunities to reflect. The experience was exhilarating at every level. Before releasing Till We Meet Again: Moravian Music in Labrador, we undertook a screening tour of the communities where the film had been shot. Our goal had been to turn a mirror on a tradition before it died. In the town hall forums that followed the screenings, we found we had accomplished much more. In each community, the conversations following the screening followed three paths: a deep sense of pride in the recognition that extraordinary musicians were living in their communities; an understanding that this music – foreign though it may have been in its origins – was a product of their own creative activity; and a desire to rescue these traditions before they were lost forever. Establishing as a first goal the revival of the brass bands was easily agreed upon. Their absence was sorely felt in each community. The bands had played a ceremonial role in calling the people together on occasions of celebration; they were a symbol of community. There was also the pragmatic consideration that these bands’ historical repertoire – four-voiced chorales – would be mastered with relative ease, even by beginners. It looked like a feasible “win.” With the goal set, Tittulautet Nunatsiavuttini – Nunatsiavut Brass Bands3 was created with the object of reviving brass bands in Nunatsiavut communities. In August 2013, twenty-four aspiring brass band players from all Nunatsiavut communities gathered in Hopedale for a week-long intensive brass band workshop with facilitators who had already participated in the film project. The participants ranged in age from thirteen to well over fifty and everything in between. By week’s end they were ready for a concert of Moravian melodies in which all twenty-four participants played. At the end of the workshop, each community took home a quartet of new instruments as part of a grant from the International Grenfell Association. A group website offered lively exchange throughout the fall, and scores for Christmas repertoire were exchanged. Around the holidays, posted pictures

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and short videos documented each community’s Christmas performance. The following Easter at 5:30 in the morning, the Nain Brass Band greeted the rising sun from the village cemetery, reviving a centuries-old tradition that had been abandoned twenty years before. Workshops continued in each of the following two years. In the summer of 2014, five members of the Nain Brass Band travelled to Herrnhut, Germany – the world headquarters of the Moravian Church – to participate in an international Moravian Brass Band Festival. It was the first time in 250 years that Inuit had travelled to the mother church. Two years later the band recorded, edited, and released its self-titled cd.4 In the years since, there’s scarcely a gathering or community event in Nain today that doesn’t feature the band as a musical emblem of people coming together. Over the past few years we’ve collaborated to issue three more recordings of new and archival performances by Inuit musicians.5 In the fall of 2019 a new community initiative, Community Music Literacy in Coastal Labrador, was launched to train new organists, choir members, and instrumentalists. The Covid-19 pandemic threw a wrench in the roll-out of this project; however, by early winter 2021 online workshops had engaged participants from all four Moravian Inuit communities in Labrador. The slowdown in active engagement wrought by the pandemic also provided me with the opportunity to reflect on what I had learned about Moravian Inuit music and the various ways in which I had learned it since I was first seduced by the prospect of unlocking the mysteries of those music manuscripts almost two decades ago. What began as an archival documentation project has morphed into something else. In a very real sense it has crossed the border into something that looks and feels more like a collaboration for community engagement. But in a no less real sense I feel as though I’ve gained a deeper understanding of Moravian Inuit music through each of these experiences – an understanding that the paper alone, however cool and empirical it might be, could never have brought me. The result is this book. The book has three sections. The first chapter lays out the backstories of Labrador Inuit, the Unitas Fratrum (commonly known as the Moravian Church), and the point at which their stories intersect, a series of first encounters that led to an intermingled history of now more than 250 years. It concludes with an overview of some of the lasting consequences of what was a colonial relationship. The subsequent three chapters examine the origins and development of the three principal genres of music that would become the core of Moravian Inuit music in Labrador. Chapter 2 explores Labrador Moravian hymnody, a repertoire of more than 1,200 hymns sung in four-part harmony in Labrador Inuktitut. Initially drawn from the voluminous corpus of chorales in the

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Protestant tradition, as sanctioned and codified by the Moravians over the course of the eighteenth century, the Labrador Inuktitut hymn repertoire was expanded with the addition of a large number of evangelical hymns known as “Sankeys” beginning in the last quarter of the nineteenth century. The story of Labrador Inuit hymnody will be traced along the trajectories delineated by handwritten and printed hymnals from 1780 to 2005, as well as through observations about and reflections on hymn-singing made by Inuit, Moravians, and others who witnessed the tradition evolve over the same period. The emergence of a tradition of choral anthems sung by trained choirs with soloists and accompanied by string players and organ is taken up in chapter 3. This is a story told first in the letters and reports of missionary mentors across the nineteenth century, but more concretely documented in approximately 20,000 pages of music manuscripts held in the choir lofts of churches in Nain, Hopedale, Hebron, Makkovik, and Okak. These manuscript sheets chart not only the arrival and introduction of a tradition of concerted choral singing, but also, and even more significantly, the transformation of the imported choral music from its European sources into an expression of Inuit cultural identity. Chapter 4 relates the story of the arrival in Labrador of the distinctive Moravian tradition of brass bands as a public and extra-liturgical expression of Christian faith. By the middle of the nineteenth century Inuit musicians had adopted the practice of playing four-part chorales out-of-doors to summon the community to festival celebrations. The Labrador bands also participated in the Moravian traditions of announcing the Resurrection in the graveyard at sunrise on Easter Sunday morning and raucously welcoming the New Year at the midnight Watchnight service. And they would “play in” the arrival of visitors by ship and “play out” their departure, as well as play to celebrate an Elder’s auspicious birthday. Over time, the brass band became the voice of the community, heralding key moments of Inuit life along the northern coast of Labrador. Chapters 2 to 4 are inevitably shaped by Moravian documentary sources. It is difficult to escape the colonial hand and eye when recounting how missionaries introduced the music for the first hundred years. Missionaries oversaw the establishment of Moravian music traditions. They chose the genres and repertoire and dictated their uses. They acquired and distributed musical instruments. They taught Inuit to sing in harmony, to play the organ or the trombone. They were the curators and mentors of an imposed tradition. However, by the last quarter of the nineteenth century, a shift was taking place in the stewardship of the music traditions introduced by the Moravians. By the 1870s and 1880s, Inuit organists, choristers, band leaders, and musicians not only had acquired a mastery of these music traditions but also had begun

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to assume autonomy over them. Chapters 5 to 7 refocus the discussion from the introduction and development of the tradition in the hands of missionaries to its reconceptualization and transformation by Inuit musicians. The result is an expressive form that can no longer be heard as European, but rather is an expression of Inuit cultural identity. Chapter 5 focuses on Inuit leadership itself, specifically leadership first assumed at the organ bench, in the choir loft, and from within the band. Many of the music leaders from the end of the nineteenth century and throughout the twentieth assumed broader leadership roles across their communities. Theirs was an organic type of leadership, emerging through a communal acknowledgment of competence and growing by consensus. The authority for this form of leadership was seated in the community. It contrasted and often conflicted with the leadership model encouraged by the missionaries, which had been delimited by Christian moral principles and was inevitably hierarchical. I elaborate on the Inuit form of leadership in this book by sketching the profiles of a number of musician/leaders. Some largely conformed to missionaries’ expectations; others rebelled against them. Most found a personal path that upheld their integrity as Inuit while mediating the requirements of leadership imposed by colonialism. All found ways to repurpose their experiences as leaders within the microcosm of the choir or the band to serve their communities in other, often critical ways. Inuit traditions of oral transmission are counterpointed in chapter 6 with the missionaries’ introduction of a written form of Inuktitut and their encouragement of literacy. The well-practised memories of storytellers and an aural acuity that allowed Inuit to quickly master European music were exploited by the Moravians as they introduced their music traditions. While the vast repertoire of Moravian hymn tunes could be acquired by rote, the more complex repertoire of anthems required the ability to read musical scores. Having been nurtured among choir members and instrumentalists during the middle half of the nineteenth century, the ability to read music was embraced selectively and pragmatically by Inuit musicians. Under the mentorship of Inuit organists and bandleaders, a hybridized form of music literacy evolved in the twentieth century. This genre of reading music “by ear” came to represent further evidence of Inuit agency and ownership of their adopted practice. Once Moravian music had become the “soundtrack” to Labrador Inuit settlements, once it had become integrated into the rhythm of daily domestic life, once it had come under the stewardship of Inuit music leaders, once its continuance came to rely on the mentorship of Inuit master musicians, a distinctly Inuit Voice could be observed in Moravian music as practised in Labrador. The final chapter considers how Inuit musicians have imbued this music with their own

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voices. Even as they conserved an adopted tradition, Inuit musicians exerted agency in reconceptualizing this received music to reflect their own musical and aesthetic sensibilities in the way they reinterpreted and performed it. This agency that can be heard (and seen) in the handful of works composed by Inuit musicians in the Moravian style. It is equally evident in the many Moravian works recomposed by organists, instrumentalists, and choirmasters across a century and a half of practice. This Inuit Voice in Moravian music is ultimately defined across five broad categories, which can be summarized as follows: a pure and powerful vocal timbre, a reduction of the musical object to its essence, an attraction to harmonic resonance, the creation of a kind of temporal stasis, and a foregrounding of narrative qualities in the music. Many of these characteristics echo traits that were already present in Inuit music before the time of contact with the Moravians. Ultimately, the purpose of creating and expressing community links the music practices of Labrador Inuit across pre-contact and Christian periods. I hope this book will be of interest to a wide readership among Inuit and Indigenous people and their allies, as well as among researchers across a breadth of fields ranging from anthropology to Indigenous studies to music and ethnomusicology. In the interest of attracting a wide readership, I have chosen, as much as possible, to maintain an approach similar to storytelling. So the narrative that follows is not suffused with critical theory. My goal here has not been so much to interpret as to allow the story to tell itself, although my own conclusions about what this story means are inescapable. Also, in the interest of keeping the discussion accessible to people with diverse backgrounds, I have tried to avoid excessively technical discussions of the music. Some music analysis has been essential to delineate the Inuit Voice, particularly in discussions in chapter 7. With these technical discussions, I have attempted to make clear the impact and meaning of the analytical detail as it defines Inuit agency in reshaping Moravian music. Inevitably I use some terms that are not part of common parlance that are useful in describing music and musical structures precisely. Where these terms are specific to the immediate discussion (e.g., katatjaq or Singstunden), I have defined them where they occur. For more generic musical terms (e.g., metre, polyphony, etc.), I have supplied a brief glossary. My sources for constructing the story of Moravian Inuit music have included archival and documentary materials as well as interviews with tradition-bearers, oral traditions, observation, and participant-action research. The principal documentary sources consulted were produced by the Moravian Church, especially by its London-based missionary arm, the Society for the Furtherance of the Gospel (SFG). The Moravians and the SFG documented their

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mission activity voluminously in various publications, the most important of which is the Periodical Accounts,6 which was issued continuously from 1790 to 1970. While I have quoted extensively from the Periodical Accounts, the bias of the source must be kept front and centre. Missionaries’ reports and letters about their activities in Labrador and other fields have been told exclusively from their own perspective. Their unquestioned certitude in the value of bringing Christianity to Inuit informs every word they set to paper. The moral superiority assumed by the Moravians often (but not always) is reflected in language that reveals a paternalistic and patronizing attitude toward Inuit among some of the missionaries. Similarly, it must be acknowledged that the sfg’s underlying motivation in publishing the Periodical Accounts was obviously, if tacitly, to attract financial support for its mission activities. Substantially more than a grain of salt needs to season many of these accounts. Nevertheless, I felt it was useful to cite these original sources extensively and without mediation. I have not repeated identifications of bias or cultural insensitivity in presenting these citations. I trust the reader to recognize the bias in language and the underlying assumptions it betrays. While my principal documentary resource has been the Periodical Accounts, I have been fortunate to have access to some primary source materials in the Moravian archives in Herrnhut, Germany, and Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. Access to these materials would have been impossible without the unstinting support provided by my colleague Dr Hans J. Rollmann, whose encyclopedic knowledge of the Moravian record as it pertains to the Labrador missions is equalled only by his generosity in sharing his knowledge. Additional information has been incorporated from other mission publications, including the Nachrichten aus der Brüder-Gemeine,7 Moravian Missions,8 and Labrador Moravian – Moraviamiut Labradorime.9 Nevertheless, the primary source for this study is the music itself, both in the form of the approximately 20,000 pages of handwritten music manuscripts contained in the choir collections in Nain, Hopedale, and Makkovik and in the 500 or so audio recordings I have been able to access in the archives of the Oĸâlaĸatiget Society in Nain and several private collections. This material told its own story objectively and with revealing detail. In addition to the information revealed by successive generations of music manuscripts, the bounty of marginal notes in printed hymnals, scraps of paper containing service orders, orphaned instruments in cupboards – all these brought insights into the lives this music lived. The audio recordings, of course, gave voice to what notations on paper could only suggest. These audio recordings sounded the reality of the music, at least as it has lived across the last seventy years, and

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echoed with a far more distant past. Those echoes, together with a substantial archive of photographs maintained by the Moravians,10 other visitors to the coast, and Inuit photographers themselves, provided the first point of access to the people who maintained this tradition. It was those people and the privilege of coming to know them over two decades that has most profoundly shaped my understanding of Moravian Inuit music in Labrador. They shared their understandings of, experiences in, commitment to, and love for this music in the course of numerous interviews and informal exchanges. I was able to supplement the insights they shared with a large collection of oral histories, particularly those in the invaluable quarterly publication Them Days.11 During extended residencies in Makkovik, Hopedale, and especially Nain, I was able to observe Labrador Inuit making music together and to observe the role this music played in community life. I experienced this as I stumbled behind the brass band in the snow in the pre-dawn of Easter Sunday morning or when pulling out all the stops on the organ at precisely midnight on 31 December to jolt the congregation awake to welcome the New Year with a boisterous rendition of “Jêsus tessiunga.” I learned the most in the projects we undertook together: documentary film and recordings, workshops, development of online resources. Called participant-action research in academic circles, these were in reality community initiatives to which colleagues and I were able to bring supportive resources. What we were able to contribute to these projects was minuscule compared to what we have taken away as understanding of this music and its meaning and importance in the lives of many Labrador Inuit. Finally, it is important to acknowledge that between the time the research for this work was begun (in 2003) and now, Labrador Inuit have achieved full self-determination. Indigenous title was affirmed in an agreement between Nunatsiavut and the governments of Canada and Newfoundland and Labrador on 1 December 2005. This was a proud and noble achievement, the result of the persistent and focused efforts of Labrador Inuit across more than forty years of negotiations. Part of that process entailed civil action against the Moravian Church, which held historic title to vast parcels of Inuit land, including most of the settled communities. In the course of these long-fought legal battles, the church’s role in the colonization of Labrador Inuit was seen by many as detrimental to Inuit agency and culture. The church’s participation in the forced resettlement of communities like Hebron and Okak and its role in establishing and administering residential schools compounded justified sentiments among many Labrador Inuit that it had been an oppressive force in their society that had done irreparable harm to countless individuals and communities. A decade and a half have passed since the creation of Nunatsiavut. As the now fully

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functioning Indigenous government is approaching its early maturity and as distance grows from many of the painful realizations that surrounded the march to self-determination, some of the legacies of the 250 years of the Moravian presence in Inuit Labrador are becoming easier to acknowledge and accept. These include language preservation, universal literacy, leadership development, and music. For many Nunatsiavummiut, their Moravian faith and the traditions and practices that support it remain defining elements of their identity.

c It is necessary to include a word about usage. I have maintained the original vocabulary and orthographies in all citations. This includes the term “Eskimo” (and “Eskimoes” or “Esquimaux”), which was universally used to refer to Inuit until the latter half of the twentieth century. The term is a vestige of the colonial process of naming people, as well as an offensive misnomer that has been denounced by Inuit. In the citations, there are occasional uses of derogatory colonial labels like “pagan” and “heathen.” I have maintained all original uses so as not to disguise the bias embedded in the citation. In my own writing I have endeavoured to use respectful terminology, adhering to contemporary style guides for Indigenous writing.12 Orthography is a complex issue here, beginning with the word for the language of Inuit. Throughout I have employed the standardized English spelling “Inuktitut,” which is also currently used by the Nunatsiavut government. Labrador Inuktitut as a written language was initially devised by Moravian missionaries. Prior to their arrival, no written form of the language existed. As they had done previously in Greenland, the missionaries transcribed Inuktitut as they heard it. What they heard was filtered through their phonetically conditioned ears as (mostly) native speakers of German. Not until well into the Moravians’ second century in Labrador did any of the missionaries have linguistic training. They sometimes heard consonants that didn’t exist (especially “r”). They also heard variants of vowel sounds that may have been more imagined than real. With few exceptions, I have used the orthography as found in my sources. This can result in multiple spellings of the same name or title within a single paragraph. The notation [sic] is used sparingly, chiefly in cases where confusion might appear. Although there is, at present, a strong movement to harmonize Inuktitut writing systems across the circumpolar world, standardized orthography remains a work in progress even within Labrador Inuktitut itself, let alone across the numerous regional dialects of the Inuit Nunangat.

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Acknowledgments The story told on these pages belongs to those who told it to me, to those who shared their knowledge and experience, and to those whose generosity permitted me to learn from observing and participating with them in making their music. Among these I am most especially indebted to the stewards of the Moravian Inuit music tradition whom I met and have collaborated with over the past many years. These include all the members of the Nain choir, but most particularly the late tenor Karrie Obed, who opened my ears through his performances and my heart through his friendship, as well as soprano Beni Ittulak, who is tireless in her efforts to honour the legacy of her ancestors. I have been privileged also to work with soprano Deantha Edmunds in her crusade to bring the legacy of this music to larger audiences. Sadly, in 2022 there are no longer any tradition-bearing organists left on the Labrador coast. I was extremely fortunate to have been able to learn at the side of several truly great ones, including David Harris, Sr, John Jararuse, Simeon Nochasak, and Paul Harris, as well as string player James R. (“Uncle Jim) Andersen. The import of this music tradition in the lives of Labrador Inuit was opened to me through the wisdom shared by a large number of Elders and chapel servants whose lived experience as Moravian Inuit and deep knowledge of its practice in their language lifted my understanding beyond the music to its spiritual and cultural meaning. Among these are Johannes Lampe, Gordon Obed, Sr, Rose Pamak, Rita Andersen, Sarah Townley, Sophie Tuglavina, and Angus Andersen. In each of the Moravian communities of Labrador I was made welcome by numerous congregants and community members. The list is too long to enumerate, but I must single out a few. In Makkovik, I found ready assistance and encouragement from Joan and John Andersen and Natalie Jacques. In Hopedale, I was generously supported by Nicole Shuglo, Sarah Jenkins, Marjorie Flowers, and Martha Winters-Abel. And in Nain, Fran Williams, Dave Lough, Darlene Howell, and Joan Dicker were among the many who extended great kindness to me. I also owe a great debt of gratitude to the entire staff at the Oĸâlaĸatiget Society for the generous access provided to their extensive audio archives. When I began this work I had little knowledge of the Moravian Church and even less of its extraordinary history on the north coast of Labrador. My guide in learning this side of the story has been my exceptionally generous colleague at Memorial University, Hans J. Rollmann. Hans’s dominating presence in

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the bibliography appended to this work barely hints at the truly encyclopedic knowledge he has of the Moravian presence in Labrador. His generosity in showing me how to access records, but especially in responding to my every question, has been incredible. I am also deeply indebted to colleagues who encouraged this adventure and embarked with me on it. To Tim Borlase, who literally introduced me to this music tradition and to many of its stewards, and especially to Mark David Turner, who engaged completely with our several projects and, once Tittulautet Nunatsiavuttini was launched, assumed responsibility for responding to the communities to revitalize the brass band movement, I owe a debt of gratitude for their encouragement, wisdom, and commitment. I am equally grateful to Nigel Markham, whose earned trust among Labrador Inuit and brilliant work on the film Till We Meet Again was the catalyst for all the subsequent collaborative community ventures. Other indispensable co-adventurers include choral conductor Kellie Walsh, organist and music educator David Buley, and brass gurus Terry Howlett and Stephen Ivany. I have been greatly assisted by several institutions that preserve and promote Moravian music and culture. Among these are the Moravian Music Foundation and its extremely helpful staff: Nola Reed Knouse, Gwyn Michel, and David Blum. I have also been kindly assisted by staff at the Moravian Archives in Bethlehem, pa, including Thomas McCullough and Paul Peucker, as well as at the UnitätsArchiv, Herrnhut, especially Olaf Nippe. I am also grateful to Hannie Hettasch Fitzgerald, daughter of the last Moravian missionary at Hebron, for opening her personal archives to me. At Memorial University’s Queen Elizabeth II Library I was given generous access to the holdings of the library’s Archives and Special Collections and the expertise and resources of its Centre for Newfoundland Studies (cns). Other academic colleagues from Memorial University who have given me extremely useful advice include Beverley Diamond, Lisa Rankin, Jane Leibel, and Nancy Dahn. In the course of many years of digitizing, cataloguing, and deciphering music manuscripts I have benefited enormously from many student research assistants. Most immediately I wish to thank Eric Taylor Gomes Escudero, who has provided invaluable assistance in preparing the manuscript for this book. Going back further, I was very expertly assisted with the digitizing and cataloguing of manuscripts by several generations of Inuit student assistants. These include Lena Onalik (now archaeologist for the Nunatsiavut government), Carolyn Nochasak in Nain, and Kendra Jacques in Makkovik. In addition there was, over the years, a veritable army of student assistants who undertook the raw work of transcribing manuscript parts using music notation software until

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the entire Labrador anthem repertoire had been produced in modern editions. Among these students were Sean Rice, Michael Bramble, Anthony Payne, and Vanessa Carroll. As multifaceted as this research and engagement program has been, it would have been impossible without financial support from a wide range of institutions. I was fortunate to receive several research grants from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, as well as additional funding through “Tradition & Transition,” the sshrc-funded partnership between the Nunatsiavut government and Memorial University. My home institution, Memorial University of Newfoundland, has provided support in a variety of ways over two decades, with enabling funding for various aspects of the project coming from the Bruneau Centre for Excellence in Choral Music; the Research Centre for Music, Media, and Place; and Memorial’s Office of Public Engagement. Certain elements of the project have also benefited from funding awards made directly to Labrador Inuit communities by the International Grenfell Association and the Newfoundland and Labrador Arts Council. McGill-Queen’s University Press has been an active supporter of this project from Mark Abley’s first encouragement to develop the manuscript a decade ago to the timely and expert guidance Filomena Falocco’s marketing team. In between the book has benefited immeasurably from Jonathan Crago’s gentle editorial hand and wise and well-considered advice, as well as Kathleen Fraser’s thoroughly professional stewardship as it has moved through all stages of production. I am equally indebted to Matthew Kudelka, whose insightful copy editing brought greater clarity to my text, and to Tim Pearson for creating a thoughtful and useful index. To everyone at mqup who coaxed and nurtured this project into being, my sincere gratitude. Finally, but not least, I wish to thank Mary O’Keeffe for two decades of support and encouragement as she shared me with this project. Parts of chapters 5 and 7 were previously published in Newfoundland and Labrador Studies and Newfoundland Quarterly1 and are reproduced here with permission.

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Audio Examples and Musical Scores Much of the discussion, particularly in chapters 4 and 7, centres on Moravian Inuit music as performed. Thus access to recordings of these performances has been provided on a website to clarify and enhance these discussions, as well as provide an opportunity to hear several generations of Labrador Inuit musicians. For those who also read music, full scores of many of the works discussed are provided on the accompanying website: https://collections.mun.ca/digital/collection/calledupstair.

Anthems Ahâ ĸ Ahâ ĸ Gûdibta iglunga (1910) by Natanael Illiniartitsijok

Audio performed by the Nain Moravian Choir (2004). Courtesy of the Oĸâlaĸatiget Society Broadcaster and the Nain Moravian Church Choir. Score based on parts in the manuscript collection of the Nain Moravian Church. Hosiana Jêsus nakudlarpok/Hosianna, gelobet sey der da kommt (1765) by Christian Gregor

Audio sung by Nain Moravian Choir from 1966 recording by Joe Goudie. Courtesy of the Oĸâlaĸatiget Society Broadcaster and the Nain Moravian Church Choir. Score based on parts in the manuscript collections of the Nain, Hopedale and Makkovik Moravian churches. Jêsub nia ĸone nêrpa/Jesus neigte sein Haupt (ca. 1766) by Christian Gregor

Audio performed by Deantha Edmunds, soprano soloist; the Newfoundland Symphony Orchestra, Kellie Walsh, conductor; Lady Cove Women’s Choir & Newman Sound Men’s Choir on 3 March 2018. By permission of performers. Score based on parts in the manuscript collections of the Hopedale and Makkovik Moravian churches.

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Kuvianak Bethaniab iglunga/O Bethania, du Friedenshütte (ca. 1750) by Johann Daniel Grimm

Audio performed by Regina Sillitt, soprano soloist with the Nain Moravian Choir, 1971. Courtesy of the Oĸâlaĸatiget Society Broadcaster and the Nain Moravian Church Choir. Score based on parts in the manuscript collection of the Nain Moravian Church. Kuvianak nerringijavut/O angenehme Augenblicke (ca. 1800) by Joseph Jackson

Score based on parts in the manuscript collections of the Nain, Hopedale and Makkovik Moravian Churches. Piulijivut ivsornaitotojotit/Heilge Ruhe der entschlafnen Glieder (1783) by Christian Ignatius La Trobe

Audio performed by Karrie Obed, tenor with the Nain Choir and the Innismara Vocal Ensemble (2011). Recorded for the film Till We Meet Again; Moravian Music in Labrador. Courtesy of the artists and Nigel Markham, producer. Score based on parts in the manuscript collections of the Nain and Makkovik Moravian Churches. Upkuaksuit angmasigik/Macht hoch die Thür, die Thor macht weit by John Gambold, Jr

Audio performed by the Makkovik Inuit Choir (1959). Courtesy of the Oĸâlaĸatiget Society Broadcaster and the mcnl. Score based on parts in the manuscript collection of the Nain and Hopedale Moravian Churches.

Brass Bands Melodie 83f, “Jesus, meine Zuversicht”

Audio performed by the Makkovik Brass Band, ca. 1960. Courtesy of the Hettasch Family Collection, asc. “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” by Joseph Medlicott Scriven

Audio performed by the Makkovik Brass Band, ca. 1960. Courtesy of the Hettasch Family Collection, asc.

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“Vesper Hymn” by Dmitry Bortniansky

Audio performed by the Makkovik Brass Band, ca. 1960. Courtesy of the Hettasch Family Collection, asc. Christmas hymns:

a) Melodie 14b, “Lobt Gott, ihr Christen allzugleich;” b) Melodie 61, “Lobe den Herren, den mächtigen König der Ehren;” c) “Napartole/O Tannenbaum;” d) “Sorutsit/Ihr kinderlein kommet;” and e) Melodie 160, “Was Gott thut, das ist wohlgethan.” Courtesy of Dr Maija Lutz. Audio performed by the Nain Brass Band on Christmas morning, 1978. Melodie 68, “Seelen Bräutigam, Jesu, Gottes Lamm”

Audio performed by Nain Brass Band, 1989. Courtesy of the Hettasch Family Collection, asc. Melodie 71b, “Lord, who Didst Sanctify”

Audio performed by Nain Brass Band, 1989. Courtesy of the Hettasch Family Collection, asc. “Aggakka tigulugit tessiunga/So nimm denn meine Hände”

Audio performed by Nain Brass Band, 1989. Courtesy of the Hettasch Family Collection, asc.

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Hymns “Ernîk erligidlarpagit,” composer unknown

Audio a) sung by the Nain Choir, 2000; b) performed by the Nain Brass Band, n.d. Courtesy of the Oĸâlaĸatiget Society Broadcaster and the Nain Moravian Church Choir. Score manuscript in the hand of Levi Nochasak. “Iniksalik/Yet there is room,” (1875), by Ernst Wilhelm Woltersdorf and Dora Rappard

Audio sung by the Nain Choir from 1966 recording by Joe Goudie. Courtesy of the Oĸâlaĸatiget Society Broadcaster and the Nain Moravian Church Choir. Score (1963) manuscript facsimile in the hand of Rev. Siegfried Hettasch. Courtesy of the Agvituk Historical Society, Hopedale. “Takkotigilarminiptingnut/God be with you till we meet again,” (1890) by Jeremiah Rankin and William Tomer

Audio sung by the Hopedale Moravian Choir and the Innismara Vocal Ensemble (2011). Recorded for the film Till We Meet Again; Moravian Music in Labrador. Courtesy of the artists and Nigel Markham, producer. Score based on parts in the manuscript collection of the Nain Moravian Church.

Other “ĸôb sennianut ingito ĸ /An einem fluss, der rauschend schoss” (ca. 1816) by Wilhelm Erk

Audio sung by Christina Kojak (1978). Courtesy of Dr Maija Lutz. Score from Imgerutsit nôtiggit 100, #89

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c a l l e d u p s ta i r s

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1

Backstories

I. Introduction The only thing the backstories of Inuit of Labrador and the Moravian Church really share is a point in time. Thule-culture Inuit, the direct ancestors of the present-day Nunatsiavummiut,1 arrived on the Labrador Peninsula sometime during the fifteenth century as part of a centuries-long eastward migration across what is now the Canadian Arctic. Unitas Fratrum – the Unity of the Brethren, more commonly known as the Moravian Church – split off from Catholicism around the same time, in the mid-fifteenth century. Adhering to the teachings of the martyred priest Jan Hus, Unitas Fratrum became what is widely regarded as the first Protestant church. Both groups originated in a process of leaving. Three hundred years later, they found each other, forging an unlikely, imbalanced, yet enduring association. It was in 1752 that Labrador Inuit and the Moravians encountered each other for the first time.2 That initial encounter ended catastrophically for the Moravians, but the missionaries persisted, and by the end of the eighteenth century they had established a presence among Labrador Inuit. Inuit and the Moravians developed a symbiotic relationship that would endure for more than 200 years and that continues to resonate powerfully in the Nunatsiavummiut identity today. Make no mistake: it was a colonizer/colonized relationship. In the key respects – economic, civic, moral, and cultural – the missionaries held the balance of power. Yet Inuit circumvented the annihilation of agency through a variety of forms of defiance and resistance, feigned assimilation, and adaptation. The two groups did share one common trait. Both were, in different ways, subsistence cultures: Inuit literally so, for they were shaped by the need to extract a life, livelihood, and, inevitably, an identity from the environment that surrounded them. The Moravians, on the other hand, were spiritually a

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figure 1.1  Bishop L.T. Reichel, map of Moravian Labrador, 1871.

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subsistence culture. Every aspect of life was determined by their desire and need to know their Christian God. These divergent forms of subsistence culture defined the expectations that both groups brought to the relationship. Inuit looked to the Europeans with the expectation that their seemingly abundant access to non-subsistence food sources and manufactured goods could supplement Inuit reliance on hunting and gathering. Additionally, the accumulation of European goods confirmed social and political hierarchies among Inuit. The missionaries came with the express purpose of Christianizing Inuit, imposing their culture of spiritual subsistence. Both sets of expectations were met, though with varying degrees of satisfaction and success. At the same time, the missionaries came to acknowledge their dependence on Inuit to mediate what was, to the Europeans, a very hostile environment. And Inuit adopted and assimilated aspects of European lifeways that they regarded as improvements to their way of life. To better understand this relationship and, in particular, the role that music played in it, it will be useful to explore the backstories that brought Inuit and the Moravians to the point of their encounter. Like every aspect of the relationship, there will be an imbalance in the evidence that can be brought to bear in understanding this background. The Moravians were diligent – perhaps even obsessive – chroniclers. Their story, even during more than a century of an underground existence, has been narrated in detail. Prior to the arrival of the Moravians, Labrador Inuit were not a literate society. Their written record begins with the Moravians and was recorded – and inflected – through Moravian eyes and ears. Pre-contact records of Labrador Inuit are found in scattered, emerging, and incomplete testaments from material culture, or they come to us through Oral Tradition, which, by Western scientific standards, has tenuous links to the present and may have been unreliably recorded by non-Inuit. The imbalance between these sets of records is especially relevant with respect to music. Music is the most ephemeral form of expressive culture. Before the age of recorded sound, we have scant information about what any music actually sounded like. In musically literate cultures, notation, together with organology, treatises on performance practice, and critical writing, offers the possibility of reconstructing a facsimile of what music from a certain time and place might have sounded like. But for pre-literate societies, the evidences are few, restricted to archaeological finds of musical instruments and traditional practices that appear to have been carried forward with minimal interruption. So as evidence is brought forward from these records it will need always to be assessed in light of who created the record and to what purpose. As with all music, what is not on the page is as important as what is.

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6

When Labrador Inuit and Moravian missionaries came together across a series of first encounters that stretched over almost two decades, their differences were far more pronounced than their similarities. Language, lifeways, belief systems and values, social structures – all reflected widely disparate histories and cultures. But a common bond – one that would establish a basis for communication and trust between them – was the role that music played in both cultures as a vehicle for communication, social interaction, and personal and cultural expression. In the pages that follow, I will sketch the background and contexts for Labrador Inuit and the Unitas Fratrum leading up to their first encounters, with particular focus on the role music played in both societies and as a foundation for intersection.

II. Labrador Inuit The history of human habitation on the Labrador Peninsula reaches back at least seven millennia. The northern branch of the Maritime Archaic people, a First Nations population from the south, was established on the Labrador Straits by around 7,000 years ago, as evidenced by the rich burial site at L’Anse Amour. From there they migrated northward as far as Saglek and Ramah Bays, developing sophisticated technologies utilizing the unique deposit of chert at Ramah Bay. Archaeological evidence confirms that Maritime Archaic people were distributed along the entire coast of Labrador until around 1500 bc, when they began encountering competition for resources from the Pre-Inuit culture, newly arrived from the north.3 The Pre-Inuit culture, remotely related to but distinct from the ancestors of present-day Labrador Inuit, appears to have originated in Alaska a little over 4,000 years ago. Their migration across the Canadian Arctic seems to have followed a trajectory similar to that of the subsequent Thule culture; they arrived in northern Labrador at Saglek Bay around 1800 bc. The early Pre-Inuit culture experienced rapid population growth in Labrador (and on the island of Newfoundland) around 1000 bc, possibly due to the disappearance of the Maritime Archaic people. However, the population declined again around 200 bc and was gradually replaced by a related but more sophisticated culture commonly referred to as Dorset. These people, who may have originated around the mouth of Hudson Bay, developed technologies that continue to define important aspects of Inuit material culture, including sleds and soapstone lamps, as well as tools that favoured harvesting from the sea. The Dorset culture was widely distributed across both Labrador and the island of Newfoundland

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until around 1,000 years ago, disappearing first from Newfoundland and then gradually from the coast of Labrador. Their archaeological record on the Labrador Peninsula ends around 1500 ad.4 The history of the other long-standing Indigenous population of Labrador, the Innu, is murkier. Unlike the Maritime Archaic, Pre-Inuit, and Dorset cultures, which were built on harvesting from the sea and thus tended to hug the coasts, the Innu are a nomadic people who live most of the year deep in the interior of the Quebec/Labrador Peninsula. In warmer months they would visit coastal areas to fish and hunt marine mammals. Given the vastness of this territory and the nomadic life of the Innu, their archaeological record is thin. They may be descendants of people who arrived on the Quebec/Labrador Peninsula from the north about 9,000 years ago, and they likely traversed huge territories with connections to numerous other cultures. Archaeologists have documented habitation sites dating from around 2,000 years ago that may reflect the culture of direct ancestors of the contemporary Innu.5 With the arrival of the Thule-culture Inuit, the ancestors of Innu abandoned their activities on the coast except for occasional trading excursions.6 Although forced to settle in two permanent communities in the twentieth century, many Innu continue to utilize the vast landmass of the peninsula. Thule-culture Inuit, the direct ancestors of the modern-day Nunatsiavummiut, began their migration around a thousand years ago from the western Arctic toward the Atlantic, accelerating their movement during the thirteenth century. As the migration continued eastward, Thule settlement of Greenland began around 1500. Other migrants hung a right at Baffin Island, moving southeast to Cape Chidley and eventually spreading southward along the Labrador coast. The arrival of the Thule culture along the Labrador coast probably occurred during the fifteenth century with a pre-contact presence in Saglek Fjord. Inuit exploration and settlement farther to the south (e.g., at Avertok at modern-day Hopedale) dates from the post-contact period. This migration to points farther south likely occurred very rapidly to afford Inuit easier access to European goods.7 As their migration extended farther south, Labrador Inuit became one of the few Inuit groups in Canada to venture below the tree line. Consequently they came into early contact with other Indigenous groups, as well as the first European arrivals on the Labrador Peninsula, including Basque whalers and British traders like George Cartwright.8 By the early eighteenth century, Labrador was nominally under the control of the British and Newfoundland governments and had become the stage for sometimes violent conflict between Inuit and seasonal fishermen. For more than 600 years the descendants of Thule-culture Inuit have adapted their culture to live in harmony with the environment of Labrador’s Atlantic coast –

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Figure 1.2  An Inuit drum (qilaut).

an environment harsh and generous in equal measure. Thule culture developed an extensive hunting-tool industry utilizing bone, antler, and ivory. With highly sophisticated technologies that allowed them to exploit the riches of the sea, Inuit lived semi-nomadically, rarely venturing far from access to the marine mammals – especially ringed seals – that provided food, clothing, and shelter. Thule winter houses were generally round, easily identified by stone circles and whalebone supports, with raised stone sleeping platforms and at least one lamp stand. Seasonally they moved from winters at the edge of the ice to summer fishing camps deeper in the fjords. Over the ice they could travel great distances with dog teams and komatiks (sledges); on the water, umiaks (women’s boats) transported families and goods, while the agile qajaq (kayak) served as a superior hunting vessel.9 The documentation of pre-contact Thule expressive culture is scattered and thin, drawn chiefly from archaeological finds such as carvings and other non-utilitarian artifacts as well as captured or described oral traditions of storytelling. This evidence is often speculative at best and only rarely specific to Inuit of Labrador.10 Archaeologist Peter Whitridge has provided a concise overview of the archaeological proofs of music practice among Inuit of Labrador at the point of contact.11 Among the sound-producing instruments commonly found across all recent Inuit cultures are bullroarers, buzzers, and drums. The last-named is the most ubiquitous and considered by some to be the only Indigenous Inuit instrument. The Inuit drum (qilaut) typically consisted of a slender circular or ovoid

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grooved wood, bone, or baleen frame, ranging widely from 25 to 70 centimetres in diameter, over which a thin sheet of gut or hide was stretched. The drum was held by a short bone or wood handle attached to the frame, and the underside of the frame - not the taut skin - was beaten with a bone or wood baton to produce the tone. Archaeological evidence of drum rims can be dated to as far back as 4,500 years ago. The drum was still central to Inuit religious practice and artistic performance in the early contact era.12 Also observed on the Quebec/Labrador Peninsula is the tautirut, a primitive string instrument with one to three strings that existed in various forms across the Arctic. In addition to evidence provided by a dozen or so examples found in archaeological sites,13 these instruments were observed by early Europeans on the Labrador coast. Tautirut were usually played on the lap with a sinew-strung bow. They may have been modelled on or inspired by instruments introduced by whalers, like the Norse fidla or the kit violin (or pochette). However, the near universality of some form of stringed instrument across the Arctic suggests the likelihood of a pre-contact existence.14 Although there is no physical evidence, Oral Tradition and chronicles of early-contact observers provide evidence of rich and varied forms of singing and vocal expression. Whitridge catalogues these to include “various genres of Inuit singing, often self-accompanied by drumming and dancing, and including formal song ‘duels’, angakkuk (shaman) ceremonial [songs], personal performances at festivals and other social gatherings, and a distinctive genre of vocal play and performance called katatjak or throat singing.”15 Both katatjak and drumming have experienced revivals in recent decades in the context of a burgeoning nationalism and pride in pre-contact Inuit expressive culture. Performances of music were often associated with activities in Inuit qaggiq16 (ceremonial house). A qaggiq was a large, non-domestic structure in Inuit winter settlements. Its functional descriptions include: “ceremonial house, club house, communal house, dancing house, feasting house, festival house, meeting house, men’s house, pleasure house, singing house, social house, and quasiceremonial gathering place.”17 Typically qariyit were constructed in winter settlements where larger numbers of families gathered to celebrate and share a particularly bountiful hunt, especially if a whale had been harvested. Early contact descriptions of qaggiq activities offer insight into some of the forms and functions of music in Labrador Inuit society predating the arrival and adoption of European music. One such description dates from 1777, when Moravian missionary Christian Lister visited a large qaggiq (4.9 metres high by 21 metres round), about 55 kilometres southeast of Nain. Inside the ceremonial house, Lister observed the performance of a game in which the boastful hunter sang of his prowess:

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Then a man begins and strikes the string with his stick, and then all the men try with their sticks to hit one of those holes of the bone that hangs in the middle, and in one or two minutes someone will have hit one of the holes. When that happens they all shout as loud as they can, and then all the men sit down on the bench, which is round the house and made of snow, except the man that has hit the hole in the bone. He steps forward and if he is a married man his wife or if he has more than one wife these, together with all the women present, follow him in procession several times round the house. He sings with all his might whatever he can about seals, reindeer, foxes, etc. and then all the men and boys stand up and kiss the man and the women as they please. In this manner he goes slowly 4 or 5 times round the house. Then he goes again to the string and sings again as before, till he has finished his song all the women standing round him.18 The association of singing with communal gathering and social interaction is the common theme running through early contact accounts. Whether in ceremony, celebration, sport, or other forms of communal recreation, singing and music occupy an essential position. Perhaps most emblematic of this association for the long-standing relationship between Labrador Inuit and the Moravians is the account of a meeting between Jens Haven and the angakkuk Seguliak. Haven made the first of several preliminary voyages across the Atlantic with the intention of establishing a mission among Labrador Inuit. A Dane who had already spent four years among the Greenlanders in establishing the Moravian mission at Lichtenfels, Haven spoke the Greenlandic dialect of Inuktitut. Haven’s first actual encounter with any Labrador Inuit occurred on Quirpon Island in the Strait of Belle Isle between Newfoundland and the south coast of Labrador. His diary for 6 September 1764 recorded the meeting: Someone came and asked whether I could dance and had a drum. I said “no.” He asked if I could sing, I said “yes.” He said he would sing something for me, I said “do so.” He starts to jump and dance and sang with it. I could not understand anything except “our friend has come, which makes us happy.” This he repeated often, and when he was finished, he said that I should answer him. I sang with a fond heart: “Naleganga,” or, “Lord Sabaoth.”19 They listened and when I was finished they told me: “we are without words.”20

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Figure 1.3  An early nineteenth-century depiction of Jens Haven conversing with Inuit at Nain, Labrador, by British artist Maria Spilsbury, ca. 1819.

The symbolic import of singing, drumming, and dancing as a central element to confirm a relationship is powerful testament to music’s importance in the ceremonial and communal ethos of Inuit culture. Haven’s first-hand account recognizes the significance of formalizing a social contract through a musical exchange. Seguliak’s opening questions carry the implication that the worth of a man will, in part, be judged on his ability to dance, drum, and sing. Jens Haven makes no judgment about Seguliak’s performance except to note the relative unintelligibility of the words, likely a result of differences between the Labrador and Greenlandic dialects of Inuktitut. What he does clearly understand is that the angakkuk’s song was an expression of joy at his arrival. Haven’s language suggests that the performance was foreign to his sensibilities, but he fully understood its intent. Haven records that Inuit, for their part, were speechless in the face of this first confrontation with Moravian hymnody, a reaction that could be interpreted any number of ways.

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This same encounter is retold in a history of the Moravian missions in Labrador on the occasion of the centenary of the settlement at Nain. Here the anonymous writer editorialized the performances of both Seguliak and Haven, foregrounding a bias against Inuit singing that had become pervasive throughout Moravian depictions of Inuit before the saving graces of Christianity and Western culture. The retrospective writer’s account of the very same meeting is characterized by highly prejudicial language. “Among them was Seguliak, the angekok or sorcerer, who seemed to have the authority of a chief. He was particularly friendly. Once when they began a dance in honour of their guest, accompanying it, in true heathen fashion, with terrible noises, Br. Haven sang a hymn in Greenlandic, whereupon they instantly ceased, and listened attentively to the end.”21 The characterization of Inuit music as “terrible noises” had become a cliché across the Moravian chronicles and among those observers who sympathized with the missionaries’ mandate to civilize Inuit. Among its earliest appearances was in the account of a shamanistic divination ceremony observed by the missionary Johann Schneider at a winter encampment at Niatak on 31 January 1773.22 Overnighting with a group of Inuit hunters who had been unable to hunt seals because of heavy squalls, Schneider witnessed a summoning of Torngak by a female shaman, Sattugana: But in the evening when we had lain down, we also had to find out how the Prince of Darkness still reigns among these people and performs his work among them … All the lamps were then extinguished and the house made pitch dark. Then she began to invoke her torngak with deep sighs and groans and noises until she began to eject words, sometimes with a loud sharp voice,23 then again with a terribly gruff deep voice so that the house could have shaken. And when she was a little quiet, the people here and there called out to her or asked what the torngak was saying. And thus she began again in the above manner until the torngak had hit upon her meaning. Then all the people began to sing on one pitch according to the heathen manner of the Greenlanders. When the song had ended, the torngak continued as before in the meantime was accompanied by the people with a song. Finally there occurred a terrible bang as if the house were to collapse, since she presumably had beaten against a stretched skin with a stick.24 After this she came down from the berth into the house with her torngak, waved around as with a whip, hit here and there, went to the entrance of the house, stamped her feet, made a horrible noise, brought forth peculiar voices.25

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This kind of reaction and its underlying blindness to Inuit song, vocalization, drumming, as music is, no doubt, partly attributable to incomprehension of expressive forms that do not conform to the aesthetics of European music in general, hymnody and sacred music in particular. But declaring these forms of expression to be not only “terrible” but also “heathen” gets at the heart of the matter. The Moravians drew a direct line from all forms of Inuit music to pre-contact religious practice, whether they were incantations of the angakkuk, which were indeed part of Indigenous spiritual practice, or the women’s playful katatjak, which were, as much as anything, a form of vocal play and socialization. This was a natural assumption, since, as we shall see, Moravians considered all forms of music to be an aspect of liturgical worship. The association of Indigenous music with spiritual practice served as the missionaries’ justification for derogating, denouncing, and attempting to suppress all forms of pre-contact Inuit music. This campaign stretched across well over a century and would be taken up by Moravian Inuit Elders themselves, who, even into the twenty-first century, have been reluctant to admit the drum within the walls of the church. The Moravian attitude toward Indigenous Inuit music is succinctly illustrated in an excerpt from the published diary of a journey from Okak to Ungava Bay undertaken by missionaries Benjamin Kohlmeister and George Kmoch in the company of fifteen Inuit during the summer of 1811. The journal of this daring expedition by sea offers many insights into the evolving relationship between the missionaries and Inuit. The Europeans had increasingly recognized and come to respect the Inuit capacity to navigate, survive, and thrive in a challenging environment. Having lived among Inuit families for an extended period, the missionaries had experienced the harmony of their social structures. But in one regard, they remained resolutely “tone deaf.” The entry for 17 July 1811 records an evening camped in Nachvak Fjord: “In the evening, our people met in Jonathan’s tent, and sang hymns … As to national songs, they have nothing deserving of that name; and the various collectors of these precious morsels in our day, would find their labour lost in endeavouring to harmonize the incantations of their sorcerers and witches, which more resemble the howlings of wolves and growlings of bears, than any thing [sic] human.”26 Kohlmeister and Kmoch continued their musical aside, registering their astonishment and edification at the ease and relish with which these same Inuit had adopted Moravian hymnody and the “sweet and well-tuned voices” they brought to its practice. At the time this account was first published, Europe was in the midst of the first of several folk music revivals – hence the missionaries’ reference to the “collectors of precious morsels.” In the Moravian homelands folk song was being idealized by philosophers, poets, and composers alike for its simplicity and its

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capacity for direct expression, flavoured with just a tinge of the exotic. But this “natural” music being idealized still largely played by the compositional rules of art music – merely stripped of any evidence of artifice or affectation. By and large, this folk music could easily be harmonized by the same principles that governed the harmonization of a hymn or aria. By contrast, Indigenous Inuit music was completely foreign to the tonal and temporal strictures of European music and guilty by its association with the religious practices of shamans. To Moravians like Kohlmeister and Kmoch, it would never be worthy of consideration as “national” music. Across at least the next century and a half references to the Indigenous music practices of Labrador Inuit by first-hand observers are slender, vague, and usually derogatory. The Moravian cleric J.W. Davey devoted an entire chapter in his 1905 history of the Moravian presence in Labrador, The Fall of Torngak,27 to “Eskimo music,” which, according to him, consisted entirely in hymnody and Moravian sacred music. His sole mention of drumming appears in a separate chapter on shamanism, where it is dismissed as “heathen” practice. Even as sympathetic an observer as Samuel King Hutton, who, as we shall see in later chapters, found it easy to express great admiration for most aspects of Inuit culture, propagated the official Moravian position that Inuit had no music apart from what they had adopted from the missionaries. In the first of several colourful volumes of memoirs based on his years as a medical doctor at the Moravian hospital at Okak, Hutton offered several testimonials to the musicality of Inuit, a musicality that he found curious given his belief that Inuit had no music prior to the arrival of the missionaries. “Eskimos always sing well, and fall into the parts of the music unconsciously; their voices are sometimes harsh and gruff, but they are natural singers. Strange that they have no music of their own! Weird rhythmic chantings are all the music that the heathen Eskimo knows; but the soil is there in the people themselves, and music has taken root and flourished among them.”28 At a distance of more than twenty years after his departure from the Labrador coast, Hutton penned a romanticized portrait of the modern Inuk, who remains “Eskimo” through and through but has layered the sheen of Christian civilization on that identity. Hutton used music practice as a metaphor for his portrait, once again disparaging any Indigenous music that predated European contact as being unworthy of the name. Whatever they may have been in 1771, when Jens Haven and his little company came to live among them, the Eskimos of Labrador are, to-day, a law-abiding Christian folk. No longer does the sorcerer chant his dismal

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story; no longer does the hunter seek to appease some evil spirit by gifts and offerings cast into the sea or dropped down the cleft of a rock: to-day the people’s trust is in God, Whom they know and Whom they serve. They are Eskimos yet: the man in the clean white smock, who plays the organ in church, has had a dinner of raw fish or seal-meat; the singers in the choir, and the man who stands to pray aloud, will return to their Eskimo homes, and to-morrow will be about their ordinary work as hunters and fishermen … The man who plays the organ has learnt his music from the missionary, or more likely from the missionary’s wife; going as a lad to the little sitting-room, and fingering out the tunes on the old harmonium. He has no musical background, for all the music that the heathen knew was the rhythmic thumping of the sorcerer’s drum; but music to-day is the delight of the people, they sing in harmony and have their own brass bands.29 Alongside denying the existence of an Indigenous Inuit music in their chronicles to the outside world, the missionaries did everything within their power to suppress its practice among Inuit themselves. All forms of pre-contact music were forbidden on the premises of the mission settlements, denounced as remnants of “heathen” practice, and not to be tolerated among Christian Inuit. An equal-opportunity suppressor, the disparagement extended to all forms of music that did not originate in the Moravian tradition, including any musics that had been introduced by other Europeans arrivals – HBC agents, whalers, or settlers who married Inuit women and stayed on the Labrador coast. Outside of the evangelical hymnody borrowed from Methodists and Anglicans later in the nineteenth century, the music introduced from these external associations was similarly discouraged by the Moravians and written out of the history of station life. This suppression of Indigenous Inuit music was largely successful, at least within the hearing range of the missionaries. Suspicions of its continued practice when Inuit were away at their fishing and hunting camps prompted the occasional resuscitation of the campaign of denunciation. But within earshot of the missionaries, the drum and its associated musics went silent. Still, collective memory and the observations of early ethnographers confirm that at least some pre-contact Inuit music continued to be practised during the long seasonal migrations away from the mission stations. One such observer was E.W. Hawkes, an American ethnologist who travelled the coast of Labrador in the summer of 1914. Hawkes was a recently credentialed anthropologist who had been introduced to Inuit culture during a stint

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as a schoolteacher in Alaska, including two years on isolated Little Diomede Island in the Bering Strait. There, Western civilization had barely touched the Indigenous population; there was no permanent missionary presence and government representatives had only recently appeared. Hawkes observed that Little Diomede’s people were largely undisturbed in their subsistence economy and in the practice of shamanism and other customs, though they were hardly untouched by western influences. With official duties that put him in daily contact with adults and youngsters alike, Hawkes soon developed a serious interest in local culture, and with it, a modest facility in the local Inupiaq dialect. Relying on Charles Menadelook, the school’s Native assistant, as interpreter, he donned an unofficial hat as ethnographer, recording stories, photographing sundry facets of daily life, and most importantly, documenting ceremonial activities associated with the communal kashim, or dance house.30 On completing his graduate studies in anthropology, Hawkes committed himself to furthering his understanding of Inuit culture and language. In 1914 he secured a place with the Geological Survey of Canada’s Anthropological Division for an exploration along the Labrador coast. Hawkes’s expressed goal in joining the expedition was to dig “back into the past with Elders in order to reconstruct elements of culture eroded by Moravian mission activity dating to the 1770s.”31 Hawkes intended to spend a year in Nain, but budget restrictions, weather disruptions, and, eventually, the outbreak of the First World War cut short his time along the coast to a single sailing season. He never arrived in Nain, but he did have an extended stay in the vicinity of Hamilton Inlet, where he interviewed Inuit living there. Later in the summer he voyaged north along the coast, with brief stops in Hopedale, and Saglek and Nachvak fjords. Hawkes’s minimal interaction with Elders from the main population of northern Labrador limits the value of his observations on Indigenous Inuit music. So does his failure to clearly distinguish music practices of Labrador Inuit from those of the Inupiaq People with whom he had spent considerably more time. Nevertheless, his 1916 monograph The Labrador Eskimo has a section on current and historical music. He makes second-hand but largely accurate observations about the sophisticated and complex music performed in the Moravian churches, noting that many Inuit are accomplished and literate musicians: “The Eskimo have a good ear for music, and will catch an air after it has been sung

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once or twice to them, and repeat it with great gusto and evident feeling for the rhythm.”32 Attributing an Inuit “feeling for rhythm” to the drum as the basis of all their music, Hawkes offers a general characterization of Inuit music: The Eskimo music differs from civilized harmony in having a pentatonic scale, and in the constant reiteration of a note or phrase, particularly in their a-ya-aya-ya chorus. A drop of an octave or a shift into another key is not uncommon in the same song. The time is 2/4, formed on the double drum beat, which the voice accentuates in the music. The body, with odd jerking of the arms and stamping of the feet, answers the roll of the drums in the dance. The women stand with feet together and sway the body from the hips, and wave their hands. (In some sections, as in north Greenland, the men also stand with fixed feet while dancing and singing.) The song is delivered at the top of the voice, the idea seeming to be that the more noise the better is the music. The men’s songs are interspersed with shouts. The women have soft cradle-songs which they sing to the babies in the hood while they are swaying them to sleep. These are more melodious than the drum-songs. Among the Alaskan Eskimo the young girls have a curious type of song which they perform among themselves as a sort of game or amusement. It is called “throat-singing” and consists of a series of guttural ejaculations, which they attribute to the Raven. Incantations are chanted … In story-telling, a man often stops to sing a short phrase or song, as delivered by a character in the legend. As Mena’dlook an Alaskan Eskimo once told me, “The Eskimo have many songs. They have songs to make the wind blow, songs to make the seals come, songs to dance by, songs for play, songs to keep off the spirits, songs to make their hearts strong.” Songs are property among them, and the originators or old men who have learned appropriate songs sell them on ceremonial occasions.33 When Hawkes approaches technical descriptions of the music he relies too heavily on broad generic comparisons to Western music: the scale is pentatonic; the metre is 2/4. He offers little that describes the music in its own terms. Nor is it at all likely that these descriptors accurately reflect the entire range of music under observation. For example, despite the significance of repetition in drumming, there is no evidence that the Western construct of metre is operative in Inuit music – a condition attested to by the challenges that metre presented to Inuit musicians learning to read rhythmic notation in Moravian music in the

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1830s and 1840s, as will be seen later. In short, Hawkes’ description of Inuit music is superficial at best and likely inaccurate in many of its specifics. Furthermore, Hawkes’s characterization offers little that suggests it is based on direct observation of Labrador Inuit musicians, nor does he offer any evidence that he canvassed Labrador Inuit musicians about their practice. In a section of his monograph dealing with “Ceremonies,” he describes two activities that involve music performances: the Whaling Festival, which seems to be based entirely on Moravian missionary Christian Lister’s above-mentioned 1777 account of his visit to a qaggiq; and a more recent account from a Newfoundland photographer who had observed a “sculpin dance” (or sculping dance) near Hopedale early in the twentieth century. This latter account is repeated in several sources and has entered Oral Tradition.34 The breadth of Hawkes’s examples, from Alaska to Greenland, also makes clear that at this point in his research, the f ledgling ethnologist regarded Indigenous Inuit music to be a monolith, a practice common across the entire circumpolar world. There may be some validity to this belief, given the relatively recent arrival of Thule-culture Inuit across the Arctic and their rapid migration from west to east. Hawkes’s espoused goal of “reconstructing elements of [Inuit] culture eroded by Moravian mission activity” seems to build on the assumption that Inuit expressive culture was similar across the circumpolar world. However tenuous and tangential this assumption may make Hawkes’s observations, we can use them to confirm some broad strokes of what may have characterized Labrador Inuit music before contact. An unlikely observer provides another body of evidence regarding precontact Inuit music in Labrador. The Rev. F.W. Peacock (1907–85) was the last Moravian superintendent of missions in Labrador. He arrived at Hopedale in 1935 and would serve the church for the next 50 years, first from Nain and, after 1957, from the relocated headquarters of the Labrador mission in Happy Valley. After retiring from active service, he devoted himself to recording his experiences and observations from a half century of working among Inuit. A self-taught linguist, he continued the Moravians’ centuries-long work on establishing an authoritative grammar and dictionary for Labrador Inuktitut. Peacock’s wife and missionary partner, Doris, was an accomplished musician. Thus, several of Rev. Peacock’s writings focus on aspects of music in Labrador Inuit life and expressive culture.35 Because he lacked his wife’s technical knowledge of music, a good deal of what he wrote is generalized and, not unlike Hawkes before him, has an air of speculation to it. Peacock’s writings on music obviously focus on Moravian liturgical music and its penetration across various aspects of Inuit musical life in Labrador. But

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his interests as an amateur historian and a linguist led him to extrapolate from what little information about traditional music practices was still current in the culture. By the mid-twentieth century, the idea of shamanism had become more an object of anthropological interest than a threat to the Christian mission of the Moravians. Thus Peacock found it straightforward to acknowledge the incantations and drumming surrounding shaman-led séances as authentic musical expressions. In this regard, he writes: It is recorded by the Brethren that when an angakkuk held a seance his performance was preceded by background drumming and singing provided by the angakkuk’s audience. Just as performers today have background music, or theme songs to introduce their acts, so the angaĸut, and the reason for this was the same, of course, as that of the modern performers, that is to set the scene for the main performance. It would seem that wherever human beings live, music lives at the very soul of their beings and song is part of the heritage of all peoples.36 In a chapter titled “Labrador Artists and Art” from an undated typescript of “Labrador miscellanea,” Peacock states that the drum was the only musical instrument that Inuit knew prior to the arrival of the Moravians. “Inuit had but one musical instrument, the drum, and their drums were not capable of producing a wide variety of notes, as a result the drumming was somewhat monotonous and hypnotic. While the drum was used for musical purposes it was also used, probably as an hypnotic in the seances held by the angaĸut or shamans. The drum dances held by the early Inuit were something more than dances, they were feats of endurance.”37 Peacock’s interest in the Inuktitut language and Indigenous communication fed an interest in Inuit songs. In an unpublished typescript from August 1980, he catalogued the Indigenous songs and other expressive art forms he observed during his five decades among Labrador Inuit. Among these he gave pride of place to “mocking songs,” which he described as singing contests between two males as a means to resolve conflict without physical violence. The detail of his description suggests that he had been a first-hand observer of at least one song contest. Having exhausted his initial attack on and contempt for his rival the singer would give place to his opponent who would take up an attack until he ran out of insults and mockery, then the song would be passed back. A repeated insult or mockery lost all potency and displayed inability and ill manners. Expressions of contempt for the opponent having been exhausted

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the singer might go on to mock his enemy’s immediate ancestry. The opposition was allowed to reply in the same way. Failure to continue without repetition was an admission of defeat; the conflict decided, honour was satisfied without physical injury, although possibly resentments lingered. These displays are evidence that primitive people realised that differences can often be settled by communication rather than violence.38 The moral drawn reveals Peacock’s bias as an observer. Elsewhere the former superintendent describes the 101 Inuktitut children’s songs published together in a volume in 1872 as expressions of Inuit communication.39 However, the contents of this volume were exclusively German folk songs that had been fitted out with Inuktitut texts by missionaries, some direct translations, others adapted to reflect situations that would be more familiar to Inuit children in Labrador. Perhaps Peacock’s most astonishing observation regards katatjak (throat singing). Aware that katatjak is an Indigenous musical practice, but having never personally observed it, he concludes that it had no history in Labrador. “Nowhere in Labrador during thirty-six years of residence did I discover any evidence of throat singing, nor have I been able to find any reference to it in any of the works of authorities on Inuit culture of former times. I would therefore conclude that this art form is a later development among Inuit in specific areas.”40 Peacock’s conclusion overlooks the several obvious references to katatjak in earlier Moravian literature (which he had otherwise mined extensively in his music writings); moreover, he glosses over the reality that many traditional Inuit practices continued at hunting and fishing camps, where Inuit spent long seasons of the year well into the twentieth century and indeed into the present day. In a 2015 film Katatjanik Utippalianinga: The Return of Throat Singing, several young women from Nain reflect on the public re-emergence of throat singing, which had been suppressed during the relatively recent period of residential schools. A pair of the singers, Susie Debbie Lyall and April Andersen, recount feeling a strong sense of connection with their grandmother when they began to learn to throat sing: [Susie Debbie:] The main reason why I started throat singing was because I knew – I didn’t know at first like when I was young – that she [her grandmother] throat sing. When I found out, that’s when I practised – a hundred times more than what I originally did in the first place. My dream was to throat sing in front of her and that’s exactly what me and my cousin April did.

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[April:] Well, I couldn’t speak to her; she couldn’t speak English and I couldn’t speak Inuktitut. But when we throat sang for her, it was something that we could all understand.41 Although he proved himself to be a less than thoroughly reliable witness, Peacock was right about one thing: “The idea that the White Man is responsible for the musical ability and the love of music among the Inuit of the Labrador Peninsula is only partly true. It is evident from the old records of the Moravian Brethren that singing was an essential part of the Labrador Inuit culture when the Brethren first arrived to live among the Inuit.”42 So what can we actually know about pre-contact Inuit music in Labrador from this patchwork of observations, disparagements, conjectures, and fractured oral histories? Actually, quite a lot. It is clear that music and performed sound were vitally present in spiritual practices and communal gatherings. Music’s functions were numerous: ritual and religious practice, celebration, communal sharing, conflict resolution, and many forms of public and private social interaction. Clearly, it permeated almost every aspect of communal life. The genres of music were as varied as their functions. In addition to drumming, which accompanied ceremony, song, and dance, there appear to have been myriad vocal genres ranging from storytelling songs to competitive songs, game songs, personal (ajaaja) songs, and lullabies. But the most iconic Inuit vocal form is the katatjak. The characteristics of these various forms of expression through sound can be extrapolated both from current practice and from deconstruction of the assessments of early observers. S.K. Hutton’s derogatory description of drumming as “rhythmic thumping” gets at its defining sonic identity. Inuit drumming consists of an indeterminately pitched, unvaried pulsation. It can be described as a pulse rather than a beat, since, unlike many of the world’s musics, it does not organize itself into any temporal hierarchy.43 The Inuit drum pulse is additive in nature, continuing unvaried ad infinitum, compared to the beat of Western art music, which organizes itself into recurrent groups of measures, phrases, and larger structures through the differentiation of strong and weak beats. In Inuit drumming all pulses are equal. And in contemporary practice, that pulsation tends to a rate of around sixty per minute, approximating the rate of the human heart beat. This connection between life force and constructed sound carries forward into the relatively constant tempo of Inuit performances of post-contact music. The timbre of the Inuit drum is muted yet resonant and would have carried well in the interior of a qaggiq. These characteristics form a kind of baseline for the Inuit concept of musical time.

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katatjak is the other identifying practice of pre-contact Inuit music. Missionaries would have heard it and drawn a direct line to savagery, animal worship, and heathen practice. Early descriptions of Inuit music as “terrible noise” and as resembling “the howlings of wolves and growlings of bears” (as Kohlmeister and Kmoch put it) had to have been early allusions to throat singing. Regarded by Inuit as a competitive vocal game rather than singing per se, katatjaq is one of the few examples of overtone singing in the world repertoire.44 Typically, two women stand close facing each another and repeat short motifs at staggered intervals, forming a seamless whole. The sounds include pitched singing, overtones, breath sounds on both aspiration and expiration, and other vocalizations. katatjaq often imitates the sounds of animals – geese, caribou, and other wildlife – as well as other environmental sounds that comprise the Inuit soundscape. The competition continues until one of the performers begins to laugh or runs out of breath, thereby ceding the competition. Notwithstanding its basis in friendly competition, katatjaq is a highly collaborative form that requires the performers to work in close synchrony. It opens sound practice to a virtually unlimited range of sources, an expanded vocal timbre with few equals in the world repertoire. And it is decidedly virtuosic in its performance requirements. Thus, we can assume that at the time Jens Haven was challenged to a greetingby-way-of-song competition during his encounter with Seguliak in 1764, Inuit music practice was rich and varied and characterized by a set of musical assumptions they would carry forward into their eventual encounters with Moravian music. Their concept of musical time was rooted in the unvarying pulsation of the drum: slow, hypnotic repetition of a muted pulse, a sonic reflection of the internal pulsation of life force. This simple, natural approach to making sound in harmony with life rhythms would remain fundamental to Inuit music-making in whatever language or genre they would adopt. In contrast to the hypnotic uniformity of Inuit musical time, the range of timbres displayed in Inuit vocal forms far exceeded the cultivated narrowness of admissible colours in European art music. It seems that from the “weird incantations of the sorcerer’s chants” to the boisterous vocal boasting in qaggiq games to the gentle murmurs of lullabies to the unprecedented range of voiceproduced sounds in katatjaq, any sound that could be produced was fair game for vocal expression. Part of the defining vocal timbre was a full and open-throated sound. Frequent observations of men singing “at the top of their voice” or interspersing their song with shouts speak to the fact that singing was often loud, a quality S.K. Hutton described as “harsh and gruff.” This openness to the widest range of vocal timbre in Inuit music would be brought to bear on their adaptations of the musics that Inuit would embrace after contact.

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Pre-contact Inuit music of all genres was highly repetitive and often in the service of storytelling. Whether the pulse of the drum, the repeated patterns of the katatjaq dialogue, or the many verses of a competition song, repetition was and still is an overriding characteristic of Inuit musical forms. This comfort with repetition as basic to any music aligned well with the neutral rhythms and considerable repetition in Moravian hymnody. E.W. Hawkes came to the same conclusion when he summed up his discussion of Labrador Inuit music by saying that “Eskimos as a rule do not like civilized music. They say that there are too many notes, too much noise, that the time is confusing, and that they prefer the simple rhythm of their native songs. Of the ‘white man’s songs,’ they like best the old-style hymns.”45

III. The Moravians Beyond the coincidence of date of origins, the Moravians and Labrador Inuit shared an understanding that music was central to communal life. The Moravian missionaries who arrived on Labrador’s shores believed that “all of life was ‘liturgical.’ That is, every aspect of life, even the most mundane, was a sort of worship to be offered to God.”46 And for Moravians the essence of the liturgy was hymnody. They subscribed to the belief held by their eighteenth-century patron, Count Nikolaus von Zinzendorf, “that the truest language for heart religion is song … the truths of the Christian religion are best communicated in poetry and song, not in systematic theology or polemics.”47 Thus when Jens Haven was challenged to a song exchange on his first encounter with Seguliak, it was a practice that had deep resonance in both cultures. The Inuk angakkuk viewed song as a symbol of a newly mediated relationship; the Moravian saw it as an extension of worship and the cornerstone of what he hoped would be his relationship with Inuit. Both men would have attributed momentous significance to sealing their encounter with song. Yet there was little other common ground between these two groups, least of all in the documentation of their stories. What we know about Labrador Inuit must be extrapolated from their Oral Tradition, the remnants of their material culture, and chronicles of early encounters; by contrast, the Moravians were scrupulous record keepers from their earliest days. Even in the dark days of their existence as an underground church, the Moravians carefully documented their story. And given that they were at the origins of one of the most dramatic movements the modern world has seen, the Protestant Reformation, the history of the Moravians has been amply retold,

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especially since the founding of the modern Unity of the Brethren early in the eighteenth century.48 The origins of the Moravian Church can be traced to the Czech theologian, priest, and reformer Jan Hus (c.1372–1415). In 1399 he began using his position at the University of Prague to advocate for church reform, attracting a wide circle of adherents across Bohemia and drawing negative attention from the papacy, which at that time had been tremendously destabilized due to the Western Schism. Hus was summoned to the Council of Constance, where he was tried, convicted of heresy, and burned at the stake on 6 July 1415. His execution precipitated a firestorm of protest in Bohemia, igniting the Hussite Wars of the 1420s. Disillusioned with the authority of the Church of Rome, a group of Hus’s followers banded together and formed the Unity of the Brethren (Unitas Fratrum) “devoted to simplicity of life, strict piety, and congregational participation in worship.”49 For close to three centuries the Unity of the Brethren maintained a fragile existence in Bohemia, Moravia, and Poland. The Brethren underwent rounds of political and religious persecution, struggled with articulating a coherent theology, and negotiated tenuous relationships with the centres of power that surrounded it. It also encountered difficulty maintaining the continuity of its episcopacy. But the Brethren persevered. During the sixteenth century they confirmed a commitment to universal literacy and education among their adherents and to supporting the development of a print culture through the publication of Bibles, confessional tracts, and numerous hymnals. By early in the seventeenth century the Moravian Church enjoyed the right to operate in Prague; however, with the outbreak of the Thirty Years’ War (1618) they were once again forced underground. The church’s most significant figure during this period was Jan Amos Comenius (1592–1670), a pioneer in early modern education. Throughout these years of great adversity, Comenius struggled to ensure the continuity the Unity of the Brethren, maintain church order, and codify its liturgy and hymnody. It was only with the emergence of Pietism around 1675 – a reaction to the failure of Lutheranism to improve the spiritual and social life of Germany – that a resuscitation of the Moravian Church became possible. The modern church of Unitas Fratrum owes its existence to Count Nikolaus von Zinzendorf (1700–1760), a German pietist who, in 1722, offered refuge on his estate in Berthelsdorf, Saxony, to a group of Moravian Brethren. By 1727, Moravian refugees had built the village of Herrnhut a kilometre away and Zinzendorf had abandoned his civil responsibilities in Dresden to become the leader of the new Pietist community. The birth of the renewed Moravian Church

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Figure 1.4  Portrait of Count Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf as “teacher to the people of all nations,” by Johann Valentine Haidt, ca. 1747.

is attributed to a communal epiphany that occurred in August of 1727. The Brethren placed themselves under Zinzendorf’s feudal leadership and forged a spiritual community of intense piety. Almost from the start, the renewed Moravian Church assumed an evangelical mandate.50 It opened its first mission in St Thomas (Danish West Indies) only five years after the 1727 pact. A year later, in 1733, it established a mission to Greenland. Both of these first missions were facilitated by Zinzendorf’s personal connection with the Danish Crown. The church acted quickly to ensure the integrity of episcopal succession, calling on the grandson of Amos Comenius, Bishop Daniel Ernst Jablonski, to ordain Moravian Brethren and consecrate the first bishop of the renewed church, David Nitschmann, in 1735. In addition to its missions, the renewed Moravian Church established settlements in both Europe and North America. By act of the British Parliament, the Moravian Church was recognized in 1749 as “an Ancient Protestant Episcopal

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Church,” and this opened the political and economic resources of England to the Moravian mandate and missions. This would have a significant impact on the reputation and spread of the Moravian Church in England and North America. It also opened a path for them to engage as missionaries on the Labrador coast. The church suffered internal turmoil in mid-century, but Zinzendorf exerted a firm hand, and unity and reputation were restored. Hymnody had always been central to Moravian worship. The first Moravian hymnal was published in 1501, less than five decades after the Gutenberg Bible. Numerous hymnals and even two treatises on sacred music were published by Moravian writers across the sixteenth century and the first half of the seventeenth. Under Zinzendorf’s leadership of the renewed Moravian Church, music and literacy became the primary tools for achieving the objectives of Moravian society. Nola Reed Knouse writes that “music, which Zinzendorf saw as the best means of communicating directly to the heart, became an ever-present part of life. Through hymns Zinzendorf ’s more abstract concepts were expressed in down-to-earth, more easily understandable terms. As was the case with the early Unitas Fratrum, the Moravians’ passionate devotion to Christ poured forth in thousands of new hymns in dozens of printed, text-only hymnals.”51 A prolific hymn writer himself, Zinzendorf was the author of 208 of the texts among the 999 hymns published in 1735 in the Gesangbuch der evangelischen Brüder-Gemeinen in Herrn-Huth.52 Within twenty years, the hymn repertoire of the Moravians had more than tripled. The Alt und Neuer Brüder Gesang, published in London in 1754–55, contained 3,264 hymn texts. This unwieldy two-volume collection was certainly comprehensive, containing as it did “canticles and psalms from scripture; metrical paraphrases of other biblical texts; texts ‘aus der alten Kirche’ [from the ancient church], translated from Greek and Latin; hymns of the old Unity; hymns of the sixteenth-century Reformation and seventeenth-century Protestant authors; and finally, hymns produced in the eighteenth-century Moravian Church.”53 Almost immediately on publication of the Alt und Neuer Brüder Gesang, the Unity of the Brethren commissioned Christian Gregor (1723–1801) to edit an abridged hymnal that would be more practical than encyclopedic. Widely hailed as the “father of Moravian music,” Gregor was an organist, minister, and church administrator; alongside Zinzendorf, he is now considered the central figure in the musical heritage of the Moravians.54 Gregor’s revision of the hymnal, published in 1778,55 contained 1,750 hymn texts. He had excised texts no longer in use or of dubious theology; in other cases he combined multiple texts into a single hymn. This hymnal – with numerous subsequent revisions – would serve as the basic Moravian hymn-book for roughly a century. In 1782, Gregor

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was commissioned to create a chorale book to accompany the hymnal. This he completed in 1784,56 and it remains an invaluable resource to the present day. It supplied organ accompaniments to the 575 metric melodies to which the hymn repertoire was sung. Besides codifying Moravian hymnody, Gregor was credited with introducing concerted anthems to Moravian worship. Anthems, solos, and duets were incorporated into the liturgies for festival days. These were often composed by Moravian pastors and teachers; others were fashioned as contrafacta from sacred and secular works by composers of the day, Moravian or not. These concerted works, typically with instrumental accompaniment, were intended to serve as points of celebration but without musically distracting from the spiritual core of the liturgy. Christian Ignatius La Trobe, a composer of considerable accomplishment as well as a Moravian who would play a significant role in the Labrador missions and their music, described the delicate balance to be struck for this concert music within a liturgy rooted in communal participation: It will be easily perceived, that neither in the vocal, nor instrumental parts, any attempt is made to exhibit the skill of the performers by a display of extraordinary powers of execution, which might lead the attention of the congregation into an improper channel. More elaborate compositions are reserved for exercise at home. Vocal fugues, also, are not used in the Church, as being unintelligible to the congregation, who wish to understand the words of the Anthem, after which they generally sing a suitable response in a verse or hymn, treating of the same subject.57 In many Moravian settlements, collegia musica were established to promote the more sophisticated musical skills required to perform instrumental and vocal music. These skills were an essential part of the Moravian school curriculum both in settlements and in missions. This encouragement of vocal and instrumental music led to the development of an iconic element of Moravian culture: the trombone choir. By 1731, less than a decade after Zinzendorf welcomed the Moravian refugees to his estate, Herrnhut boasted a trombone choir that performed out of doors, thus establishing the traditional Moravian domains for brass performances: funeral processions, birthday celebrations, and general outdoor occasions.58 According to Paul Peucker,59 the Moravian tradition of brass bands had several layers of meaning. The preferred repertoire for brass ensembles – the extensive hymnody of the Brethren, already well established early in the eighteenth century – carried with it the resonance of the theological truths of the

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hymn texts, a resonance that could be summoned by instrumental performance alone. In addition, brass instruments figure often in biblical texts as symbols of the spiritual world. Thus they provided a ready means of extending religious teaching and spiritual contemplation beyond the church walls. Building on the precedent of the Stadtpfeifer or Stadtmusiker – a parallel tradition of town musicians found in many German cities in early modern times – the Moravian brass bands extended liturgy into social spaces and public functions. Given the focus on music in all aspects of communal life as a form of worship, it will be helpful to identify the principal forms of liturgy that developed in Moravian communities and the specific role that music played in them. During its first decade in Herrnhut the renewed Moravian Church began to differentiate itself from Lutheran forms of worship. It developed highly characteristic celebrations, including the Easter morning graveyard service and the Watchnight service on New Year’s Eve. Central to Moravian worship were the litanies and liturgies. These terms are often used interchangeably, though there is a subtle difference: “A ‘litany’ is a church prayer and is more or less standardized. ‘Liturgy’ is a less precise term. It may refer to the entire worship service or a long hymn, sometimes called a liturgical hymn, on a single theme.”60 The Moravian practice of the Singstunde was another institution created by Zinzendorf in 1727. Historian Kenneth Hamilton has examined the origins and purpose of this unique sung service: He [Zinzendorf] actively cultivated within the Herrnhut congregation an appreciation for the spiritual power of hymnody and gradually developed a unique kind of service called the Singstunde, which became in time his favorite form of public worship. In it the brother in charge selected with care individual stanzas from various hymns in such a manner that they would develop some Christian truth as the singing progressed. The congregation, which possessed an unusual command of the hymnal, would fall in with the leader before he reached the end of the first line of each stanza, singing by heart. No address was given on such occasions; none was needed.61 This threading together of hymns, hymn stanzas, and even half stanzas to explicate a theological principle or expound on a theme led to the designation of a kind of “sermon in song” known as a Liederpredigt.62 Singstunden were exported by the Moravians around the world to settlements and missions. The spiritual importance of the Singstunde in Moravian practice required that a large percentage of the hymns in the repertoire be memorized.

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Congregations were expected to know the hymns by heart in order to fully participate in the service, a condition that would have a profound influence on education in the Labrador missions. The Singstunde also formed the basis for two other important liturgical forms: Holy Communion (Abendmahl) and the Lovefeast (Liebesmahl). “If Holy Communion can be characterized as a Singstunde with the sacrament included, then the lovefeast can be characterized as a Singstunde with a simple fellowship meal included.”63 For the Moravians, living one’s life was a form of worship, a twenty-fourhour-a-day/seven-day-a-week liturgy. Music was at the heart of this lived worship, especially the contemplation of spiritual truth through hymnody, but also the festive reflections on these truths through anthems and their echo in the brass bands that provided the soundtrack to outdoor quotidian life. The Unity of the Brethren, through its communal life, amounted to a culture as much as a religion. The defining tenet of that culture was scripture and spiritual enlightenment, but it had other characteristics as well that would shape the Moravians’ interactions with Inuit of Labrador. First and foremost, like other groups within the Pietist movement, the Moravians believed in communal living. They developed a unique social structure within their settlements made up of cell groups called “choirs.”64 The choir system was comprised of cohesive groups defined by social category: married people, widows, young (meaning unmarried but confirmed) men, young women, and children. In the European and American settlements, unmarried men, widows, and unmarried women lived in communal houses. In mission stations, like those in Labrador, all of the missionary personnel lived in a communal house. In many settlements, in addition to living communally, choir members worshipped, studied, and socialized primarily through their choir affiliation. According to Nola Reed Knouse, “the goal was to prevent the division of life into separate realms of the ‘sacred’ and ‘secular,’ for according to the Moravians all of life was to be a liturgy, an act of worship, and a means of remaining in intimate contact and identification with Christ.”65 As noted earlier, Moravian culture placed great value on literacy, education, and learning for all its members regardless of age and gender. It was a highly literate culture with an extensive print publication legacy. Each settlement was also charged with maintaining comprehensive records of its communal life.66 These chronicles were shared centrally and with other settlements and missions across the Moravian world. Thus, despite living in tight-knit, often isolated settlements, the Moravians were well-networked across a global community that rapidly expanded during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries across Europe, North and South America, Africa, Asia, and Australia.67

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Finally, and of paramount interest to the chronicle to follow, music played an unusually central role in Moravian culture. A key reform of the Protestant movement had been to return the liturgy to the voices of the faithful. Reformers sought to banish the complex polyphonic, even mannerist music of the Roman church that had effectively excluded the faithful from participating in or even understanding the sung portions of the liturgy. The Protestant reaction to the florid polyphony of the late Renaissance led to the flowering of congregational hymnody. This vast and musically accessible repertoire of hymns enabled congregants to participate in liturgies and reflect on spiritual and scriptural truths through the singing of hymn texts in the vernacular. From the earliest days, Unitas Fratrum contributed significantly to this outpouring of hymn texts. New hymns afforded their authors the opportunity to create personal expressions of their spiritual understanding and at the same time fostered community among those who shared in the singing. The Moravians placed hymn-singing at the very centre of many of their most emblematic liturgies, including the Singstunde and the Lovefeast. But while hymnody was at the very core of Moravian life, other musical practices were encouraged, such as the composition and performance of anthems for festive occasions. Moravian schools achieved a high standard of musical education, and this was extended into community life through the collegia musica as well as through the iconic institution of the Moravian brass band, which extended liturgical music into everyday life. So when Jens Haven responded to Seguliak’s challenge to that sing-off in 1764 by intoning “Naleganga,” he was drawing upon the core of the culture he hoped to share with Inuit of Labrador.

IV. First Encounters The Moravian presence on the Labrador coast began indirectly, through Zinzendorf’s relationship with the Danish court. A cousin by marriage to the heir to the Danish throne, Zinzendorf used his family connection to establish a Christian settlement in Greenland in 1733, only a year after the first Moravian evangelical mission to the Danish Caribbean island of St Thomas. In 1741, Johann Christian Erhardt, a German mariner, encountered Moravian missionaries in the West Indies and joined the Unitas Fratram. Later in the decade he spent time at the Moravian mission in New Herrnhut (then Godthåb, now Nuuk), Greenland. There his conviction grew that the blessings of Christianity should be extended to Inuit living across the Davis Strait in Labrador. In May 1750 he proposed a trading voyage to the Labrador coast, in order to establish contact with Inuit

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Figure 1.5  A 1752 map of the Labrador coast (here called New Britain), with an inset drawing of the mission house at Hoffnungs Thal (Nisbet Harbour), bottom centre.

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there and determine whether a mission settlement was feasible. His proposal gained little traction at first. Two years later, however, he was approached by a group of British Moravian businessmen led by Claud Nisbet; they proposed a trade mission to Labrador. Though apprehensive about mixing trade with the missionary effort, Zinzendorf granted permission. The more experienced (and Inuktitut-speaking) Matthäus Stach having returned to Greenland, Erhardt was chosen to lead the expedition as its trade agent, taking with him four missionaries: Matthäus Kunz, Georg Wenzeslaus Golkowsky, Johann Christian Krumm, and Christian Friedrich Post. None of them spoke Inuktitut. After a difficult passage, they dropped anchor in a small bay on 31 July 1752. Erhardt named the place Nisbet Harbour. On 9 August, in a propitious spot, they laid the foundation stone for the mission house to be called Hoffnungs Thal (Hopedale). The building, 22 by 16 feet (6.7 by 4.9 metres), contained a living room, kitchen, storeroom, and loft and was constructed to be home to the missionaries for the year to come. On 5 September, Erhardt left the four missionaries at Nisbet Harbour, travelling north to trade with Inuit before returning to Europe. Erhardt and six of his crew set out in their smaller boat from the main ship to trade on an island with a group of Inuit. They never returned; it is likely they were killed by Inuit, who had a troubled history of trade with Europeans. When the trading party failed to return, the skeleton crew on the ship returned to Nisbet Harbour, picked up the four missionaries, and sailed back to England. A year later, a search expedition discovered the remains of one of Erhardt’s crew, as well as the ruins of the 1752 house, which had burnt to its foundations after an explosion when Inuit ignited gunpowder that had been left behind.68 Despite the tragic ending to this first effort, Erhardt’s story inspired Jens Haven (1724–1796), another young Moravian missionary, to keep trying to bring Christianity to Labrador Inuit. A carpenter who had learned to speak Inuktitut while stationed at the Moravian missions in Greenland, Haven led three exploratory voyages to the Labrador coast in 1764, 1765, and 1770. On the first voyage he had his aforementioned sing-off with the angakkuk Seguliak. It was on the second of those voyages that Jens Haven encountered Mikak, an Inuk woman who would play a pivotal role on both sides of the Atlantic in facilitating the Moravian missions in Labrador. Mikak69 (ca. 1740–1795) was one of the first Indigenous women to make an indelible mark on the pages of colonial history in Canada. In September 1765 she was among a party of Inuit (which included Seguliak) camped near the Straight of Belle Isle. There she encountered Christian Lorenz Drachart and Jens Haven. They spent an evening together, and the missionaries made a memorable

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Figure 1.6  John Russell’s portrait of Mikak and her son Tutauk, 1769.

impression on her. Two years later, Mikak was part of a group of Inuit involved in a skirmish with members of a British detachment at Fort York on Chateau Bay. All the Inuit men in the party (including Mikak’s first husband) were killed; the women and children were taken prisoner. During her imprisonment, Mikak’s intelligence and adaptability became evident, and the following year, she, her son Tootac, and another boy, Karpik, were taken to London under the patronage of the Newfoundland governor, Sir Hugh Palliser. Palliser’s intention was “to impress them with the power and grandeur of England so that they would advocate for cooperation and trade when they returned to their people.”70

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Soon after her arrival in England, Mikak met up again with Jens Haven, who was in London working to acquire a land grant to establish a Moravian mission in Labrador. Parliament’s recognition of the Moravian Church in England less than twenty years earlier had made such a land grant feasible, but garnering sufficient support required the cultivation of contacts near the centres of power. Mikak was uniquely positioned to facilitate those contacts. She had quickly become the darling of the court in an age fired by a fascination with the exotic – including Indigenous people. With her fluency in English and her evident intelligence, she enjoyed unusual access to the highest circles of influence. Augusta, Dowager Princess of Wales, presented her with a splendid gown trimmed in gold lace; she sat for a portrait by society painter John Russell, which was “exhibited at the Royal Academy of Arts … Clothed in the dress given her by the dowager princess, Mikak looks out with a shrewd and observant eye.”71 Throughout her year in London, Mikak maintained her friendship with Jens Haven. Using her access to her influential patrons, she continuously advocated for the land grant to the Moravians, whom she trusted and believed would bring benefit to her people, in contrast to the British military personnel who had killed her husband and kept her captive. It was chiefly through the efforts of the Newfoundland governor Palliser and James Hutton, a well-connected English Moravian,72 that 100,000 acres of Crown land at Eskimo Bay in Labrador were granted to the Moravians in the spring of 1769; that said, Mikak’s advocacy on behalf of Haven and the missionaries played an important role. She offered assurance that the Moravian presence would be welcomed by Inuit. The land grant equally served the purposes of the Crown, in that the British hoped the presence of the Moravians would confine Inuit to the north coast of the peninsula and put an end to the misunderstandings and occasional violence that broke out at seasonal fishing stations south of Hamilton Inlet. Mikak returned to Labrador in the summer of 1769. A year later, she met Jens Haven again, this time in Labrador: She received them in her golden gown, with the king’s medal on her breast, and her new husband Tuglavina at her side. As an angakkuk Tuglavina wielded great influence among his countrymen and came to be both respected and feared by the Moravians for his intelligence, courage, and “turbulent spirit.” The missionaries told Mikak they had come to find a suitable place for a mission, if the Inuit approved, but warned sternly that stealing or murdering would be punished. According to their report, she replied with some spirit that she was “sorry to hear that we had such a bad opinion of their country people” and pointed out that the English also

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stole, but ended by saying that “they loved us very much and desired that we would come and live with them.” Subsequently Mikak and Tuglavina guided the missionaries northwards and helped them pick a suitable site for Nain, the first mission post.73 Once the mission station was established at Nain, Mikak distanced herself from the Moravians, refusing to stay among them. She maintained independence from the missionaries, preferring to live on the land as an Inuk, while also keeping up her contacts with the traders farther to the south along the coast. Shortly before her death in 1795, she returned to Nain and presented herself for baptism. Her support for the Moravians, her endorsement of their cause in England, and her advocacy for them among her own people in Labrador – all the while maintaining an independence – is emblematic of the kind of relationship that many Inuit would develop with the Moravian missionaries across the next two centuries. In August 1771 a party of fourteen Moravian missionaries arrived on the Labrador coast and established the first permanent mission settlement at Nain. Although the surgeon Christoph Brasen was the mission leader, it was Jens Haven who would remain its driving force. A short time later, two additional parcels of 100,000 acres of land were granted to the missionaries. The Moravian presence expanded first north to Okak (1776) and then to the south near the Inuit whaling station of Agvituk, which they renamed Hopedale in 1782. Jens Haven and his wife Mary (Butterworth) led both these expansions. Each station consisted of a communal dwelling house, a church, a trading store, and various outbuildings. Through the last three decades of the eighteenth century, Inuit largely resisted embracing Christianity, which would require them to abandon their traditional spiritual beliefs and the music associated with them, as well as established trade routes to the south. However, the early years of the nineteenth century saw a dramatic increase in Inuit conversions. By 1818, some 600 Inuit had been baptized and were returning annually from their hunting and fishing camps to the mission stations to celebrate the cycle of the Christian year. Across the nineteenth century further expansions were undertaken, first to Hebron (1830) to establish outreach to the population of non-Christian Inuit farther to the north. A small mission was established between Nain and Hopedale in 1865 at Zoar, which would close less than thirty years later. Further efforts to reach the unbaptized Inuit living in the far north resulted in the opening of a small station at Ramah between Saglek and Nachvak fjords in 1871. This “Jubilee” station marked 100 years of Moravian presence in Labrador; it would close in 1908. The growing settler population in the south and their demands

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Figure 1.7  The Hopedale mission station, ca. 1787, based on a drawing by Jens Haven.

for Christian support led to the founding in 1896 of the station at Makkovik, near the site of Erhardt’s ill-fated Hoffnungs Thal. A final expansion northward was undertaken in 1904 when a mission station was established on the northern tip of the peninsula at Killinek. This most remote outpost would be abandoned after only twenty years. Both Okak and Hebron were closed in the twentieth century. Today, Moravian churches remain active in the communities of Nain, Hopedale, Makkovik, and Happy Valley–Goose Bay. The last-named was built in 1954 to accommodate the many Moravian Inuit families moving from the coast to central Labrador to find employment at the airbase there.

V. Lasting Consequences The Moravian goal in establishing the Labrador missions was not only to eradicate “heathen religion” but equally to engender a community modelled on the Christian utopia of the Moravian settlements of Europe. In pursuit of this goal, the control the Moravians came to exert over the spiritual, social, and economic lives of Inuit constituted ideological colonialism, plain and simple.

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Furthermore, this ideological colonialism had been authorized in the service of British imperialism. The vast territory on which the Moravians established their missions in northern Labrador had been granted by the British Crown to meet the British and Newfoundland goal of containing Inuit in northern Labrador, at a distance from the seasonal fishing grounds exploited by British subjects. There were no delusions on the part of either the missionaries or their governmental enablers as to the layers of colonial intent involved in this operation. From the perspective of the missionaries, the goal was to create a society of “Moravian Inuit.” That objective met with at least nominal success among the majority of Labrador Inuit across the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Anthropologist John Kennedy summarized: More than two hundred years of Moravian tenure in north Labrador has meant far more than the supplanting of one belief system for another; the Moravians irreversibly altered nearly every aspect of Inuit society and culture in Northern Labrador. The particular manner in which the Moravians developed their Labrador Mission contrasts with less successful missionary endeavours elsewhere … Inuit of north Labrador have become “Moravian Eskimos,” and to this day, stubbornly defend their involvement, as they see it, with the Mission.74 During the half century between Kennedy’s study and today, Labrador Inuit would reassert their self-determination, regaining sovereignty over their ancestral lands and establishing an Inuit-defined system of self-governance. Part of that journey to self-determination entailed a repudiation of the temporal authority of the Moravian Church and some aspects of “Moravian Inuit” culture. Yet even today, the majority of Labrador Inuit identify as Moravians and embrace a range of cultural practices introduced by the missionaries. Choral and instrumental music stand out among those cultural practices that continue to justify the “Moravian” qualifier among Labrador Inuit. With their strong belief in a Christian utopia, the Moravians assumed an attitude of moral superiority over Inuit that can only be described as paternalistic. While many individual missionaries demonstrated deep respect for the integrity of the individual Inuk and admiration for the Inuit way of drawing sustenance from a land the missionaries themselves found completely inhospitable, the institution of the mission professed an attitude toward Inuit that was uncompromisingly patronizing. In his retrospective history of the Moravian mission in Labrador marking its centenary in 1871, the editor of the Periodical Accounts fully displayed this attitude: “They [Inuit] in many respects

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resemble children with their pleasant and trying peculiarities, and those who labour among them need much grace to enable them to ‘bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord,’ and as wise fathers with loving patience and gentle firmness guide and form their progress unto the perfect manhood in Christ Jesus.”75 While the missionaries may have regarded Inuit as child-like, Inuit themselves formulated a more pragmatic attitude toward the missionaries. Their arrival brought with it access to needed technologies and status-enhancing luxury goods. Inuit abided the missionary presence and, during the four-month season when the largest number of Inuit were resident at the mission station, subscribed to the missionary beliefs to varying degrees of faithfulness and sincerity. But, as John Kennedy has observed, the more or less continuous undercurrent of resistance to many of the changes introduced by the missionaries spoke to the shallow depth of their commitment: “The tenacity with which basic elements of Inuit culture persisted meant that many early converts were only nominally Moravian in conviction and life style.”76 Periodically, the Moravians themselves were given cause to question the success of their mission project, even going so far as to acknowledge that the circumstances of life in the Arctic, the very culture that allowed Inuit to survive in that environment, may have worked against ever achieving the utopian Christian community they sought to implant. As the Periodical Accounts marked the beginning of its second century, an editorial opened questioning the results of their work in Greenland and Labrador. In Greenland, where the Moravians would forsake their missionary efforts only ten years later, the assessment concluded that the Greenlanders live the old thoughtless, thriftless life, thinking only of the present and not realizing the duty of providing for themselves and those dependent on them, in view of times of scarcity. Further, the distrust so deeply rooted in their nature sometimes makes them look on Christianity itself in the light of a European importation whose adoption on their part tends to the advantage of the foreigners living in their land.77 Regarding their work in Labrador, the assessment was similar: Like the mission in Greenland, this work on the opposite shores of Baffin’s Bay endeavours to raise the Eskimoes in the scale of Christianity and true civilization. But the circumstances are very unfavourable; the climate is even colder, the land is inhospitable in the extreme, and the

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people are suspicious, inconstant, often obstinate, and in some respects slow of apprehension.78 In both cases, the editorial blames the situation in part on changes introduced into the cycle of living in these Arctic and Subarctic lands – changes for which the mission itself was partly responsible. Whatever doubts they may have periodically cast on their success, there is no question that the Moravians engineered drastic spiritual, social, economic, and political change among Labrador Inuit. They began their efforts to transform Inuit society by attempting to eradicate all aspects of Inuit culture they considered objectionable and contrary to Christian beliefs. The mission sought to undermine and replace the spiritual and civil authority of the angakkuk and replace the Inuit cosmology of dieties with the Judeo-Christian God and the doctrine of salvation through redemption from sin. The missionaries banned the forms of expressive culture they associated with non-Christian spirituality, including drumming, dancing, and Indigenous song. They discouraged gatherings in kashim, where these activities typically were held. In place of these practices they implanted their own music traditions: brass bands for drumming and dancing; hymns and choral anthems for Indigenous song. The kashim was replaced by the steepled church, from which these new music traditions emanated. The missionaries imposed moral strictures, many of which ran contrary to established Inuit social practices; this included a prohibition of polygamy. While they tolerated pre-existing polygamous marriages, men living within the mission community were prohibited from taking additional wives. Similarly, they discouraged the common and economically pragmatic practice of multifamily cohabitation, which they regarded as occasion for immoral behaviour. A construct of “sin” was introduced that was alien to Inuit, and the litany of potential transgressions was exhaustive, including gambling, theft, adultery, and consumption of alcohol. Judgments against infractions were made and punishments meted out by the authority of the missionaries, bypassing the established Inuit principles of tolerance and non-intervention, as well as traditional practices for communal conflict resolution. The mission’s goal of conversion to Christianity and the introduction of a code of behaviour radically upended defining characteristics of Inuit life and culture. New social structures were promoted that were intended to mirror those of Christian communities in the Moravians’ European settlements. The choir system (described earlier) was implemented to encourage an alternative, or at least a complement, to Inuit extended family structures. Inuit and Moravian values both placed the nuclear family at the core of social organization. But church-defined

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communities and sub-communities were encouraged as the primary social as well as spiritual platforms. These also served as vehicles for implanting the new Moravian cultural traditions, as will be seen in chapter 4 with the example of the young men’s choirs as recruiting grounds for the brass bands. The missionaries accepted that the semi-nomadic annual cycle of Inuit life was essential to their subsistence economy, but they strongly encouraged Inuit to remain at the mission station from early December to early April so that Inuit could participate in the Advent to Easter liturgical cycle. During the rest of the year, journeying beyond traditional Inuit hunting and fishing grounds was discouraged. In part, this was to keep the Christian Inuit separate from their unbaptized confrères; in the early years it also supported the British Crown’s policy of keeping the Inuit distant from the seasonal fishery. This policy of containment was gradually abandoned during the second half of the nineteenth century, due to the growing settler population, especially around Hopedale. The opening up of the north coast in the second half of the nineteenth century would exacerbate conflicts related to the Moravian monopoly over trade. Regarding the role of the trade monopoly in the Labrador missions, Peter Evans identified the fundamental dichotomy: Trade, which the Moravians established as a sphere of activity for underwriting the cost of an isolated mission and directing culture change became, from the outset, the setting for explicit friction between Inuit and European missionaries. Trade was a useful approach strategy to engage Inuit in discussion at contact, but the Moravians also recognized that, aside from its tactical importance, trade might also create friction and confusion between the Brethren and Inuit.79 There was indeed pressure on the Labrador missions to ship marketable goods to Europe that would at least partly recoup their costs; but the Moravians offered additional justifications for seeking to control trade in northern Labrador. Among these was the mission’s belief that it was important to preserve the subsistence economy – as expressed by Shmuel Ben-Dor, to “prevent an over-emphasis on money-producing practices, e.g., fox trapping, and thereby sav[e] the Eskimos from the harsh realities of fluctuating world markets which brought famine and starvation to other areas of the Arctic.”80 Ben-Dor, without questioning the paternalistic assumptions underlying mission’s trade policies, judged the Moravians to be fair and humane. “The missionaries tried to make their trading concern self-supporting but commercial considerations were secondary to the interests of the people. The prices paid to the Eskimos and later to the settlers were fair.”81

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However, throughout the decades of trade monopoly, Inuit viewed the Moravians’ control quite differently, especially in the later nineteenth century as isolationism became increasingly impossible to enforce and Inuit access to the outside world grew. By 1850 the mission had come to an inescapable conclusion: maintaining separation from settlers and other sources of European influence was impossible. One response was to integrate settlers into the sphere of Moravian influence. The first settler was baptized in 1853, and a little over a decade later a new station was established at Zoar, in large measure to serve the scattered settler population between Hopedale and Nain. After 1879, education in English for settler children was offered on an occasional basis in Hopedale. The ministry to the settlers was secured in 1896 with the establishment of the station at Makkovik. Embracing the settler community did not diminish the challenges of operating a trade monopoly, and tensions continued to increase for the remainder of the century, leading the Unity Elders’ Conference to dispatch representatives to Labrador several times in the latter half of the nineteenth century.82 But every action the mission took to control trade led to an opposite and ever more strident reaction on the part of Inuit: The missionaries were taken aback by the ferocity of the Inuit resistance to their trading policies … In this sphere of activity, friction was a way of life. Protests were vocal, frequent, and organized … Economic life provided a pressure point between Inuit and Missionary cultures, and a space for resistance, the ebb and flow of both powers, and cultural negotiation. Inuit institutions and Inuit leaders were key organizers of the Inuit side … Each Moravian attempt to control the Inuit-Moravian economy and limit Inuit contacts with other Europeans accomplished little but to produce more resistance.83 Ongoing resistance to and subversion of the Moravian trade monopoly was a major contributing factor to the closing of the station at Zoar in 1894. Finally, in 1927 the continued unprofitability of the mission’s trade operation together with the unmanageable costs of an ambitious expansion in the mission fields and a global decline in benefactions in support of mission activity, led to the abandonment of the Moravian trade operation. Washing its hands of trade once and for all, the mission consigned the operation of its stores and shipping to its longtime competitor, the Hudson’s Bay Company. The relations between the hbc and Inuit would prove even more contentious than those with the mission-run stores. As elsewhere in its operations across the Canadian north, the hbc was

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focused on the volatile fur trade, reorienting trade policy in Labrador to suit its corporate interests to the further detriment of Inuit. The HBC monopoly lasted only sixteen years; the trade operations on the Labrador coast were assumed by the government of Newfoundland in 1942. Whatever altruistic (read paternalistic) purposes may have been broached to rationalize it, the Moravians’ trade monopoly was a blunt tool. It sharply restricted Inuit choice in matters of trade, unilaterally establishing its terms. Trade in this way served as a coercive cultural force. Besides denying access to “sinful” goods (e.g., alcohol) and to technologies that might too radically alter the traditional Inuit way of life (e.g., firearms84), the stores’ policies predetermined choices by pricing what the missionaries regarded as necessities affordably, while goods they regarded as inessential were subject to steep mark-ups. Underlying the trade policy was the Moravians’ belief that thrift was a virtue to be encouraged. Moravian culture placed value on the individual’s conserving of material goods. The stores’ prices and stock as well as its credit policies rewarded thrift and punished chronic indebtedness and profligacy. The trade monopoly did not seek to undermine the traditional economy, as was the case, for example, with the hbc with its focus on the fur trade, often at the expense of the subsistence hunt. Nor did it abandon Inuit in times of failed hunts and famine; indeed, it never failed to provide assistance when it was absolutely necessary. Nevertheless, it cultivated a culture of individual economic responsibility, thus undermining the culture of communal ownership and sharing that had long been a defining element of Inuit society. Control over trade had been built into the Moravians’ colonial effort quite deliberately. Another of its enduring consequences was not: the disastrous introduction of European diseases. Infectious diseases, often introduced with the annual arrival of the mission supply ship, were a recurrent feature of Inuit life beginning in the last decade of the eighteenth century.85 Inuit had no natural resistance to imported ailments like measles, influenza, and pulmonary diseases. In the later nineteenth and twentieth centuries, the litany of deadly diseases came to include mumps, typhoid, smallpox, whooping cough, and tuberculosis. Cyclic death tolls were often astonishingly high. In 1863–64 there were more than 200 deaths from diseases, poor health, and cycles of famine. Between 1857 and 1865, the Inuit population affiliated with the mission stations decreased from 1,172 to 990. Helge Kleivan drew a link between disease and nutrition: “This results mainly from the mortality arising [from] frequentlyrecurring malignant epidemics. It seems clear that the people’s powers of endurance, under the hardships of their daily life, are diminishing. This may

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be attributed to their becoming habituated to the use of foreign articles of diet instead of the flesh and fat of seals.”86 While there were periodic recoveries of population, the ravages of infectious disease continued for the next five decades. In 1876, for example, poor seal harvests and serious epidemics of erysipelas, influenza, and whooping cough accounted for more than 100 deaths among the 1,200 Inuit associated with the missions; 20 per cent of Zoar’s Inuit population died that year. Seasons marked by widespread illness saw collapsed harvests due to the inability of hunters to get out on the ice, leading to widespread starvation and even higher mortality rates. Many hunters suffered from long-term debilities and could not hunt in subsequent seasons. In 1881 a measles epidemic at all stations led to an unsuccessful seal hunt. The year ended with 71 fewer Inuit across the stations. A typhoid epidemic in Nain in 1895 killed 90 Inuit in a community of 300. In 1905 an outbreak of influenza accounted for the death of 65 Inuit in Okak. A correlated strain on the community was the increase in the number of orphans who had to be integrated into fewer families. In his final report before permanently departing from Okak, Dr S.K. Hutton, the physician responsible for building the hospital there, commented on the continuing decline of the Inuit population. He stated the widely held belief that “the Eskimo race is dying out in Labrador. Epidemics recur year by year, for little is needed to awake the Influenza which seems to be a constant influence on the Coast.”87 That same year, in a report to the SFG titled “The Future of our Work in Labrador,” Bishop C.A. Martin provided data indicating a decline in the Inuit population along the coast of almost 25 per cent over the preceding four decades: “We are, therefore, face to face with the sad fact that we are working among a race that is dying out, that things are progressing more rapidly in this respect at the present time than was the case ten years ago, and that the process will probably be further accelerated in the future.”88 Hutton’s and Martin’s prophecies were dramatically realized a decade later when the Spanish influenza arrived in Okak and Hebron with the mission ship Harmony.89 Within weeks, 71 per cent of Inuit from these two communities were dead. In Okak, 207 out of a total population of 263 died. Not a single male adult survived. The Okak mission station, once the largest on the Labrador coast, was closed, and the survivors – mostly orphans – were relocated to southern communities. In Hebron, where 140 out of a population of 222 died, the settlement remained open. But Hebron’s much reduced population recovered slowly. Its now more isolated position made it vulnerable to the final colonial scourge to sweep the coast a half century later: resettlement.

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After the tragedy of 1918, health conditions and health care improved marginally along the coast. Throughout the 1930s, ill health was largely attributed to malnutrition; relatively few epidemics were reported, though whooping cough persisted. Improved conditions and care were due in part to the International Grenfell Association, which increased the number of seasonal visits by its hospital ship and eventually provided nursing stations along the coast.90 In 1948 the Grenfell ship was equipped with X-ray technology and the first tuberculosis diagnoses were reported. By 1955 tuberculosis was rampant on the coast, leading to the institutionalization of many Inuit in southern hospitals for extended periods of time, as well as a high mortality rate. The most deliberate of the legacies of the Moravian presence in Labrador is in the field of education. Moravian schools were opened as early as 1780–81 in Nain and Okak; a school was opened in Hopedale in 1783–84, one year after the settlement was established.91 The focus of these schools was narrow: it was to turn Inuit into Christians. The basic method for achieving this end involved the memorization of biblical texts and hymns. This was supplemented by the encouragement of literacy so that Inuit could read religious texts themselves, especially during the long months of the year when they were away from the mission station. From the outset, annual reports from the missionaries indicated that the opportunity to learn to read and write in their own language had been enthusiastically embraced not only by Inuit children but by their parents as well. Eventually the curriculum expanded to include basic arithmetic, music, life skills, and geography. As will be seen in later chapters, the effectiveness of music in the curriculum led to a fluency in singing and performing Western European music and to a level of music literacy among many Inuit that equalled their literacy in Inuktitut. Missionary education of Indigenous children has a dark history in Canada. Moravian educational objectives sought to firmly implant Christian beliefs in their students. The approaches Moravian teachers took to achieve these goals distances their schools in several important respects from the physical and cultural atrocities Indigenous children encountered in many other denominational schools.92 First, the language of instruction in the Moravian schools was Inuktitut, and all teaching materials, from primers to storybooks to a geography text, had been translated into Inuktitut. German was never taught in the schools, and access to learning in English only became widespread in the mid-twentieth century, when other players were assuming increased responsibility for Inuit education in Labrador. Second, attendance at the Moravian schools was free and voluntary, a situation that changed only after the Dominion (later Province) of Newfoundland took an interest in schooling in Labrador and

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began coercing families to place their children in school. Third, for most of their history the Moravian schools were day schools only, operating for half days between early December and early April, the months when Inuit families remained at the mission stations. Even during this relatively brief school year, children were allowed to leave school freely to join their families on the hunt or to provide necessary assistance at home. Fourth, after the 1860s, whenever they were available and sufficiently skilled, Inuit teachers were engaged as instructors in the primary and elementary classes. Finally, the missionaries quickly learned that they would have to relax their own rigid disciplinary practices if they expected Inuit parents to send their children to school.93 The Moravians more or less reached their goal of indoctrinating Christianity. But the outstanding and most beneficial outcome of the schools was the achievement of near universal literacy among Labrador Inuit. By the mid-nineteenth century, Labrador Inuit were among the very few populations in the world, Indigenous or otherwise, that could claim universal literacy in their own language. They also were equipped with sufficient skills in basic arithmetic to manage their personal affairs, and they had a relatively sophisticated knowledge of the world beyond their shores. Over the course of the later nineteenth century, these skills would encourage the development of community leaders capable of negotiating both with the mission and with the other external powers that were increasingly impinging on their world. Residential schools did eventually come to Labrador. The irony is that they were created not for Inuit, but for the settlers’ children. After the 1850s, when the mission determined that it could no longer isolate Inuit from the growing settler population, it sought ways to extend education to the still largely illiterate Europeans in Labrador. Given that the settlers remained year-round at the fishing and trapping stations removed from the mission settlements, education was initially both itinerant and sporadic. Eventually, a “settler” mission station was established in Makkovik in 1896 and an English-language school was opened there. The term was only about six weeks, and pupils boarded with chapel servants or in the mission house. Construction on a two-storey schoolhouse began in 1914; the school opened in 1916. By 1920, English-language schooling in Hopedale and Nain was abandoned now that it was possible to send settler children to the Makkovik boarding school. Several Hopedale children attended, but none from Nain. By 1925 the Makkovik school was operating for the full school year, accommodating between twenty-five and thirty-five boarding students throughout the 1920s and 1930s. Most of the children were from settler families, but some were Inuit, having been sent by families who wanted them to learn English.

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Due in part to a shift in the economic base of the communities with the transfer of trade from the mission to the HBC in 1926, it grew increasingly rare for Inuit families to remain at the mission stations from Christmas to Easter. The HBC required furs in exchange for store goods and essentially forced Inuit families to spend the winter season trapping. By 1929 the mission had opened a boarding school in Nain to accommodate Inuit children whose parents were away in winter camps. By 1931 there were forty-five pupils at that school and conflicts were arising over the teacher’s approach to discipline and traditional Inuit methods. That same year, English and Inuktitut classes were separated, though all children lived together in the dormitory where the dominant language was Inuktitut. English-speaking students were encouraged to learn Inuktitut, but Inuit students were discouraged from learning English. In the late 1930s and early 1940s the Nain missionary began coercing Inuit families into sending their children to boarding school, even when the family remained in Nain for the entire winter season. Discipline was often harsh. Pressure to adopt the Newfoundland school curriculum increased throughout the 1940s as Newfoundland began contributing to the schools’ operating costs. By 1951–52, all teaching, except for scripture, was being provided in English and grading was based on the Newfoundland system.94 The Makkovik mission complex burned down in 1948, and though a new school was quickly built, it was less satisfactory. The Hopedale parents revolted and demanded an English-language day school in their community. The number of boarders at the Makkovik school decreased precipitously until it was closed in 1955, at which point responsibility for education on Labrador’s north coast was transferred from the Moravian Church to the province. The Nain boarding school remained open until the end of the 1972–73 academic year. Inuit from all Labrador communities were also sent to residential schools run by the iga in Northwest River, especially after education became compulsory in 1942. There, the geographic isolation from their families, the prohibition against speaking Inuktitut, and the separation from Inuit lifeways all took a heavy toll on many of those who attended.95 The impacts of the Moravian day and boarding schools were less dramatic but nevertheless carried lasting consequences. Andrea Procter summarized the legacy of the Moravian residential schools: “The Mission’s efforts to transform Inuit society through its influence and control of children had widespread but mixed results. While the missionaries maintained Inuktitut education until the 1950s, their focus on removing children from the ‘harmful influences’ of Inuit home life and their close surveillance of the students created much resentment and pain in the community.”96

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The Moravian mission’s control over all aspects of Labrador Inuit life began to erode over the course of the twentieth century. Year after year the operation accumulated more debt as support from the uk for missionary work dwindled. Okak was closed in 1919; the northernmost mission stations at Ramah and Killinek were closed in 1908 and 1924 respectively. Mission staff, previously as numerous as seven or eight missionaries or store personnel per station, were reduced to one married couple per station. As noted earlier, control over nonspiritual matters was being ceded to external agencies: the trade monopoly was transferred to the hbc in 1926; responsibility for health care was increasingly assumed by the iga; control over education was gradually surrendered to the Government of Newfoundland. In 1935 the Royal Newfoundland Constabulary began stationing officers on the coast; this was soon followed by the appointment of Newfoundland Rangers in each settlement. There had been little need for police or judiciary services up to this point, for conflicts were handled largely by the mission itself. When the Newfoundland government took over trade from the hbc in 1942, it also assumed responsibility for social welfare, which was administered by a bureaucracy in distant St John’s. Meanwhile the mission was further retreating from its once comprehensive engagement with and control over settlements on the north coast of Labrador. In 1957, with the consent of the British Mission Board, Rev. F.W. Peacock, the superintendent of the Labrador missions, moved their headquarters from Nain to Happy Valley, a boom town in the Labrador interior established to service the international air force base in Goose Bay. This shift marked a symbolic end to the Moravian colonial presence on the coast of Labrador. During the 1930s and 1940s these changes in the major players in Labrador brought about a dramatic shift in the relationship between Inuit and the colonial agencies that affected their lives. Newfoundland’s confederation with Canada on 1 April 1949 marked a point of no return. Now a province of Canada, Newfoundland was compelled by the Terms of Union to assume responsibility for a people it had governed with benign neglect, having left them to the care of others for centuries. Peter Evans has succinctly characterized the impact of this change: In pre-Confederation times, field staff of distant church or colonial authorities – whether missionaries, traders, or Newfoundland Rangers – were forced in their deliberations to talk with Inuit … The balance of power was itself the subject of ongoing negotiations and cannot be said, in any way, to have rested with Europeans. After Confederation, real power shifted southward and gathered around new sites of decision-making

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in Ottawa and St John’s, where few Inuit voices could be heard. The centuries-old conversation between Europeans and Inuit was displaced by a new discourse about a merely symbolic “The Eskimo” and his problems.”97 This shift in where the power lay and the end of a forum for negotiation between Inuit and resident colonizers led to the most egregious, enduring, and painful colonial harms inflicted on Labradorimiut in the last century. The stories of the “resettlements” of Okak Bay and Hebron in 1956 and 1959 respectively have resonated into the present day as the primary causes of social dysfunction. Many Inuit who had established homesteads around the vast perimeter of Okak Bay in the decades after the 1919 closure of Okak were baptized Moravians, yet the mission had no direct involvement in their forced relocation. The government store at Nutak was the only infrastructure that served this dispersed community; there was no school, infirmary, or church. The Newfoundland government’s decision to close the store was accompanied by a forced removal to Nain and other southern communities of 170 Inuit from 45 households98 who had been living comfortably from the rich resources of Okak Bay. Displaced into communities that were ill-equipped to absorb them, poorly housed, and denied access to their traditional fishing and hunting grounds, these northern Inuit became refugees among their own people. The subsequent decision to relocate the 247 Hebronimiut from 61 households99 was a joint determination by the Newfoundland government, the iga, and the Moravian Church. Much ink has been spilled over which of these agencies drove the decision.100 The iga insisted that the living conditions in Hebron were resulting in rampant tuberculosis and persistent epidemics. The Newfoundland government found that the now very isolated situation of Hebron (after the closure of the store at Nutak) made it impossible to provide essential services like education, transportation, and trade. The Moravian mission, now short of both missionaries and funds and administered from distant Happy Valley, was at the very least complicit in the decision. The Hebronimiut had heard rumours of possible relocation but had never been consulted about it. Instead, that decision was announced as a fait accompli at an Easter Monday meeting in the Hebron church on 10 April 1959. At that meeting were Rev. F.W. Peacock, superintendent of the Moravian missions; Rev. Siegfried Hettasch, resident missionary at Hebron; Dr Tony Paddon representing the iga, which operated the nursing station at Hebron; and Walter Rockwood, the Newfoundland government’s Director of Labrador Affairs. Peter Evans has drawn a vivid image of the meeting:

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Reverend Peacock … stood and announced that the 129-year-old Mission would be withdrawing from Hebron. When he had finished, Walter Rockwood, stood and read a telegram from his Deputy Minister of Welfare, R.L. Andrews: “You may inform Hebron people that following the withdrawal of the Moravian Mission Government of Newfoundland will assist families to move to communities south of Nain and that the supply depot will be closed.” The Hebron missionary translated the government’s announcement into Inuktitut for the mostly unilingual congregation. When he was done, the Reverend led the people in prayer, and then in song. The bells were rung again to signal the meeting’s end. Rev. Hettasch later reflected: The Inuit, received the message as if it had come “from God’s hands.” Somewhere between the proclamation and the prayers, the singing of praises and the ringing of the church bells, a moment came and went. It was the moment when the Inuit might have protested against the new constellation of power arrayed against them and their way of life by voicing a simple “No.” But from the church benches came only a gasping silence.101 The consequences of the eviction from their homeland and relocation into communities unable to absorb them were traumatic, devastating, and lasting. Examining the effects of relocation programs on Indigenous populations in Canada, the 1996 Report of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples offered a damning appraisal of the ill-considered closure of the community of Hebron: Relocation affected all aspects of the relocatees’ lives. In Hebron, they had a distinct identity; they lived off the land, and their society was held together by close bonds of kinship, marriage and friendship. These bonds were severed as families and friends were separated and moved. In the new communities, they had no claim on resources and they lacked the knowledge needed to live off the land in a new region. Population increase put a strain on resources along the southern coast. Since fewer hunters could hunt, dependence on welfare increased. Even the very young became conscious of their newly acquired low status. Their poverty, unfamiliarity with the English language, particular dialect of Inuktitut, unusual family names, inexperience with the landscape, cultural preference for seal and other customs – combined with their residence in isolated enclaves –

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set them definitely apart from other community members. With the focus gone from their lives, many Hebronimiut turned to alcohol. Social problems increased, as did rates of illness and death.102 The Government of Newfoundland and Labrador formally apologized for the forced relocation of Okak and Hebron on 22 January 2005 when it signed the Indigenous Title Agreement that recognized the sovereignty of Labrador Inuit and created the territory of Nunatsiavut. On 10 August 2009, marking the fiftieth anniversary of the closure of Hebron, a monument at the site of the former Hebron school was unveiled containing the text of the formal apology and the names of all 247 relocatees. Speaking on behalf of the survivors at the unveiling ceremony, Hebronimiut Andrea Webb said: “We accept your apology — for ourselves, our ancestors and our descendants. We have waited over forty-five painful years for this apology, and we accept it because we want the pain and the hurting to stop. Hearing your apology helps us to move on … We forgive you.”103 The silence that met the announcement of the closing of Hebron in 1959 was a mark of a people intimidated by the colonial impositions of multiple agents, including the Newfoundland government, the iga, and the Moravian Church.104 However, that silence cannot be taken as indicative of a long history of submission. Inuit resistance in Labrador is the reverse side of the colonial coin, and its history must be acknowledged as vital to our understanding of the colonial imposition. Peter Evans’s insightful and comprehensive history and analysis of Inuit resistance in Labrador 105 details the forms and force of Inuit resistance to external power from the earliest encounters with Europeans to the resettlements of the 1950s. There was a consistent history of both active and passive forms of resistance, non-cooperation and withdrawal of engagement, and “cultural resistance, through which they created a hybrid Inuit-Moravian community mode by incorporating aspects of Christianity and European culture into new institutions according to their own cultural lights.” Evans continued: This resistive agency thrived both in the structure of land-based geographical and kinship groups, throughout the period of Moravian tenure in Northern Labrador, in spite of the Mission’s heavy hand in its dealings with Inuit, and survived into the 20th century in the form of church and community political institutions. The greatest blow to the capacity of Northern Inuit to resist and shape their own history came through the frustration of their political traditions, breaking of kinship bonds, and economic disenfranchisement that the relocation of 1956–1959 inflicted.106

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The initial reluctance of Inuit to convert to Christianity and the frequent reports of “backsliding” among the baptized indicate that conversions were sometimes more cultural than spiritual. For most of the year, while Inuit lived beyond the eyes and inf luence of the mission, many readily resumed precontact cultural practices. Peter Evans defined this “backsliding” as “a Mission shorthand term for resistance of Christian moral codes and participation in Inuit dances, games, and spiritual practices.”107 As noted earlier, disputes arising from the mission’s trade monopoly occasioned active forms of resistance and rebellion across much of the nineteenth century. The mission’s attempt to establish an orphanage in 1866 was received as an infringement on the long-standing Inuit tradition of fostering and adopting orphans in kinship networks. The mission was compelled to abandon the orphanage soon after it opened.108 Also as noted earlier, the cycle of Inuit life on the land and the Inuit child-centric philosophy of learning forced numerous accommodations to be made at the Moravian day schools. These patterns of active and passive resistance that weave throughout the history of Inuit-Moravian relations were not random. Labrador Inuit culture was strong, with a long history of self-determination. Although superficially thought to be without organization beyond the level of the extended family, the pre-contact institution of men’s meetings or katimak served as an ad hoc mechanism for resolving interpersonal conflicts.109 Indeed, Inuit and Moravian cultures shared a disposition toward communal governance, a fact recognized by the missionaries themselves. Referring to the ongoing tradition of sharing the yield of a successful hunt, Br A.F. Elsner observed: “It is an old custom, which like several others somewhat similar in character, is kept up and watched over with jealous care … One of the incumbencies of a meeting of adult men, who come together at stated intervals, is to see to it that all ancient customs of this kind are strictly observed.”110 The mission began formalizing these “men’s meetings” in the second half of the nineteenth century as a means to establish a dialogue with Inuit on matters of communal interest. The missionaries maintained their authority and approached these meetings in the same spirit of paternalism that continued to justify their self-perceived superiority over Inuit. For example, an 1866 report from Okak noted that the holding of congregation-councils, or meetings of the adult male members of the congregations, has not been omitted. No doubt … there is much of imperfection connected with such efforts: but the missionaries at Okak cheerfully recognize some benefits arising therefrom, and there

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is good reason to believe that, by the blessing of the Lord on patient continuance in well-doing, the arrangement will ultimately be productive of good effects in developing Christian public spirit.111 By the beginning of the twentieth century, after several decades of disputational negotiations around the handling of trade and civil matters, the mission had agreed to grant greater autonomy to Inuit in the management of communal matters through the formalization of the Angajokĸaĸatiget: A group of adult males or “Native Elders” to oversee civil matters in the villages, based upon pre-existing Inuit governance models and the customary structure of Inuit men’s meetings … the Angajokĸaĸatiget (literally, “men meeting together”) consisted of communicant male members over 25 years of age, elected by male Inuit on three-year terms. Elders were apportioned based on a community’s size – one elder per 100 residents. The candidate who received the most votes from the field became Chief Elder; alternatively, the elders could select the Chief.112 Due to lingering paternalism, it was insisted that the new governance model function in dialogue with the authority of the missionaries. The missionaries, in turn, were often frustrated by the Chief Elders, since those elected to that position were frequently strong-willed and well capable of negotiating positions against the Europeans. Summing up the first half of the twentieth century, Peter Evans wrote: Although mustered under the Moravian Mission’s patronage and tutelage, the Angajokĸaĸatiget reflected traditional Inuit approaches to governance, community participation, rhetoric, and decision-making. It drew together pre-contact and traditional modes of political representation with the existing kiggait or chapel servant institution, and created an innovative approach to community governance that gave voice to Inuit desires for engagement with the Mission and, increasingly, other external agencies … The elders institutions became spaces of Inuit expression even in the face of the Mission’s management.113 As will be seen in the final three chapters of this book, Evans could have added that among the forums for leadership development were the choir lofts in the churches in Okak, Hopedale, Nain, and Hebron. By the end of the nineteenth century, organists and choirmasters, as well as brass band leaders, had assumed

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stewardship for Moravian music traditions, guiding them through a transformation into Moravian-Inuit music traditions. The overlap between the individuals who occupied the positions of organist and Chief Elder across the course of the twentieth century confirms that these adopted and adapted music practices constituted a breeding ground for Inuit agency, a site where Inuit could cultivate and master values of leadership in an environment of communal practice. The lasting consequences of Moravian colonialism should not be characterized simply by a list of historic wrongs and enduring tragedies. Such a list is long and painful and continues today through a disproportionate presence of social dysfunction and intergenerational trauma among Labrador Inuit. Nor should it be understood that that list bears the fingerprints of the Moravian missionaries alone. Nevertheless, it would be unfair to portray Labradorimiut solely as victims of this colonialism. The litany of colonial wrongs is counterbalanced by an equally lengthy chronicle of resistance. Account must be made of Inuit agency across the entire span of colonial presence up to and beyond the restoration of Indigenous Title in 2006 and the establishment of the Labrador Inuit homeland of Nunatsiavut. The Moravians did impose a form of ideological colonialism. They consistently treated Inuit paternalistically and made often cataclysmic decisions for them without their consent. Inuit responded with active and passive resistance, accepting what they found useful from the Moravian presence; withdrawing from what they did not; tolerating what they could not change; and eventually forging a hybrid culture and an identity as “Moravian Inuit.” This was an identity that, as much as it could, preserved traditional Inuit values. In the chapters that follow, Inuit agency in adopting and adapting one aspect of introduced Moravian culture – its music – will form the basis for an exploration of that cultural hybridity and of the resonance of Inuit values across the span of centuries.

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Hymns from a Feeling Heart

I. Songs from the Ends of the Earth Nor can we sufficiently describe the great utility of the ancient and modern gospel hymns, which were translated for the use of the heathen. When the life of God hath penetrated their hearts, they not only delight to hear them sung, but will endeavour with much care to learn them themselves. And if the brethren are willing to teach them, (and what can be more agreeable to them?) they are very diligent in singing, and one learns of another. By this means, not only their thoughts are diverted from unprofitable things to something useful, but also the divine truths expressed in the hymns from a feeling heart, become so imprinted in their minds, as frequently to recur to their remembrance; on which occasion the Holy Ghost is particularly occupied to bless them.1 In 1782, August Gottlieb Spangenberg, leader of the Unitas Fratrum since Zinzendorf ’s death in 1760, published an apologia for his church’s approach to evangelism under the title Von der Arbeit Evangelischen Brüder unter den Heiden. Across seventy-three numbered sections, Spangenberg exposed the rationale for and outlined the practices of the Brethren’s missionary activity, exactly half a century after the first mission was established on the Danish Caribbean island of St Thomas. For Europeans just awakening to the prospect of Christian colonization of new worlds, the Brethren’s established practice based on respect and example offered a model for success in an activity that would soon be embraced by virtually all European Christian religions. One of the Moravians’ primary tools was hymnody, as articulated in the passage quoted above. From the earliest days of the renewed Moravian Church,

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Zinzendorf had espoused a “hymn theology.” Song was a direct expression of and to the human heart, and therefore Christian truths were most effectively communicated through poetry and song. As noted in chapter 1, the Brethren developed unique liturgies and devotional services built largely or entirely from hymns, including Singstunde and Liederpredigt. Zinzendorf had developed the concept of a hymn theology, but it was Spangenberg who missionized it. Supported by the Moravian practice of encouraging literacy among catechists and potential converts, the singing of hymn verses in their own languages allowed spiritual truths to be “imprinted” on the hearts and in the minds of the prospective Christians: an inner soundtrack picked up by the mind’s voice – a spiritual earworm. One hundred years after Spangenberg articulated the role of hymn-singing in the mission field, the Periodical Accounts looked back on a century and a half of native hymnody in an extended article titled “Songs from the Ends of the Earth.”2 The mechanisms and the impact of the imprinting of spiritual truths through hymns were reflected upon in this overview, which also documented the development of hymn repertoires in the many Indigenous languages across the Moravian mission fields. Taking as his motto Isaiah 24:16 – “From the uttermost part of the earth have we heard songs” – Bishop Benjamin La Trobe3 introduced his subject: “wherever missionaries have gone with the story of the cross, and the dwellers at the uttermost parts of the earth have received the glad tidings, there the voice of spiritual song is heard.”4 The article proceeds through a comprehensive listing of the then current Moravian mission fields, the languages in which hymn-books have been published, and the uses and impacts of hymnody among the Christian converts. In mapping the expansion of the hymn repertoire across the Moravian mission fields, Bishop La Trobe showed how the singing of spiritual song permeated the daily lives of the new Christians, especially those in Greenland and Labrador. Citing an 1820 letter from missionary Jacob Beck, he described the reception to the then latest edition of the Greenlandic hymnal: The introduction of the new book has been attended with great benefit. At their family devotions in their tents, our Greenlanders have made good use of it. Those who cannot read get others to read the hymns and verses to them, and it is surprising with what facility they learn them by heart. If we begin a verse, the whole congregation immediately join in it. One evening I entered a Greenlander’s house, and saw one of our nativeassistants sitting with his book in his hand and a number of boys before him, each with his book, employed in learning the verses and singing

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delightfully, the other inmates quietly listening to them. In another house some women were teaching the girls to sing the new tunes, and we have a general meeting for singing every week.5 This fondness for hymn-singing as a social and spiritual activity continued throughout the nineteenth century as the tradition became well-established, both in Greenland and across the Davis Strait in Labrador. Bishop La Trobe continued: Recent accounts show that the Greenlanders retain their fondness for hymns. Not only do they sing well in the sanctuary and in their homes, but we hear how the long coasting voyages in the ‘umiaks’ or women’s boats are enlivened by the sweet voices of the female rowers uniting in sacred song. Similar remarks might be made respecting the esteem in which the Eskimoes of Labrador hold their hymns and the frequency with which they use them, not only at church and in their houses, but also at their morning and evening prayers when away on their periodical hunting, fishing, or sealing expeditions.6 The countless observations about Inuit use of the Moravian hymn repertoire peppered throughout the Periodical Accounts offer testament to the role and impact of Christian hymnody on Inuit life. Consistently, the singing of hymns is noted as a communal activity. Solo hymn-singing is rarely mentioned. Hymn-singing was an activity of the collective, a household or a congregation. Individual voices joined as one, hymn-singing became an occasion of community. Equally, these accounts document how deeply the singing of hymns became integrated into daily life. Of course, hymns were sung in church and school, but Inuit also sang them together in their homes, at work, and off in their camps. Hymns had become ritual markers of the rhythm of daily life. Morning hymns greeted the new day; hymns sung in the evening expressed gratitude for the day’s blessings. And just as hymnsinging was integrated into daily life, the vast repertoire of hymns had become internalized in each Christian Inuk. By the latter part of the nineteenth century, Inuit populations of Greenland and Labrador enjoyed universal literacy in their own languages and held the core of the hymn repertoire in their memories and hearts. The family hymn-books may have been treasured possessions, but their contents were already held in memory. The hymns themselves had assumed the status of a kind of Christian lore.

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All of these functions were enfolded into the Moravian strategy for harnessing hymnody to the Christianizing project. But the success of the primary goal as articulated by Spangenberg – that is, the imparting of spiritual truth through the hymn texts – is more difficult to confirm through the actions of Inuit Christians. The evidence of success offered in “Songs from the Ends of the Earth” draws on testimonials recorded by the missionaries. The language of that testimony, filtered through translation from Inuktitut to German to English, closely mirrors the confessional rhetoric of the Brethren writers themselves. “What am I!” exclaimed a native-assistant, addressing his fellowcountrymen; “how poor and deficient! I can do nothing without our Saviour. Every day I must go to Him for strength. And O, what encouragement and comfort do I daily find in communion with Him. If I am at a loss for subjects for prayer or meditation, I turn to our hymn-book. There I find verses containing such a rich store of them, that they tell me just what I want, and have to pray for … Yes, my brethren, we may learn a great deal from the hymn-book; for we Innuit (‘men,’ i.e., Greenlanders) have, when left to ourselves, too few ideas. But these beautiful verses lead us to ideas, both about ourselves and about the great love and mercy of our Saviour towards us poor creatures.”7 Whether these were the exact words and true feelings of this Greenlandic native brother or the commonly held experiences Inuit believers on both sides of the Atlantic cannot be confirmed. Here it must be acknowledged that the intended readers of this testimonial were the benefactors of the missionary effort. As a group, they were eager for assurances that their support for the mission’s good works and intentions was achieving the objective of leading Inuit to the Christian communion. And the mission supporters would be especially happy in the knowledge that their own love for Christian hymnody was shared even in the “uttermost parts of the earth.” While we may not know with certainty the degree to which Zinzendorf ’s construct of hymn theology had penetrated the hearts of Inuit, there is little question about the degree to which Christian hymnody permeated Labrador Inuit culture across the first century and a half of Moravian presence. In what follows I will chart the path of that permeation along two intertwined trajectories. The first encompasses the observations about Inuit hymn-singing in Moravian and visitor accounts – accounts that attest to the uses of and attachment to the enormous repertoire of hymns that Inuit sang. The second comprises a survey of the Labrador Inuktitut hymn-books from the handwritten manuscripts of

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the late eighteenth century, through the sequence of published hymnals, revised and expanded across the nineteenth century, to the introduction of Sankey-style hymnody in the late nineteenth century and the eventual production of hymnbooks in Labrador itself. Entwined, these two bodies of evidence speak to the evolving preoccupations of the missionaries and, eventually, Inuit themselves as expressed through the hymns they sang. They also chart a story of changing communal functions of hymnody beyond its prescribed uses in liturgy. And they mark a trajectory of refinement and expansion of the hymn repertoire, one that admits change while remaining firmly rooted in Moravian traditions and beliefs.

II. The Saviour’s Blood A year after Jens Haven first encountered Seguliak on Quirpon Island and won his respect in a sing-off, the missionary returned to Labrador, seeking to secure the confidence of both Inuit and the governor of Newfoundland in support of establishing a permanent Moravian presence in Labrador. According to a retrospective history published in the Periodical Accounts on the centenary of the founding of the mission at Nain, Haven and Christian Lorenz Drachart encountered a group of about 300 Inuit in the vicinity of Chateau Bay in August 1765. During their interactions, the missionaries were welcomed not as Europeans but as “innuit (human beings).” The Inuit listened to the “strange” stories of Christian redemption and entreated the missionaries to stay and build houses among them. The account continues: Once the two brethren [Haven and Drachart], being prevented by a violent storm from returning to the ship for the night, had to accept the hospitality of Seguliak, the angekok. As the evening advanced he began one of his terrible heathen dances, saying that the torngak (spirit) had come over him, but the brethren, to the astonishment of all, calmly sang their hymns, especially the favourite one: “O head so full of bruises, &c.,” (Moravian Hymn Book, No. 102).8 In the morning their host said to them: “Now you can tell your countrymen in the East (Greenland), that you have slept in our tents: you are the first Kablunat who have remained over night with us, but you are our friends, and need not be afraid!”9 Jens Haven’s strategy of singing hymns as a means both of gaining respect and of introducing Christian dogma to Inuit had already proven itself effective in the mission field of Greenland. David Crantz, the author of an epic history

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of Greenland and the Moravian presence there, observed that within a decade of the founding of the Moravian station at Neu Herrnhut, near modern-day Nuuk, hymn-singing had had a profound effect on the new congregation. In his summary of the state of the mission in 1742, Crantz noted the enthusiasm with which Inuit learned new hymns, the deep emotional effect the act of singing the hymns had, and the greater efficiency hymn-singing afforded in communicating spiritual truths: At the Greenland meetings and catechisations they [the missionaries] constantly read with blessing some of the harmony of the evangelists, they having this year translated with more perspicuity the last discourses of Jesus in St. John; they also explained that translated hymn from verse to verse, The Saviour’s blood and righteousness,10 &c. because of the incomparable matter it contained concerning free grace and the all-sufficient merits of Jesus; this and other hymns the Greenlanders learnt with great eagerness, and sung continually in their houses and at all their employments. There was many times such an emotion in the meetings, that speaker and hearers wept together, when words did not suffice to express clearly what the heart was pregnant with. And this had often, a better effect than the most regular and learned sermon.11 The missionaries were teaching hymn-singing in their school in Greenland by 1743 and had inaugurated singing schools for adult women. The men, being too frequently away on the hunt to attend singing schools, learned the hymns in their households. Crantz reported that “the singing hours were an excellent opportunity to instill into the Greenlanders, and especially the children, the truths of the gospel in a very agreeable and perhaps an easier manner than by question and answer. They learned the verses presently by heart, and sooner took the freedom to ask the meaning of a verse than of a discourse.”12 By 1745 the Moravians had translated more than forty hymns into the Greenlandic language, being careful to omit verses that could “not to be turned into right Greenlandish,”13 and preferring to delete verses rather than encourage Inuit to sing something they could easily misconstrue. The considerable differences between the core vocabularies, the syntax, and the conceptual underpinnings of the languages of Inuit and those of the German, Danish, or British missionaries would be perennial barriers to the process of translation throughout the history of the missions. Until later in the nineteenth century, most of those accepting the call to enter the mission field were craftsmen rather than scholars. Few had more than a rudimentary understanding of the structure

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of their own native languages, let alone any notion of comparative linguistics.14 With regard to translating hymn texts, this shortcoming was compounded by the frequently abstract and metaphysical language that characterized hymnody, which attempted to convey concepts for which no words existed in Inuit languages. The heavy use of metaphor in hymn texts; the references to places, events, and stories alien to Inuit experience; and the frequent reliance on symbolism to communicate associational meaning – all this made the hymn texts obstinately opaque to the language of Inuit, which better reflected the concrete and the web of relationships between the elements of the observable world. Finally, the need to fit the translated texts into the inf lexible verse metres of the chorale melodies further compounded the challenges.15 Still the missionaries persevered, encouraged by the appetite of Inuit for new material to sing, by their evident and strong emotional attachment to the act of singing these hymns, and by the apparent success in catechizing the Christian message effectively through the hymn texts. By the time Jens Haven arrived in Neu Herrnhut in 1758, the Greenlandic Moravian hymn repertoire comprised more than 100 hymns and Johann Beck 16 was completing work on the first extensive Liturgy and hymnbook in the Greenlandic language, which would be published in the Netherlands in 1759.17 Haven was assigned to the newly opened mission at Lichtenfels, where, Crantz observed, a hymn culture had already been firmly established: “Singing, if sweet, and accompanied with a feeling of heart, is not the smallest part of a rational worship … Our Greenlanders without any urgent methods of inculcation, spontaneously make it their study to apprehend and learn to sing the most pithy hymns; the blessing of which is beyond description, both upon the hearts, and for the advancement of young and old in knowledge.”18 Both from his years in Greenland and from his first encounters in Labrador, Jens Haven knew that the encouragement of a hymn culture in this new mission field would be critical to the success in imparting Christian beliefs and winning the affection of Labrador Inuit. Less than a year after their arrival the Nain missionaries had begun singing hymns with Inuit. Hans Rollmann cites the Nain station diary from March 1772: Several women who had stayed for a while on our land with their tents last fall had learnt at that time a few verses like Christi Blut und Gerechtigkeit and Gelobet Seyst Du Jesu Christ. These, we had to repeat and sing to them often. Br Schneider took this opportunity to say something about the content of these verses, especially about the effect of Jesus’ blood on human hearts and how it can free and liberate us from all evil.19

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Even the angakkuk Seguliak showed an interest in learning the songs he first heard on encountering Jens Haven a decade earlier. In 1775 he asked missionary William Turner to teach him the verses “Sei mir tausendmal gegrüßet” and “Schreibe deine blut’ge Wunden,” which the missionary did when he visited him at his house in Nukasusutok.20 According to at least one account, the practice of singing hymns was established quickly among Inuit in Nain, although, as the missionaries themselves readily admitted, the communal singing of hymns could not be taken as a total embrace of Christianity. Linda Sabathy-Judd cites a report written by Lt Roger Curtis for Newfoundland’s then-Governor Schuldham in September of 1773. In it he extolled the salutary effects of the missionaries on Inuit and their progress toward Christianity a mere two years after the Moravian arrival at Nain. Curtis seems to have seen things rather too rosily. Sabathy-Judd writes: Curtis found them [the missionaries] alive and well and was astonished to see the gains the Moravians had made in christianizing the native population. He witnessed Inuit families attending Moravian religious services, praying and singing hymns in what seemed to him an atmosphere of deep devotion. He considered it a “miracle of God” that such progress had been made, and assured the missionaries he would give a detailed account of their success to the authorities. However, the missionaries knew that what Curtis witnessed was illusory, that their work had yet made little impact … While they admitted that they sensed the work of the Holy Spirit here and there, they could not say that anything had “yet taken root in their hearts.” Two years after Nain was founded, Labrador natives prayed Moravian prayers and sang Moravian hymns, but called on Torngak in time of need.21 Inuit early on embraced hymn-singing as a social practice, but its ultimate goal of imparting theology and spiritual truth would have to remain aspirational for the missionaries for at least several decades. In the same year that Curtis visited the new settlement at Nain, Johann Ludwig Beck (1737–1802) began his tenure at the Labrador mission. Born in Neu Herrnhut, Greenland, Beck was the son of the aforementioned Johann Beck, the first Greenlandic lexicographer and grammarian as well as translator of the Greenlandic hymn-book. When the younger Beck took up his post in Labrador he brought with him his own copy of his father’s dictionary, inscribed “Since 1734 copied anew by Johann Ludwig Beck, Lichtenfels in Greenland, begun August 10th 1770, completed November 18th 1770.”22 Alongside his father’s grammar

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book, it is reasonable to assume that Beck also brought a copy of his father’s Greenlandic hymn-book, published in 1759, copies of which would have been in the possession of Jens Haven and other Labrador missionaries. It is with this slender volume that the history of hymn-books in Labrador most likely began. Illeit Tuksiautit Tuksiutillo Errinnaglit Errinnakangitsullo Attuægekset Illægeenut Karalit Nunænnetunnut was published in 1759 in Utrecht by Pieter Muntendam. It contains the complete Moravian liturgy with three variants, as well as 133 hymns, most of which have two or three verses.23 Since it predates Gregor’s 1784 ChoralBuch, which standardized chorale melody numbers, each Greenlandic hymn is cross-referenced with its corresponding German title, thus indicating the tune to be used. There is no index, but two pages of corrigenda are added at the end, suggesting an insecurity about the translations right up to the time of publication. The hymnal is organized by function – for example, “morning hymns,” “evening hymns,” “Baptism,” and “Communion.” The largest section is titled “Udlut Tappillugit Attægekset Illægeenut” (“Additional Hymns and Liturgies”) and contains eighty-eight hymn texts. In comparison with the thematic organization that would become the norm after Gregor published his authoritative hymnbook in 1778,24 the organization of the Greenlandic hymnal is utilitarian and loose. Its hymns are grouped pragmatically for daily use and integration into Inuit lifestyles, as well as by sacramental function, and it ends with a large “other” section, which is an accumulation of hymns translated and edited across the first three decades of the Moravian presence in Greenland. Despite the considerable expense of being printed, it bears the hallmarks of a work in progress. This Greenlandic hymn-book was a key source for the earliest hand-copied manuscripts of hymns that were created for use in the Labrador missions. A single extant example of one of these manuscripts25 offers insights into the relationship between early Labrador hymnody and the Greenlandic hymnal, as well as into the missionaries’ objectives in creating hymns in Inuktitut for use in Labrador. Written in an elegant hand, the twenty-three-page manuscript has been dated to ca. 1780. The texts to exactly 100 hymns, averaging two or three verses each, are carefully inscribed in two columns: the left column is in Inuktitut, the right, in German. However, the German texts in the right-hand column seem not to be the original hymn texts, but rather German renditions of the Inuktitut texts. This is likely because the hymn manuscripts were not simply a repository of texts to be taught to and sung with Inuit catechists, but also important tools for newly arrived missionaries to begin to learn the language.26 As in the Greenlandic hymnal, the chorale melody to which the hymn is to be sung is identified by title rather than number. At least one third of the hymns in this 1780 manuscript can be correlated to the 1759 Greenlandic hymnal.

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Figure 2.1  Detail of page 1 of an early manuscript of hymn texts translated into Labrador Inuktitut, ca. 1780. The page title indicates “Morning and Evening Hymns.” The first hymn is “Jêsuse neglikpara!” / “Mein liebes Jesuse.”

The reliance of the Labrador missionaries on some of the original Greenlandic versions of the hymns can be inferred by comparing texts. The missionaries believed that the Greenlandic and Labrador languages were essentially the same, with variants chiefly in pronunciation; this is reflected in the orthographies created for both languages. While some of the hymn texts would eventually manifest high levels of differentiation, especially in orthography, others were remarkably similar, as in this first verse of the Passion Chorale, “O Haupt, voll Blut und Wunden”: Greenlandic Hymn Book (1759) #128

Labrador Hymn Manuscript (1780) #30

(1) Niakut pinnerara (1) Niakut pinnarivara Kimikleksimarsok Killeĸsimmadlartok. Uangalo pivlunga Uangalo pivlunga Tamarme auktóvok, illunane auĸtojoĸ; Siornaumet tamarmik nauk nàlengniarpàtit Illingnut Nálektut issoĸangitomit; Kesale mittegmattit, nuname pitlarmmattit Kytsiorbigaukit. Kujagidlarpagit.

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c a l l e d u psta i r s Table 2.1  Thematic organization of 1780 Labrador hymn manuscript No.

Rubric

# hymns

# verses

1

Morning & Evening Hymns Morgen- und Abend-Gesang

7

14

2

Evening Hymns Abend-Gesang

9

13

3

Christmas Hymns

2

27

Weinachts-Gesang 4

New Year Hymns Zum neuen Jahr

4

9

5

Passion Hymns Passions-Gesang

22

59

6

For Easter (including the Liturgy for Easter morning) Zum Öster-Fest

2

3

7

For Pentecost Zum Pfingster-Fest

5

16

8

On the Gospel and Its Meaning Von der Predigt des Evangelii und dieser Wirkung

17

36

9

Hymns for Baptism and the Recording of Baptismal Candidates Gesang bey der Taufe & bey der Aufnahme unter die Taufencandidaten

7

15

10/1

Hymns for Lovefeasts, Communion, and Absolution Gesang diesse Liebesmahl, Abendsmahl, & Absolution

3

4

10/2

For Absolution Zur die Absolution

6

12

10/3

Communion Hymns Communion-Gesang

9

14

For Children Für die Kinder

2

7

100

234

11

TOTALS

The organization of the 1780 Labrador manuscript is somewhat more systematic than that of its Greenlandic predecessor but remains largely ordered by function: five of the eleven sections are dedicated to events in the liturgical calendar; another two are meant to accompany the administration of the sacraments; the remaining sections are divided between hymns intended to be integrated into the rhythms of daily life (e.g., morning hymns, hymns for

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children) and a sole section containing seventeen hymns that can be construed as examples of “hymn theology.” The most striking category in the 1780 manuscript is the group of hymns that focus on Christ’s passion. At twenty-two in number, this largest single category of hymns was intended to inspire an emotional embrace of Jesus as a Saviour who died for the remission of our sins. Often graphic in imagery, these emotionally charged, salvic hymns proved effective in capturing the interest and imagination of Inuit. Nearly all the hymns cited by the missionaries as having found favour with Inuit fall into this category, including “O Head so full of bruises” and “The Saviour’s blood and righteousness.”27 This same hymn was identified as a source of great peace and solace when sung at the deathbed of a Hopedale convert in 1803: Those who departed gave good evidence that they went to the Saviour, particularly Benjamin, who died of an inflammatory fever in the month of February. From the first he was convinced that his dissolution was at hand. Being asked whether he thought he should go to Jesus, he cheerfully answered in the affirmative. After some conversation on the subject, the missionary present sung that verse – “The Saviour’s blood and righteousness My beauty are my glorious dress; &c. and others of the same import, in which he joined with great fervency of devotion.28 For Inuit, the deeply emotional and often graphic appeal of these and other hymns that expounded on Passion of Christ as the source of redemption for believers afforded the most direct and effective point of entry to the Christian message. But in this 1780 collection, didactic as opposed to functional hymns are in the minority. By comparison, Gregor’s 1778 Gesangbuch, admittedly intended for the committed faithful among the Brethren, contained fewer than 25 per cent of hymns that were functional in nature; more than three-quarters of the 1,750 hymns could be categorized as “sermons in song.” The 1780 Labrador hymn-book, by contrast, is comparatively light in theological teachings. In addition to its twenty-two Passion hymns, only seventeen carry the lessons of the Gospels. Most of the hymns in this first collection establish the place of Christianity within the cycles of Inuit life, in their homes and in building a community centred around Christian rituals, if not yet beliefs. Still, by the end of the eighteenth century the beliefs taught through these sermons in song were beginning to take hold in the hearts of a small number of converts. The

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Hopedale station diary for 1799 recorded a testimonial from the baptized Inuk Jonathan in the form of a letter he dictated to be forwarded to his Christian brethren across the Davis Strait. In this letter Jonathan describes how singing hymns has opened his heart to the message of Christianity: It causes deep sorrow and repentance within me, when I consider that I have been most faithfully instructed by my teachers for so many years, and yet have been like one that had no ears to hear. But now, not my ears only are unstopped to hear and understand the doctrine of Jesus, and the hymns we sing, but I feel that what I hear and learn penetrates into my heart. And since I am thus inwardly affected, warmed, and enlivened, I am the more astonished and amazed at the change, when recollecting that I have been so hard and callous.29

III. The Awakening The work of infusing hymnody into the daily lives of Labrador Inuit was progressing rapidly by the dawn of the nineteenth century. The hymns the missionaries translated into Inuktitut were a core element of the curriculum in the schools that had opened in Nain and Okak in the winter of 1780–81 and in Hopedale in 1783–84.30 Both as the source for religious teaching through the memorization of hymn verses and as the primer for the teaching of reading, the hand-copied hymn-books at each station were among the most valuable materials available to the missionary teachers. While the schools were created for children between the ages of five and twelve, there was a direct spill-over effect to their families even in the first year. Writing in the Nain diary for 1781, Br Samuel Leibisch, superintendent of the Nain mission and the first teacher in its school, observed that “different old Inuit have attended school with great enjoyment and said sometimes; once the children were finished with learning they wanted to begin to learn. Several old people have also profited some, in that the children often repeated at home what they had learned.”31 Education was a one-step-forward-two-steps-back affair for most of the history of the Labrador Moravian schools. For well over a century the schools were held only between November and March or April, the months when baptized Inuit were resident at the mission stations. Schools were generally held for half days only, and children were often absent when their families needed them to help with subsistence activities. Young men generally abandoned their education once they were ready to help their fathers on the land. Despite this

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discontinuity, the missionaries could report favourably on the progress of their schools even after the first year: their pupils were mastering the alphabet and attaining basic numeracy, as well as memorizing and retaining many hymn and scripture verses.32 Reading, memorization, and the singing of hymn verses comprised the core of the schools’ literacy curriculum, which expanded as the number of hymns translated into Inuktitut increased. By the beginning of the nineteenth century more than 150 hymn texts33 had been translated into Inuktitut and were accessible in handwritten copies at each of the three mission stations. A letter dated 3 October 1803 from Hopedale reports that the schoolchildren had committed most of the Inuktitut hymns to memory: “In the schools for the children, to which other young people, and particularly women come, the scholars showed much eagerness to learn. They easily comprehend what is explained to them at school; and most of them know their book of instruction by heart, as well as most of the hymns in the hymn-book.”34 A year later, the report from the same station expressed great satisfaction at the degree to which the reciting of scripture and singing of hymns had entered the daily lives of Inuit, largely through the influence of those who had attended school, both young and old. The schools of the children have also been attended with the blessing of God in the year past, and both the children and adults have made good progress in their learning. It is very edifying to hear them exercising themselves, in their own dwellings, in reading and singing hymns. The[y] have now, both in the morning and evening, prayer and singing in all the families; and, both then and on other occasions, they edify each other in a manner, that moves us to tears of gratitude.35 Thus, in this first decade of the nineteenth century the Moravians were meeting their objective of infusing life’s rhythms with thoughts of the Saviour through hymnody. The singing of hymns had begun to permeate daily life. The household singing of morning and evening hymns punctuated the rhythm of the day. Communal interactions like Singstunde provided opportunity for collective reflection about Jesus’s sacrifice. These growing incursions of Christian reflection into daily life would culminate in the transformative event of the Moravian presence in Labrador, commonly known as the Awakening of 1804–05.36 Over the course of about eighteen months the missionaries had reason to believe that the message of Jesus’s salvation was finally reaching deep into the hearts of Inuit. In September 1805 the mission superintendent, Br Christian Friedrich Burckhardt, looked back on the remarkable occurrences of the last year:

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It is now thirty-four years that we have been labouring among the Esquimaux, without beholding any thing like abiding fruit. The time has been long and wearisome, yet I am now led to believe that it has been according to a hidden, but gracious leading of our Lord … We are ready to allow, that they had often strong religious feelings and convictions; that they were made aware that they had need of conversion, and cherished many good desires and resolutions in regard to it; but solidly awakened they were not. It may be asked, why we did not take more pains to ascertain their true state of heart, but admitted them so soon to the privileges of the Church; and all that we can say in reply is, that we did not rightly understand the matter; that we were working in a kind of twi-light or dawn. This is evident to us, now that the day-light is breaking in upon us. We knew, indeed how the grace of God has wrought in ourselves, but we were ignorant, to what extent a Heathen might be affected by a real awakening and mourning on account of sin; repentance from dead works, the experience of the peace of God, and the enjoyment of the love of Jesus in the heart; – for we had never seen and conversed with a thoroughly converted Esquimaux.37 The “twilight or dawn” the missionaries worked under in Labrador was a dimly lit cross-cultural understanding. Elsewhere Burckhardt suspected Inuit of hypocrisy or duplicity in their apparently nominal embrace of Christianity – of conversions of convenience prompted by opportunities for trade, by a need for relief from famine resulting from a poor hunt, or even by inexplicable natural phenomena such as the unsettling meteor shower of 1799. When circumstances changed, these newly minted Christians might return to familiar ways of living that included respect for the power of shamans and personal conduct considered immoral by the Moravians. But to Inuit, this fluidity of allegiance was not duplicitous. It was pragmatic. Lifeways and allegiances that had maintained them as a society for centuries were hardly to be abandoned. And if new beliefs, new ways of living as a community, could be integrated selectively and advantageously, why not? But the Awakening of 1804–05 struck the missionaries as a conversion of a much more profound and permanent nature. Officially, the Moravian chronicle dates the beginning of the Awakening to the dramatic conversion of the fall of 1804, when a Hopedale woman – “one of the chief sinners” – experienced a sense of forgiveness and redemption not from the words of man, but because “she had herself heard His voice, felt His dying love, and experienced His quickening grace.”38 Her embrace of the person of Jesus, her acknowledgment

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of her sins, and her conviction of redemption through His blood signified the light of Christian day in her soul. Though mocked at first by her compatriots, her exemplary conduct soon won more converts among the more Christianleaning women of Hopedale, and the movement rapidly gained an emotionally charged momentum. The missionaries likened it to the Awakening famously experienced by the Moravian refugees on Zinzendorf ’s estate, which had solidified the renewal of the Moravian Church in Herrnhut on 13 August 1727. During the winter of 1805, two young men from Nain – both deemed profligate sinners by the missionaries – visited Hopedale and were witness to the dramatic transformations wrought there as their relatives embraced Jesus in their hearts. Siksigak and Kapik returned to Nain and bore witness both by evangelizing and through the example of their transformed lives, and this led to the rapid spread of the Awakening in Nain. As recorded by the missionaries in the Nain station diary on 21 February 1805, these young men attributed their change of heart to Jesus himself, who spoke to them through remembered scripture and hymn verses: What excited us to the most heartfelt gratitude to God was, that we soon perceived that these two men, who, when they left us were bent upon all kind of mischief, had been most powerfully awakened by the testimony of their believing countrymen at Hopedale, and were now truly broken and contrite in heart, crying for mercy, and earnestly inquiring what they should do to be saved. They confessed the wickedness of their past lives, their mockeries and revilings against Jesus and enmity to Him. They said, that now many texts of scripture and hymns, which they had formerly heard with indifference had recurred to their minds with power, and they now understood their meaning; that they now prayed most fervently to our Saviour for mercy and the remission of sin, and sought the company of such only as were of the same mind. They declared they were not convinced by man, but by Jesus himself; and now they would be converted to him, not only in word, but with their whole hearts.39 The hymn verses and scripture texts, long imprinted on the memories of Siksigak and Kapik through school, home, and church, had suddenly acquired meaning beyond the “indifferently heard” words. By the summer of 1805 the fervour to embrace Christianity had spread to the northernmost mission station of Okak, stoked once again by Inuit evangelism. The station diary entry for 26 July 1805 recounts the visit to Okak of three Inuit families from Nain who preached to the heathen using “simple language” and

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“melodious singing.” As in the Awakening that had begun in the two stations farther to the south, both Inuit hymnody and testimony were among the primary tools for spreading the spiritual renewal northward: Three families arrived from Nain, and brought letters from our brethren there. They pitched their tents close to our palisadoes, which gave us the pleasure to hear their melodious singing, at their morning and evening family-worship. During their abode here they were indefatigable in proclaiming the gospel to the heathen. They went from tent to tent, and in simple language, but with great energy and burning hearts, related what the Lord had done for them since last spring, and exhorted both our own people and the strangers to surrender themselves, without exception to their God and Saviour. They were listened to by all with wonder, and their testimony was made the blessed means of renewing, in the hearts of the baptized, an ardent desire to be the Lord’s with soul and body. Many came and confessed, with tears of contrition, the sinful things which hitherto had had possession of their souls.40 The station reports throughout these years allude to many dramatic and highly charged conversions, but the evidence supporting the impact of the Awakening is more than anecdotal. In 1800 the Moravian census of the population affiliated with the three mission stations in Labrador counted 228 Inuit, among whom 110 were baptized. Ten years later, the Inuit population at the three settlements had doubled to 457 Inuit, of whom 265 belonged to the classes of communicants, baptized, and candidates for baptism.41 The openness of Inuit to this collective embrace of Christianity may be attributed to a number of factors, some of which were more sociological and economic that strictly spiritual. Many of the traditional patterns of social interaction had been disrupted by the arrival of the Moravians. The influence of the shamans had been diminishing, and economic dependence on the Moravian trade and social infrastructure was growing. The Moravian choir system was challenging the long-standing social force of kinship. Even a nascent form of feminism played a role, in that Inuit women noticed that the missionary women enjoyed greater independence. A complete embrace of Christianity reduced the dichotomy that had been growing between old and new ways. Anthropologist Carol Brice-Bennett described the Awakening as a kind of “conversion crisis”: [It was] a critical turning point, that endorsed social and moral changes in Inuit society. It is questionable whether the episode was specifically a religious experience in the sense that, although the Inuit embraced

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the Moravian belief system, Christianity may have been primarily a vehicle for obtaining social change and for relieving the anxieties and conflicts that had built up as a result of Inuit contact with European culture and, more particularly, contact with the Moravian missionaries … Undoubtedly some Inuit experienced a profound spiritual consciousness during the awakening but the majority of the Inuit probably attained something much simpler from their act of conversion: a release from moral difficulties and despair of being caught between two social and religious orders. Their conversion was a religious experience inasmuch that Inuit identified more with Christianity after the Awakening than they did before it.42 However complex the factors that played into the Awakening and its outcomes, there is no doubt that hymnody played a catalytic role in these conversion stories. The testimonials of the newly converted repeatedly cite an unprecedented comprehension of the message of hymn verses as an entrée to spiritual enlightenment. An impassioned community of faith emerged as Inuit sang these hymns together in the company of other believers. As noted earlier, aside from hymns of defined function (morning and evening hymns, sacramental hymns), the largest body of hymns translated into Inuktitut by the end of the eighteenth century were ones concerning Christ’s passion and the redemption of sin. Hans Rollmann has concluded that the large number of passion hymns in the early hymn repertoire, specifically those celebrating salvic redemption through the blood of Christ, was profoundly influential in the Awakening of 1804–05.43 These emotionally charged verses, like “O head so full of bruises,” “The Saviour’s blood and righteousness,” and the popular catechetical hymn “Salt for the little lambs,”44 created an almost visceral connection between Christ’s shedding of blood and the redemption available to each believer. As the Awakening took hold at each of the Labrador mission stations, the promotion of hymn-singing reached deeper and deeper in the lives of Inuit. An excerpt from the Hopedale diary published in the Periodical Accounts records that by early 1805, weekly Singstunden had been established: “Monday Evening. All the baptized had a meeting, when a suitable discourse was delivered to them. After a short pause, a singing-meeting was held.” In an added nota bene, Christian Ignatius La Trobe, the editor of the Periodical Accounts, explained the theological and didactic importance of these singing meetings: “This is a service peculiar to the brethren’s church, in which some doctrinal subject, commonly that contained in the Scripture-text appointed for the day, is contemplated by singing verses or hymns relating to it, so as in their connection to form, as it

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were, a homily on the text, according to the words of the Apostle, ‘Speaking to yourselves in psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs.’”45 The personal significance of the hymn texts to individual members of the congregation is signalled in a report submitted to the Unity Elders’ Conference from Hopedale, dated 27 September 1805. “Some young men and boys have, mainly by their own effort, advanced also so far in writing that they inform us often through letters of their internal and external condition when they are distant from us, also at times in writing of their desire to obtain additional congregational graces. Several have also copied the hymnbook for themselves and others.”46 The appetite for hymn verses to be sung was increasing with the rapidly growing community of believers. To meet this demand new translations of hymns were being generated at a rapid rate. A diary entry from Okak dated 14 October 1806 indicated that many new hymn texts were being translated and tried out with great enthusiasm by Inuit at the station. Several families left us for Pakarvik, to set seal-nets. We continued, however, to have regular daily worship with such as remained here. In the schools there appeared a remarkable eagerness to learn both to read and to sing the many new hymns, with which our Esquimaux hymn-book has been lately enriched. Not only texts of scripture and hymns were got by heart by the scholars, but the Lord laid His blessing upon it, and the children and young people were often deeply affected by their contents.47 At this point the “Esquimaux hymn-book” referred to earlier was still a handwritten manuscript, the contents of which exceeded 150 hymns by the turn of the century. From the annual correspondence across the next two years, it is clear that the need for a printed hymn-book had been acknowledged and that a manuscript was to be shipped to Europe for printing at the end of the summer of 1807. Considerable disappointment was expressed when the anticipated hymn-books did not arrive with the supply ship in 1808.48 But a year later the long-awaited hymn-book finally arrived, as noted in this response from Okak: “We are very thankful that the Esquimaux hymn-book has been printed, and return to our dear Brethren of the Society our most cordial acknowledgments for all their trouble and expence [sic], confidently hoping, that as many of the Esquimaux in the three settlements have already learnt to read, the use of it will be attended with much blessing, and their growth in grace be furthered thereby.”49 One of the signatories to this expression of gratitude was Br George Schmidtman (1748–1824), a Danish-born sailor and carpenter who had joined the

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Moravian community at Christianfeld in 1774.50 He arrived in Labrador in 1781 and spent two years helping construct the mission houses and churches at Hopedale and Nain. In 1783 he established himself in Nain with a new preoccupation: My principal object was now the acquisition of the Esquimaux language, a task, which in my thirty-fourth year seemed next to impossible. The Brethren at that time possessed very few written documents for the help of the learner, and even these few were so much mixed with Greenland words, as to be scarcely intelligible to the Esquimaux. By dint of great labour, and continued and minute inquiry, we at length succeeded in compiling a tolerably complete vocabulary, and when we subsequently received the Greenland grammar of Brother Koenigseer, new light seemed to break in upon me, as I became hereby better acquainted with the grammatical rules of the language. Having studied this useful work for some time, I ventured, with assistance of some Esquimaux, to translate it into the dialect of Labrador, the acquisition of which was by this means greatly facilitated.51 By the time of the Awakening, Schmidtman had acquired as great a mastery of Labrador Inuktitut as any missionary on the coast. He had attained his knowledge “by dint of great labour and continued and minute inquiry” and with the “assistance of some Esquimaux.” The collaborative process of translation indicated here was equally utilized in the creation of the first printed hymn-book in Labrador Inuktitut. Tuksiarutsit, attorekset illagêktunnut Labradoremetunnut was published in London in 1809 by W. McDowall.52 It contained the texts for 351 hymns on 277 pages. All hymns are in Inuktitut, but also identified by their German (or, occasionally, English) source title. Chorale melody numbers, corresponding to Gregor’s 1784 Choral-Buch,53 are indicated for each hymn, and a thirty-fourpage index is arranged by the first line of all 926 verses to facilitate the assembly of Singstunden. Only the five pages of front material are in German. These comprise a contents page, adapted from the rubrical arrangement of hymns found in Gregor’s Gesangbuch (1778) and its English equivalent from 1789, edited by John Swertner.54 The adoption of Gregor’s organization of hymns by their theological content points to a maturation of the function of hymnody among Inuit after the Awakening. No longer are the hymns organized chiefly by liturgical or social function as in the 1780 manuscript. In Tuksiarutsit they are categorized by the theological phenomena they elucidate. While there remain sections that focus on hymns to accompany specific festive days like Christmas and the

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Ascension, sections to accompany the administration of sacraments, and sections of morning and evening hymns for domestic use, the vast majority of the new hymns are classified by the spiritual lessons they illumine, rendering this first published Inuktitut hymnal a compendium of “sermons in song.” Gregor’s collection of 1,750 hymn texts is grouped into sixty such categories, such as Von dem Vater unsers Herrn Jesu Christi, der auch unser Vater ist (On the Father of Our Lord Jesus Christ, Who is also Our Father), Von der Vergebung der Sünden (On the Forgiveness of Sins), Von der Freudigkeit des Glaubens und Vertrauen auf Gott (On the Faithfulness of Believers and Trust in God), and Von der Einfältigkeit in Christo (On the Simplicity in Christ). The editors and translators of the 1809 Tuksiarutsit adopted fifty of Gregor’s sixty rubrics, leaving out only those that dealt with theological concepts they deemed not yet accessible to Inuit (e.g., Von Gott, und dessen Offenbarung in der Schöpfung, Erhaltung und Regirung [The Revelation of God through His Creation], and Von den heiligen Engeln [The Holy Angels]); hymns that focused on the institutions of the Church (e.g., Klaglieder der Kirche [Songs of Lamentation of the Church], and Hoffnungs- und Trostlieder der Kirche [Songs of Hope and Comfort of the Church]); and hymns that were intended for the use of social choirs not yet established in Labrador (i.e., hymns for the choir festivals for unmarried adult men or women). More informative than what was not carried over from Gregor’s Gesangbuch are those categories of hymns that are, comparatively, overrepresented in the first Inuktitut hymn-book. With only about 20 per cent of the total number of hymns as in its source, the Labrador hymnal had a disproportionately high content of hymns under the rubrics that focused on Christ’s passion and his salvic blood; hymns that were intended for the liturgical celebrations (Christmas/New Year’s and Easter) that book-ended the season of Inuit residence at the mission stations; hymns to accompany the administration of the sacraments of Baptism and Holy Communion; and hymns that were especially appropriate for domestic use, not requiring exegesis. The table below shows the hymn categories from Gregor’s Gesangbuch with the highest percentages of carry-over into Tuksiarutsit. Beyond those hymn groups that were useful for building community around celebration, intended for domestic use or for the administration of the sacraments, the most significant groupings, by far, comprise those hymns that deal with Christ’s passion, either liturgically during the services of Passion week or thematically with their focus on salvic blood and redemption. Accounting for almost one quarter of the hymns in this first printed hymnal, these passion hymns reflect the missionaries’ belief that creating a deep personal attachment to the person of Christ and his very human sacrifice through the powerful imagery of these

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Table 2.2  Hymn rubrics well-represented in the 1809 Tuksiarutsit Rubric

Gregor 1778

Tuksiarutsit 1809

%

4. Christmas (Festival)

42

15

36

5. New Year / Feast of the Circumcision (Festival)

11

8

73

43. Baptism (Sacrament)

12

7

58

44. Holy Communion (Sacrament)

66

36

55

49. Morning/Evening Songs (Domestic)

23

17

74

6. Passion Hymns (Salvic Blood)

74

39

53

26. Gratitude for Jesus becoming man and redemption (Salvic Blood)

44

16

36

27. The Faithful Gaze on Jesus’s Wounds (Salvic Blood)

35

12

34

hymns had been the most compelling inducement to bring Inuit to Christianity. The events of the first decade of the nineteenth century seemed to have offered all the proof they needed. As reported by the missionaries, Inuit responded to the new hymnbooks with joy and gratitude. In Hopedale, which owing to travel difficulties did not receive its supply of the new hymn-books until the mid-winter of 1810, the response reflected a great boost to an already entrenched culture of hymn-singing: During their absence in Summer, they [Inuit] have regularly held their evening and morning worship in their tents. Their joy on receiving the new Esquimaux hymn-book, printed and sent out last year was inexpressibly great, but we did not receive them till the 13th of March, from Nain. We wish our dear brethren had been present at the distribution, to see the fervent gratitude with which they were received. They entreated us with tears, to express their thankfulness to their fathers and brethren in the east, for this present, and for the trouble they had in putting it in print; and added, that they would not forget to pray to Jesus to bless them richly for it. We are frequently surprized [sic] and delighted to find how the spirit of God explains to them more and more the spiritual meaning of the holy scriptures, and of all the words of Christ, contained in them and in the hymns. They often express their astonishment, that they had so frequently heard and read this and the other scripture, and yet never understood its real meaning till now.55

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A similar reaction was reported from Nain, where the new hymn-books were quickly added to the resources for the school. They served as an incentive among young and old, stimulating the desire to learn to read. “Our schools have been held as usual, and the Lord laid blessing upon them. The newly printed Esquimaux hymn-book gave our people great joy, and they received this valuable present with tears of gratitude … especially as they grow more and more intent upon learning to read.”56 The vastly expanded hymn repertoire and the easy access to the printed hymn-books moved hymn-singing into the forefront of domestic and leisure activity in the aftermath of the Awakening. In their July 1812 report, the missionaries at Okak reported: “The baptized, and candidates for baptism, also testify to us, whenever they have an opportunity of speaking privately with us, that they seek satisfaction in nothing but in living to Jesus, and that their favourite occupation in leisure hours, consists in singing verses and reading in the books, which you have sent them.”57

IV. “One Sweet Accord”: Moravian Hymnody across the Nineteenth Century The Inuit appetite for new hymns continued to grow across the decade that followed the printing of the first hymnal. By 1821 Br George Schmidtman, now seventy-three years old, partly paralysed and too ill to return to Europe, was occupying himself with translating many more hymn texts from Gregor’s Gesangbuch into Inuktitut. Responding to a commendation from the sfg for his tireless work in the translation of sacred texts, he replied in a letter dated 21 August 1821 that he “had finished a large number of hymns, as an appendix to the Esquimaux hymn-book in use.”58 Two years later, the manuscript for a heavily revised and greatly expanded version of the Inuktitut hymnal was sent to England. The work of Br Schmidtman and Br Johann Traugott Martin,59 this manuscript, which doubled the contents of the 1809 hymn-book, was accompanied by a letter making the case for the utility and importance of the revised hymnal, notwithstanding the anticipated expense of producing it: The Esquimaux, both young and old, expressed with great feeling, their thankfulness for the collection of hymns, translated by the Brethren, Martin and Schmidtman. It is sent this year, dear Brethren, with a petition both from the Missionaries and their congregations, that you would have it printed, being assured that both for use in the church, and for private meditation, it will be attended with the Lord’s special blessing. Some of

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the more aged of our people observed, that perhaps they might not enjoy the favour of making use of this collection of hymns, as it would be a great expense to their dear fathers and benefactors on the other side of the great water to print it. They knew indeed that they loved the Esquimaux very much, of which they had given frequent proofs by sending them many printed books. They added: O that the love of our dear friends beyond the great water may not cease towards the poor Esquimaux nation! We are too poor to send them any quantity of blubber towards the expense, and to shew to these dear friends our thankfulness and our great desire to obtain this collection of hymns, but the Lord our Saviour will reward them, and bless them in soul and body, and we shall always pray for these our benefactors. Some of the most diligent brought some blubber to send to the Society with many humble excuses that it was so little, but as they were very poor, they hoped it would be considered as the widow’s mite.60 The supplications of the Labrador missionaries and the humble offerings of Inuit did not fall on deaf ears. This time there was no delay in producing the new hymn-book, and its arrival with the 1824 ship was greeted with great satisfaction. We thank you in particular for having so generously attended to our wish, and printed for the use of our Esquimaux congregation, the new and improved hymn-book. They will rejoice to receive it; and we trust that its use will be attended with a special blessing; and that the glorious subject of the life, death, atonement, and merits of our Saviour, will be proclaimed in the songs and praises of our dear people, with renewed ardour and delight. All those who have so kindly laboured, and contributed towards promoting this beautiful part of our worship, will also rejoice to join the saved from among the Esquimaux nation, in singing the eternal song, before the throne of the Lamb.61 The other Labrador stations echoed similar sentiments.62 Bearing the same title as the 1809 imprint, the 1824 edition of Tuksiarutsit Attorekset Illagêktunnut Labradoremetunnut contained 718 hymns on 482 pages, more than doubling the content of the earlier edition. A sixty-two-page index arranged the first line of each of 2,105 hymn verses alphabetically. For this edition the front material, a rubrical contents page, was in Inuktitut, signalling that this thematic index was intended for Inuit as well for the missionaries. Printed in London, again by W. McDowall, the title page included the notation in English: Printed for the Brethren’s Society for the Furtherance of / the Gospel; for the Use of the

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Christian Esquimaux in / the Brethren’s Settlements Nain, Okkak, and Hopedale, on the Coast of Labrador.63 The 1824 Tuksiarutsit maintained the same thematic organization as the 1809 edition, but this time with only two of Gregor’s sixty rubrics omitted; both missing categories focused on institutions within the church. The hymn themes most favoured continued to reflect the priorities in the 1809 edition, but in even greater proportions. The new edition included, for example, thirtyfour Christmas hymns (81 per cent of the total in Gregor’s Gesangbuch) and sixty-three hymns for Passion week (85 per cent of Gregor’s total). Hymns for use in Baptism and Holy Communion were increased proportionately; the 1824 Inuktitut hymnbook contained 75 per cent of Gregor’s catalogue of these Sacramental hymns. And those hymns that contemplated Christ’s crucifixion and redemption, for example, in the category “The Faithful Gaze on Jesus’ Wounds,” doubled in number. But there are new areas of concentration as well. Hymns intended for festival celebrations outside the major liturgical events of Christmas and Passiontide are considerably more numerous, whether for generic Christian celebrations (e.g., twenty-nine “Festival Hymns” equalling two thirds of the forty-four in Gregor’s collection) or for choir festival days, such as young men’s or young women’s festival days, which had been excluded from the 1809 edition, or married people’s day, for which the number of suitable hymns was doubled in the new edition. The most striking additions in the new hymnal were in categories that were deeply reflective and more abstract in nature and that touched on spiritual contemplation that might not have been deemed accessible to early converts. These include hymn rubrics like “On Continuous Self-Knowledge,” for which the number of hymns tripled between the 1809 and 1824 editions (from eight to twenty-four out of the fifty-two texts in Gregor) and “On Silence and Calmness of the Heart,” a category that had been excluded from the 1809 edition but for which there were now three of Gregor’s ten hymns translated into Inuktitut. The trends signalled by these new concentrations in the expanded hymnal point to ongoing attention to the creation of profound attachments across a Christian community and ever deepening contemplation of spiritual truths through song. That this deepening contemplation was indeed occurring among Inuit was immediately reported back to the European supporters of the mission. “The meetings and schools have, by the blessing of God, been made truly profitable to our Esquimaux. They have also learnt to sing several of the new tunes to the hymns in the new hymn-book. In general, we rejoice to perceive a new awakening by the spirit of God in the hearts of our dear people, which excites us to thank and praise the Lord.”64

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Around this time we find the first observations of Inuit hymn-singing from a non-Moravian source, albeit a not disinterested one. During the summer of 1825 a Methodist minister from Newfoundland, the Reverend Richard Knight (1789–1860) visited the area around Hamilton Inlet in central Labrador, well to the south of Hopedale. There he encountered a number of Inuit who had moved into the region from the Moravian stations farther north, especially women who had married settlers. During that visit, Rev. Knight was invited to an Inuit Singstunde, which made a profound impression on him: They burst forth with one sweet accord in praising God. This constituted an event in my life which I shall never forget. I have heard singing scientifically performed, but this exceeded all. Such melody I never before heard; from the most aged to the child of four or five years old all moved in the sweetest unison. I have often heard tunes, the harmonies of which were delightful, here was one tune which quite overcame me; the air was most affectingly plaintive. They sung ten verses, and I am compelled to say, that I thought it the best singing I had ever heard – of this I am sure, it was to me the most affecting.65 With the resource of the expanded hymn-book now in the hands of every literate Inuk, hymn-singing had come to permeate both daily and spiritual life. The enjoyment of hymn-singing was central to the curriculum of the schools, as noted in this 1831 letter from Okak: In the schools, we could rejoice over many proofs that the word of God made a deep impression on the hearts of the children. Both young and old take great delight in singing and learning hymns, which assist to enliven our public worship. Much is gained, when children get an early value and regard for spiritual enjoyments; heathenish propensities, which now and then are apparent in the old, are thus, by degrees, exterminated in the rising generation.66 The habit of hymn-singing, nourished in the schools, had already been firmly implanted in homes, as noted in this missive from Nain in 1835: “We may venture to say, that there is not a single child belonging to our congregation, who is not made early acquainted with the Holy Scriptures, and the blessed doctrines contained therein; and that the parents, with few exceptions, take a delight in teaching their children suitable hymns. Even infants of three years are often found able to repeat a number of verses.”67 Even in the newly established station of Hebron, it

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was reported in 1838 that hymn-singing was integrated into every aspect of daily life: “Singing hymns is a favourite employment of the Esquimaux; and nothing is more common than to hear them, especially the women and children, joining in well-known verses in the open air.”68 By the early 1840s, Okak missionary Johann Friedrich Martin could announce to the SFG: “You will be pleased to hear that music is at present flourishing among us. Our congregation take great delight in psalmody, – and there are few of our hymn-tunes, even of the more difficult ones, that they do not sing with facility and correctness.”69 The demand for hymn-books grew as the population at the mission stations expanded, the number of literate Inuit increased, and the heavily used hymnals printed in 1824 deteriorated. Within a decade the Labrador missionaries felt that a new version of Tuksiarutsit was warranted. In 1830 Tuksiarutsit Kujalitikset Nertordlerutiksello Attorekset Illagêtunnut Labradoremetunnut was printed by Ernst Gottlob Monse in Bautzen, Saxony. The title translates as Hymns and Liturgies: For the Use of Congregations in Labrador, indicating that this publication was intended for congregational rather than domestic use. As such it was actually an abridgement of the 1824 hymn-book, containing liturgical hymns as well as texts for Litanei to the exclusion of the considerable number of devotional hymns in the more comprehensive 1824 edition. Despite its more limited use, the new publication was highly prized among Inuit, as relayed by mission superintendent Br John Lundberg in an 1832 letter: The collection of liturgical hymns which you sent us has proved a means of great blessing to the baptized members of our congregation. The following circumstance will illustrate the value set upon them. In distributing the copies, we had passed over two old widows, under the impression that as they can only read in the brightest weather, and with the help of glasses, the book would be of no use to them at church. Hereupon they came to us, and earnestly begged for copies, assuring us that they would learn them off by heart, and adding, that they had been unable to obtain the loan of a copy for this purpose, as no one seemed willing to part with a book which all so highly prized. The applicants being worthy members of our church, we did not hesitate to comply with their petition.70 The process of revising the Inuktitut translations of hymn texts was a continuous one that preoccupied both the missionaries and their Inuit linguistic advisers even into the twenty-first century, when the current edition of Imgerutit Attoraksat Illagektunut Labradoremetunut 71 was published in 2005. Successive missionaries, as they neared the end of their Labrador service,

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Figure 2.2  A page excerpt from Benjamin Kohlmeister’s personal copy of Tuksiarutsit, attorekset illagêktunnut Labradoremetunnut (1809), showing text corrections in his hand.

and having acquired a sufficient familiarity with Labrador Inuktitut, turned their attention to the revision of the hymn texts. Always compromised by the double liability of the linguistic limitations of their original translators and the metric straightjacket imposed by the chorale melodies, hymn verses were constantly being edited and mistranslations corrected. Br Benjamin Kohlmeister’s personal copy of the 1809 Tuksarutsit contains annotations on almost every page that would find their way into the 1824 edition. In addition, wear and tear from heavy use in both schools and homes necessitated reprints every twenty years or so to meet the demand of the Labrador congregations. These reprints offered the opportunity to correct the errata of earlier editions and introduce improved translations.

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In 1835, Br Ludwig Morhardt, one of the first missionaries to have been born in Labrador and then entering his third decade of service, reported on his work in translation. “I proceed, according to the best of my ability, with the translation of Scripture, but often find myself much at a loss, in my attempt at an Esquimaux version of the Book of Exodus, owing to the want of acquaintance with the Hebrew language. The revision of the Hymn Book is in progress, and we hope soon to complete it.”72 The hymn-book revision referred to took longer than planned. Drafts were circulated to all four mission stations for review by the most senior missionaries with the assistance of Inuit helpers, who were consulted to refine the translations. Finally, in 1840, Br Friedrich Erdmann73 could report: My occupations during the winter have been various. I have been by turns baker, brewer, joiner, and gardener, as well as schoolmaster and Missionary. I have also been employed in making a fair copy of a revised and enlarged edition of the Esquimaux hymn-book, consisting of more than 700 hymns. We hope you will receive it by the return ship, and would only beg, that, if your Society is so kind as to print it for the use of our congregations, the copies you may send us may have a rather stouter binding than those of the former edition.74 The superintendent of the Labrador missions, Johannes Lundberg, added his own commendation: In the manuscript of the revised edition of the Hymn Book, which we send you, in the hope that your Society will kindly undertake the printing of it, you will find a considerable number of alterations, and I think I may add, of improvements. The old edition printed in 1824, of which our stock is quite exhausted, we shall discontinue using, as soon as the new one reaches our hands.75 The 1841 edition of Imgerutit, Attorekset Illagêktunnut Labradoremetunnut76 was definitely more a revision than expansion of its predecessor. The exact same thematic organization was maintained, and only ten new hymns were added. Beyond extensive revision of individual hymn texts, the one new feature of this imprint was a six-page Melodien Register. A note explains this to be an “index of melodies according to the manner of the Brethren’s commonly used chorale books, along with the display of all the numbers from this hymnal, which according to no matter which Melodie type can be sung.” This signified the growing importance of the actual chorale tune to Inuit congregants. The addition of

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this useful feature coincides with the recognition in the Moravian records of the literate organists, instrumentalists, and choral singers among Labrador Inuit who had assumed leadership roles in liturgical music. These musicians and choir members will be the subject of the chapters that follow. The creation of Melodie register may also suggest an emerging sense of the identity of the individual chorale tunes themselves and what would eventually become a repertoire of favourite hymn tunes, treasured for their musical as well as textual content. The new edition of Imgerutit quickly became a hot item, and the first shipment was immediately depleted. Grateful as they were for the quick turnaround in producing the new revision, all stations pleaded for more copies to be sent soon. Superintendent Lundberg reported that with fewer than a dozen Inuit in Nain who could not yet read, the demand for copies exceeded the supply.77 He requested an immediate reprint. In Okak, the new hymnal was distributed at the service on 6 January 1842: “we gave them copies of the new Hymn-book, which the ship had also brought out. The 150 copies allotted to us proving insufficient to supply even all our communicant members, we were obliged to pass by several, who could not only read, but had good voices for singing.”78 The demand for hymn-books continued unabated through the decade. Superintendent Lundberg repeated his petition for more copies almost annually. In a letter to the sfg dated August 1848, Lundberg wrote: “If you should still have a quantity of Esquimaux hymn-books in store, we would beg you kindly to forward them to us next year, as our supplies at all four stations are entirely exhausted, and our young people are exceedingly desirous to obtain copies.”79 The sfg obliged, and reprints were issued and shipped to Labrador in 1849. By the 1850s, hymn-singing was widely practised across all aspects of religious and daily life. Its deeply affective character impressed first-time arrivals to these remote stations, like Br Peter Mortensen, who recorded his impressions on his arrival in Nain in 1855: My feelings on coming into contact with the Esquimaux, were similar to those produced by the first sight of their country. Their whole exterior is calculated to impress a stranger with pity. But when I afterwards observed their devotional behaviour at church, and listened to their melodious singing, the truth was powerfully brought home to my mind, that “The Gospel of Christ is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.”80 At the same time, the practice of hymn-singing was growing more sophisticated, as children progressed from singing verses in the schools to singing

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hymns and canons in four parts. Br August Elsner, schoolmaster in Hopedale in 1858, expressed considerable satisfaction at his pupils’ enthusiasm and success in part-singing: The examination of the school was very satisfactory. All the children of the elder division, with very few exceptions, can read fluently, and many write a good hand. They are also well-versed in Scripture-history, and, at examination, were able, without the aid of a concordance, to find all the passages, the first words of which I repeated. Though they take much pleasure in arithmetic, their progress in it was but small. It was different, with regard to singing, for which, as is well known, they have much natural talent. We opened the examination with a hymn sung in four parts, without accompaniment, and concluded with a canon, also in four parts. The latter has become very popular both with old and young.81 A new revision of the hymn-book was already under way in 1852 under the leadership of Superintendent August Freitag.82 In reporting on his work in preparing the hymnal, Br Freitag offered first-hand insights into the challenges of translating hymns and other sacred texts into Inuktitut and the critical role played by Inuit assistants: The fresh supply of copies of the New Testament, which you have sent us, is most welcome as our stock of them is already very small at all the stations. It has also relieved us from a serious perplexity, for, as we have not yet finished the revision of the Hymn-book, we should have found it scarcely possible just now to revise the New Testament. You can hardly form an idea of the slow progress and the difficulty of such a work. We always engage one Exquimaux or more, well versed in the Scriptures, to assist us, without whose consent no alteration is made. Much attention is besides required, lest they should misunderstand the meaning of the passage. Their assistance can only be obtained during the few winter months, as they are absent, with short interruptions, from Easter till late in the year. In winter, we ourselves are so much occupied with ministerial duties, school-keeping &c., that we can meet only in the evening, and then but occasionally. Of the Hymn-book, containing as you are aware above 700 hymns, more than one half has been already revised; and the corrections made and the new hymns added, have been sent to the other stations for approval. It will hardly be ready for printing next year, nor does this indeed appear to be absolutely necessary, as our stock of Hymn-books is not yet exhausted.83

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This new edition of the hymn-book that Br Freitag oversaw with assistance from many Inuit and missionary collaborators was finally published in 1856 and contained the texts to 882 hymns, joining 154 hymns to the 1841 edition.84 In addition to the new hymn texts, the updated edition included a thematic table of contents and a register of chorale melodies, as well as a thirty-five-page index by the first line of every hymn verse. It was shipped to Labrador in August 1856, and, as before, the new shipment was quickly depleted. As noted in this excerpt from the Nain station diary, the new hymnal was entered into service there on 18 January 1857: The new hymn books, which had been brought by the ship, were used in the sermon service for the first time. The Eskimos were very happy about it, and many of the old people are still trying to memorize the new songs; but so that the books would be valued more, we asked for a moderate price of 1 Shilling. And it seems that the thought that they had bought this book made it for them truly more important.85 The following year, additional copies were required, as noted in this request from Nain: “We shall be very thankful to receive the rest of the Esquimaux hymn-books. The first consignment is disposed of, and many applicants have been obliged to be satisfied with the promise of being supplied, when the next arrives. The hymn-books gave great satisfaction, and have been readily sold at the rate of one shilling each.”86 The 1856 edition of Imgerutit, which now contained translations of half the hymns in Gregor’s 1778 Gesangbuch, was the last major expansion of the traditional Moravian hymn repertoire in Labrador Inuktitut. The now established cycle of alternating a new edition of the hymn-book with a new edition of the liturgy roughly every decade continued: a new revision of the Litanei was produced in 1868, and a further revision of the hymn-book was published in 1879. Under the editorship of Theodor Bourquin, 87 the 1879 revision88 added only sixteen new hymns to the main body of the hymnal. The additions were made without changing the numbering system of the hymnbook by adding letters to the numbers of the new hymns and inserting them between hymns in the 1856 edition. Thus a new hymn added between Nr. 42 and Nr. 43 would be numbered Nr. 42a. This allowed the 1856 and 1879 editions to be used simultaneously. Ongoing textual revisions notwithstanding, the Moravian chorale repertoire for Labrador had attained its final form by the third quarter of the nineteenth century.89 The prevalence and absence of certain categories of hymns offers

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Figure 2.3  Bishop Carl Albert Martin’s inventory of hymn and liturgy books published in Labrador Inuktitut from 1809 to 1901.

insight into the spiritual priorities and preoccupations of Inuit, at least from the perspective of the Inuktitut hymn book editors. While the Inuktitut hymn repertoire now embraced just over half the 1,750 hymns in Gregor’s 1778 compendium, for a very small group of hymns the Labrador repertoire exceeded the number of hymns in the Gesangbuch. These are chiefly hymns for the Christmas and New Year’s season, a traditional period of communal celebration that predated the arrival of the Moravians on the Labrador coast. The Advent to Christmas and New Year cycle in the church coincided with final freeze-up – the hardening of the sea ice – making travel to Inuit winter settlements feasible. After eight months of living in small family groups at fishing and hunting camps, Inuit returned to the winter settlements, where extended kinship circles gathered into communities numbering in the hundreds. The Moravians had had the foresight to locate the mission stations near these traditional wintering places. In this way, the liturgical celebrations of Christ’s birth, a time of unalloyed joy in the church cycle, were layered on traditional times of communal gathering dating from the pre-contact era. This was a time of coming together after an absence, and, assuming the fall seal hunt had been successful, a time of feasting. Furthermore, the celebration of the birth and infancy of Christ resonated with Inuit, whose child-centric family customs

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Table 2.3  Hymn categories over- and under-represented in Labrador Inuktitut hymnals Rubric *

Hymns with greater than 100 per cent representation in Labrador hymnals

Hymns with greater than 70 per cent representation in Labrador hymnals

Hymns with less than 30 per cent representation in Labrador hymnals

Gregor 1778

1809

1824

1856

1879

Jesus Christ’s birth as a Son and his travels on Earth

42

15

34

39

47

Jesus Christ’s being cut off and New Year’s hymns

11

0

3

12

12

Having peace of mind (heart)

10

0

3

14

14

Christ’s pain, death, and burial

74

39

63

65

63

Of God and his proof in creation

19

0

4

6

14

8

2

5

8

8

Of peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit

22

2

7

19

20

Seeing belief in Jesus’s wounds

35

12

21

25

25

Holy Communion

66

36

48

53

53

Boys’ and Girls’ Festival Days

18

0

16

16

16

Morning Hymns

23

17

15

16

16

Of the faithful everywhere, especially of the congregation

62

3

14

0

0

Brotherhood’s hymns

43

4

11

12

12

The Lord’s and brotherhood’s servants

53

3

14

16

16

Those who mentioned Christ’s kingdom, his servants and their confessions on earth

80

8

17

16

18

8

2

0

2

2

God’s calling of sinner’s repentance

Praying for our sovereign

* Rubrics here were translated by Markus T. Nochasak found in a document formerly in the Nain Manse, now held by the Them Days Archive.

made it easier to accept the concept of the incarnation of God as man through his arrival as a child. Continuing the trends first noted at the time of the Awakening, the categories of hymns that are proportionately well-represented in the 1856 and 1879

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c a l l e d u psta i r s Table 2.4 Comparison of number of published hymns by mission field * Mission location

Language

Date of hymnal

Number of hymns

South Africa

Kaffir

1885

416

South Africa Paramaribo

Dutch

1880

800

Surinam / Dutch Guiana

Negro-English Creole

ca. 1880

600

Tibet

Tibetan

1859

136

Pennsylvania

Delaware

1803

500

Greenland

Greenlandic

1878

675

Labrador

Inuktitut

1879

900

* Most of this information comes from Benjamin La Trobe’s “Songs from the Ends of the Earth” (pa 34, no. 356 [September 1887], 147–9, and pa 34, no. 357 [December 1887], 208–10); the numbers for Dutch-language hymns are drawn from Boonzaaier and DeVilliers, “The Moravian Heritage of Community Musicking,” 2; the Greenlandic from Pilling, Bibliography of the Eskimo Language, 93; and Tibetan from Hutton, A History of the Moravian Missions, 360. Hutton goes on to rationalize the relative dearth of hymns translated into the Tibetan language: “For many years the regular Sunday services held at the three stations were both dull and poorly attended; the Tibetans, though fond of some kinds of music, could not sing the Moravian Chorales, and during the service they would giggle and spit on the floor. In due time, however, there was a slight improvement” (365).

hymn-books focus chiefly on Christ’s passion and his salvic blood. These include not only the hymns for liturgical use during Passiontide, but also those ref lective hymns characterized by rubrics such as “Seeing belief in Jesus’ wounds” and “God’s calling of sinner’s repentance.” Also well-represented in these editions of the hymnal are the functional categories, such as hymns for the sacrament of Holy Communion and the devotional hymns to be sung in the morning. Those of the Gesangbuch’s rubrics that remain least present in the Inuktitut hymnals of the later nineteenth century are those which deal with the institutions of the church, a distant and remote entity for Inuit. Less than a decade after the publication of the 1879 Labrador hymn-book, Bishop Benjamin La Trobe published his “Songs from the Ends of the Earth,” cited at the opening of this chapter. That essay celebrated the universality of hymn-singing across the far-flung missions of the Brethren. But whereas hymn-singing might be universal (or nearly universal) across those distant corners of the globe, the scope of the hymn repertoire varied considerably from mission field to mission field. A comparison of the contents of hymnbooks published in the vernacular languages of these various mission outposts reveals a considerable variance in the number of hymns for the different missions. Strikingly, the number of hymns translated and published in Labrador

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Inuktitut exceeded by a considerable margin those available in most other Moravian mission fields. It is difficult not to interpret these numbers as anything other than a testament to the missionaries’ perception of the effectiveness of hymnody in Labrador and to the deep affection Labrador Inuit held for this repertoire, for the spiritual enrichment it brought and for the community that was built through singing these hymns together. Bishop La Trobe would have a first-hand opportunity to observe that affection and the close community created through hymnody during his visit to Labrador in 1888. His diary from his fifty-three-day inspection tour of the six mission stations, With the Harmony to Labrador; Notes Of A Visit To The Moravian Mission Stations On The North-East Coast Of Labrador, was widely circulated and contained numerous observations about the accomplished and edifying music-making of Christian Inuit he encountered there. One of the most evocative and colourful vignettes is this reflection on his departure from Hebron as the Harmony was set to return to Europe. Music on the Water. After the evening meal we went down to the shore 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. The other Eskimoes rowing our boat sang with him, until we reached the “Harmony.” We were having a quiet time of cheerful converse in the cabin, when the sound of singing again called us on deck. A procession of eight or ten

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boats, the bow of one almost touching the stern of the other, was rowing slowly round and round the ship, and the people in them were singing sweet Christian songs to the measured beat of the oars. Sarah was in the first boat, evidently the leader and director of the proceedings. Hymn after hymn, in well-sustained parts, sounded beautifully over the still water, and not till it was getting quite dark did they row away.90

V. Sankey-singing In December 1880 the Rev. John Peters, minister of the Newfoundland Methodist Conference, reported on travels along the Labrador coast during the previous fishing season. His farthest stop north was the Hopedale Mission. This is an Esquimaux settlement, in which the Moravians long since established themselves. As the steamer was to harbor for the night, some fifty or more of the natives came on board about 9 o’clock, and amused the company by singing till near midnight. They have been well trained in this art. The pieces sung were chiefly from sankey’s collection, all of which were beautifully rendered in their own tongue.91 While the Rev. Peters would not have been surprised to hear Inuit sing so beautifully – the reputation of Inuit choirs was already well-established after a century of Moravian presence – he may have been surprised and a little gratified by what they were singing – “pieces chiefly from Sankey’s collection.” It had been less than a decade since Ira D. Sankey, the American revival meeting singer and gospel hymn anthologist, had joined forces with the Methodist evangelist Dwight Lyman Moody. And it had been a mere six years since Sankey published the first thin volume of sacred songs on which he made his reputation. That fifty Inuit in an isolated corner of the North Atlantic had mastered enough of the new repertoire translated into Inuktitut to entertain the ship’s crew for three hours had to be something of a revelation. Inuktitut-language Sankeys had been available in print to Labrador Inuit since they received the 1879 revision of the Moravian hymn-book. Correspondence from Labrador Superintendent Theodor Bouquin late in the summer of 1878 to Br Reichel of the Unity Elders’ Conference in Herrnhut92 reveals that a lastminute addition to the new revision of the hymn-book was being contemplated. This addendum was comprised of eleven new hymn texts, along with their melodies in music notation, all eleven hymns drawn from Ira Sankey’s Sacred

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Figure 2.4  The first Sankey hymn published in Labrador Inuktitut, “Okpertut sorsuktut sâlaĸarningat” / “Hold the Fort,” 1879.

Songs and Solos. The inclusion of this new style of sentimental hymns represented a considerable departure from the canon of Moravian hymnody, unaltered since Christian Gregor’s Gesangbuch a full century earlier. Bourquin’s worry was not the departure from tradition but rather the added cost of printing the addendum, with musical notation, which might be prohibitive.93 However, when the shipment of new hymn-books arrived in Labrador the following summer, the addendum was included, marking the beginning of a new chapter in Inuit hymnody. Sankey hymnody had made its first appearances in Moravian mission fields in South Africa and among First Nations people of North America. A diary excerpt from the South African mission at Shiloh at the end of 1874 attributed an “awakening” among the youth, at least in part, to Sankey: “Some time ago an awakening took place among the pupils, the good results of which are noticeable to the present day. In the prayer-meetings, which were held in the prayer-hall of the Institution, and at which Mr. Sankey’s hymns were sung, there appeared to be no unnatural excitement.”94 The Congregation of Fairfield (now known as Moraviantown, a Delaware First Nation reserve in southern Ontario

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in the Chatham-Kent district) had an active choir that “performed admirably” at Christmas in 1875. After the services, they met with the missionaries and exchanged gifts. The missionaries offered each member of the choir “a copy of Moody and Sankey’s Hymns. May God grant that some good seed may fall into their hearts, and bring forth fruit unto life eternal.”95 The supplementation of the ancient Moravian chorale repertoire with this new brand of hymnody was rapid and transformative. The twice-weekly singing services or Singstunden were by then a long-held tradition in Labrador. Even as the old hymn repertoire had become established in the hearts and voices of Labrador Inuit – places where it remains firmly today – other factors were influencing the kinds of music being sung both in domestic devotions and at church. The move from Singstunde to Sankey Singing occurred rapidly during the last two decades of the nineteenth century, a result of new exposures and influences both along the Labrador coast and in England. Ira D. Sankey (1840–1908) was neither the author of the texts nor the composer of the tunes of the 1,200+ Sacred Songs and Solos that are synonymous with his name. Rather, he was their popularizer, first through his performances of them at the “monster” revival meetings of Dwight Lyman Moody and subsequently through the successive volumes in which he anthologized them. Born to a Methodist family in Pennsylvania, Sankey launched his career as an evangelical singer in the 1850s. Moody heard him sing at the International Convention of the Young Men’s Christian Association at Indianapolis in 1871 and persuaded Sankey to join forces with him. In 1873 they began their first trip to England, where they rapidly gained a huge following among the Nonconformist Protestant population. Moody’s fiery preaching and Sankey’s melodramatic performances evoked strong and committed responses to their evangelical message. The duo returned to the United States in 1875, then staged a second tour of the British Isles between 1881 and 1884. It was early in the first tour that Sankey decided to convert his “musical scrap book” of twenty-three songs popular in meetings into a booklet that could be sold. He titled this slim pamphlet “Sacred Songs and Solos, sung by Ira D. Sankey at the meetings of Mr Moody of Chicago … 500 copies were sold out the first day at a 6 pence. We immediately telegraphed for a still larger supply, which was also soon exhausted, and a few days later copies were seen not only in the windows of bookstores, but grocers’, dry-goods establishments, etc.”96 Seven successive editions of Sacred Songs and Solos were published between 1873 and 1906, and countless republications of the last editions have been issued since. From its modest debut as a pamphlet containing twenty-three texts, it grew to a hefty volume containing more than 1,200 hymns with music. While

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this new gospel hymn repertoire enjoyed a meteoric rise in popularity, it was not without its detractors. Conservative Protestants disparaged Sankey’s melodramatic songs as “human hymns” that lacked both the divine authority of a scriptural basis for their texts and the historied austerity of metred Psalm tunes. But the detractors could not weaken the soaring popularity of Sankey’s song choices for “singing the Gospel.” The texts spanned dramatic scenarios and sentimental reflections; they steeped themselves in the extravagant metaphors of disaster narratives, storms at sea, Christian militias, and spiritual triumphs. In contrast to Gregor’s restrained and arhythmic chorales, these musical settings drew on the melodic formulas and sentimental rhythms of contemporary parlour songs, supported by a harmonic vocabulary that gilded diatonicism with treacly Victorian chromatics. In Christianity’s most sentimental age, Sankey’s Sacred Songs and Solos went viral. Beyond a generalized intuition that this new Gospel repertoire would be a successful tool in the mission field, a confluence of other factors brought Sankey’s tunes to Labrador’s icy shores. These included increasing Inuit contact with the “Southlander” and settler populations and growing integration with them; the expanding visitations of non-Moravian clergy and missionaries, including Dr Wilfred Grenfell, to the summer fishing fleets from Newfoundland that fished off the Labrador coast; and the rise of revival-style evangelism in England. All of these factors contributed to the rapid spread of Sankey’s new hymnody. And unlike in England, where resistance to “human hymns” was staunch in the defence of the ancient metred psalms and chorales, the Inuit embrace of Sankey tunes was immediate and enthusiastic. It seems that the very human-ness of these hymns accounted for the great attraction they held for Labrador Inuit. From its earliest days, the Moravian mission had set out to limit Inuit access both to the seasonal fishermen who came north from Newfoundland for the summer fishery and to the white settlers scattered among the bays along the north Labrador coast. After the mid-nineteenth century the increasing presence of settler and mixed-settler families necessitated changes in the Moravian approach to this growing population. The 1880 annual census reported that among the total mission community of 1,300, there were 167 settlers.97 An article in the March 1894 Periodical Accounts notes that from Hopedale south, the numbers of Inuit and settlers were more or less equal.98 This led to the opening of a new station south of Hopedale intended to serve the predominantly settler community at Makkovik. The settlers generally integrated into Inuit society and culture; but they also brought with them religious traditions – including hymnody – that expanded the Moravian practice.

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Similar were the influences of the Newfoundland clergy and British medical missionaries who travelled among the fishing fleet, which more than tripled the Labrador population each summer. Anglican and Methodist clergy visited the coast annually after the second quarter of the nineteenth century, travelling to the edges of Moravian territory. Methodist missionaries began visiting Labrador seasonally in the 1820s but did not establish a mission until 1884, at the hbc post of Rigolet, which had a significant Inuit population. The Anglican bishop of Newfoundland visited the coast in 1848, establishing missions at Forteau and Battle Harbour in southern Labrador. Anglican missionaries on their way to the Baffin district made stops at the Moravian settlements on their journeys north. This activity increased considerably in 1892 with the arrival of the attention-grabbing medical missionary Dr Wilfred Grenfell. The Moravians offered a generous reception to those who brought additional resources in support of their primary mission of spreading the Gospel and securing the faith of Inuit, including more contemporary forms of worship. Not all of the influences that opened the way for a new style of hymnody came from outside. A new generation of Moravian missionaries arriving on the Labrador coast during the final decades of the nineteenth century had themselves come into the tent of evangelical hymnody. One such man was Walter W. Perrett, whose forty-four years of service in Labrador began in 1892 with a posting to Okak. Perrett would have been undergoing his own spiritual awakening in England during the time that Moody and Sankey were waging their second great British tour in the early 1880s. By the time Perrett took up his assignment in Labrador, the Sankey repertoire was already taking root there, and his role in promoting it among Inuit thereafter offers some insights into the popularity Sankey singing gained in Labrador. An accomplished linguist and translator, Perrett operated a small print shop in Nain that published a range of Inuktitut books and magazines. His biographer, the Moravian medical missionary Samuel King Hutton, identified Perrett’s role in populating the Inuit library with Sankey hymnals: “Some of the missionaries of later years – Perrett and others – have translated popular and tuneful hymns from Sankey and other books; and so on the shelf there may be a thin paper-bound volume in red or yellow, ‘Tuksiagalautsit’ (little hymns).”99 By the time the first Tuksiagalautsit was printed in 1900, Sankey hymnody had a firm hold in the voices of Moravian Inuit. Translations into Inuktitut of at least forty more of the new style of hymns had been made at individual stations and were taught to and memorized by Inuit congregants. Sankeys were quickly becoming a mainstay of devotional gatherings. Eliot Curwen was a medical missionary with the Grenfell establishment who spent close to a month in the early autumn of 1893 in or near Hopedale. Though he was stationed there to

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serve itinerant seamen, he interacted frequently with the residents of Hopedale, missionaries and Inuit alike. His diary records numerous observations about the music he heard and especially the popularity of the “Sankeys.” On 26 August 1893, for example, he noted: “Awoken by Esquimaux singing chorales & M. & S. hymns [Moody & Sankey] in honour of Capt’s birthday; went on deck & found about 50 aboard; many had come in overnight hearing we were in Hopedale.”100 On his final night in Hopedale, Curwen was invited to a service by Inuit in which the sung content of the meeting leaned heavily toward Sankeys. Between prayers for and salutations to the departing visitors, numerous hymns were sung. At the close of the service, Curwen noted: “We sang No. 11, ‘Free from the law, Oh blessed condition,’ we in English but they from memory in their own language, and after that I said a few words, Mr. K[ästner] offered prayer and we closed with ‘Abide with me.’”101 Another visitor to the coast during the last decade of the nineteenth century was the Rev. Canon Pilot, who had been Government Inspector of Schools in Newfoundland as well as treasurer of the local committee of the Colonial and Continental Church Society in St John’s. Pilot’s visit to Labrador in 1899 was intended to describe the great Christian work accomplished there and to identify where work remained to be done. In describing his visit to Hopedale, Rev. Pilot observed: “The services of the church [in Hopedale] are largely choral, consisting of litanies and hymns – Moody and Sankey tunes, Brother Schultse [sic] told me, were their favourites, and in these the Esquimaux join with great spirit, though their voices are low and plaintive.”102 H.O. Essex, treasurer of the SFG, was another visitor to the coast who bore witness to the enthusiasm with which these hymns were sung in the course of informal worship. Essex travelled with the annual sfg supply ship Harmony. On Sunday, 28 September 1902, he spent an entire day in spiritual observance with the Nain congregation: After the morning service the choir gave us a performance mainly, I believe, in honour of my presence. In the afternoon we had again a full service, in which I spoke to the people, Mr. Schmitt interpreting for me. In the evening there was quite a special service, very informal, with magic-lantern exhibition and singing of Sankey’s hymns, many of which are translated into Eskimo. The tunes were sung famously. Among the slides shown were views of St. Paul’s, Westminster Abbey, and other points of interest in London, and I was able to add a little to the general fund of information, Mr. Martin kindly interpreting for me. Then Paulus, their chief chapel servant and organist, made a speech, expressing their

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pleasure at my visit, and desiring I would carry home their kindest greetings to their friends in Europe, which I hereby convey … I replied as suitably as I was able, and we closed with the well-known hymn “God be with you till we meet again” in Eskimo language, after which all the leading natives, men and women, came round to shake hands with me.103 Since the publication of the first “Little Hymnal” in 1900, at least ten editions of Sankey hymn-books have been printed for Labrador congregations. Five bear the original title Tuksiagalautsit; two editions from the 1950s and 1960s carry the title Eskimo Sankey. There is an English Sankey, printed by the Nain congregation in 1966, and there are two bilingual versions, one each for the Hopedale and Happy Valley congregations, both dating from the early twentyfirst century. In total, these volumes have anthologized 215 different hymn texts. A comparison of the contents of these volumes chronicles a story of changing tastes and preferences; it also reveals something about Inuit spirituality and agency both inside and outside the Moravian Church. Br Christian Schmitt’s foreword to the first edition of Tuksiagalautsit states its intended purpose: “The following songs are mostly free translations of the best known ‘Sankey tunes’ from Sacred Songs & Solos; as sung domestically in Eskimos’ homes, and also at the evening entertainments during which the Magic Lantern pictures were shown.”104 Most noteworthy here are the identified functions of the new hymns: they were for domestic use and public entertainment, both admittedly of a devotional nature. What Schmitt is making clear is that these hymns were never intended to be integrated into liturgy; rather, they were intended to enhance domestic devotion and enliven communal gatherings. The contents of this slender, first non-Moravian hymnal are drawn almost exclusively from Sankey’s Sacred Songs and Solos, except for three Christmas carols and one hymn from the Gemeinschaftslieder105 collection. None of these duplicate the eleven Sankey hymns found in the appendix to the 1879 hymnbook, Imgerutit Attoræksat Illagêktunut Labradoremêtunut. As indicated in the foreword, the hymns in Tuksiagalautsit were “free” translations. They had been made by the missionaries at the Nain station, with Inuit assistance. Similar local translations of these popular new hymns were being made at the other mission posts in Labrador. Soon after the 1900 publication, the General Mission Conference met. At this annual meeting of missionaries stationed in Labrador, concerns were voiced about the lack of centralized control around the translation and dissemination of the Sankey hymns. The minutes for the April 1901 meeting recorded that there “exist many translations, which have not been considered, and which are being used in different form at the various stations.”106

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Figure 2.5  Cover of the second edition of Sankey hymns published in Nain Tuksiagalautsit 1905 initat. The annotation “hospital” on the upper right indicates that it was in use at the Okak hospital, where Dr Hutton had morning hymn-sings.

The conference established a “Lieder-Uebersetzungs-Kommision,” comprised of Brn C.A. Martin and Christian Schmitt, with substitutes Brn Waldmann, and Squire Joseph Townley, to oversee the creation of a standardized Sankey hymnal for Labrador. Three years later the conference changed its mind and appointed a single missionary, Br Townley, to the job of “collecting, examining and revising of the song translations.”107 The result was a second edition of Tuksiagalautsit, published in 1905. Only fourteen of the forty hymns in the 1900 edition were carried forward and reprinted in the second edition in 1905. This latter contained thirty-four new hymns. Several of the new hymns were drawn from an anthology by Moody & Sankey’s rival revivalists Torrey & Alexander.108 An equal number of additions to the 1905 edition came from sources other than Sankey or Alexander, including the Gemeinschaftslieder and several Church of England sources.109 This new, formally sanctioned “Sankey” provided the material for home devotions but also for a great deal of socializing. The Rev. Patrick William Browne (1864–1937) was a Carbonear-born Roman Catholic priest. Browne

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made several voyages along the Labrador coast to minister to the Conception Bay fishermen who spent their summers there at fishing stations. Browne had travelled to Nain, where he reconnoitred with Br Hermann Jannasch, an old friend and his principal informant regarding Moravian activities in Labrador. In 1909, Browne published a memoir based on his travels along the Labrador coast, in which he recounted: Whilst at Nain we heard a great deal of music, chin and instrumental, from the Esquimaux; and they are certainly a very musical people. “Music,” says a writer, who recently visited the coast, “is one of the chief accomplishments of the Esquimaux;” … For over an hour these natives sang to us – familiar music, “Rock of Ages,” “Shall We Gather at the River?” interspersed with what I take to be secular songs, from the laughter which follows.110 The fifty hymns in the 1905 Sankey only heightened the Inuit appetite for this new style of hymnody. New translations continued to be made and introduced at each of the mission stations. In his 1908 report from the mission hospital at Okak, Dr Hutton reported on the informal sung services he held in the hospital waiting room. As is our custom, during the winter months – or, in other words, during the time that the people are living at the station – we have commenced our work day by day with morning prayers in the waiting room. The attendance at this short and simple service has been better than ever. The room has been crowded day by day, with some on the floor between the benches, and sometimes some outside in the passage. Several new hymns have been translated during the past winter; old favourites from Sankey or newer favourites from Alexander, and these are a source of real pleasure to the Eskimoes.”111 In 1912 a third edition of Tuksiagalautsit was published. Though largely a combination of the first two, forty of the 122 hymns in this new edition were new. Of these, thirty were drawn from Sankey collections and ten from Alexander. The lower printing costs for this edition allowed for a 50 per cent price reduction,112 even though it contained more than twice as many hymns. This more or less assured that a copy of Tuksiagalautsit would be in every Inuit home. In those homes – and summer camps – these little hymn-books joined a select library that included the Inuktitut Bible, the old Moravian hymnal, and possibly a

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copy of The Pilgrim’s Progress translated into Inuktitut. The old and new hymnbooks served the daily devotions conducted in every Inuit household. Domestic hymn-singing was ubiquitous, a fact confirmed by the remarkable report from the missionaries that, with no more than forty-five Inuit households there in the 1890s, “in Nain one finds no less than 15 harmoniums, not to mention the numerous violins, guitars etc.”113 Two later editions of what was now called the “Eskimo Sankey” date from mid-century. Typewritten and cheaply reproduced, these collections were put together by the Rev. George Harp, a missionary who worked on the coast after 1925. No longer intended solely for domestic devotions, the new hymn sheets were also produced for congregational use supplementary to the Moravian hymnal. Half of the forty-eight hymns in the “Eskimo Sankey” were carried forward from previous versions; the other half were new translations (by Rev. Harp) from Sankey’s Sacred Songs and Solos and other collections. But even as Sankeys were now being admitted to formal worship, their popularity for domestic entertainment, particularly during those long parts of the year when Inuit were away from the mission stations, continued unabated. Rev. George Harp’s wife, Linda, recounted their summer visit by boat to Ramah and Okak. The former was a spot of remarkable beauty, the latter a place where many people lived throughout the year but especially during the rich fishing season. Services around Okak Bay were marked by especially hearty singing: That evening we all gathered together and sang many hymns. Some from our own Moravian Book and some from that lovely Sankey Hymn Book. How they sing! Our Okak people seem to surpass all others for hearty singing. And how they enjoy themselves! When we left that place next morning the people came out into the bay in a motor-boat and sang hymns, closing with “God be with you till we meet again.” Our hearts were full as we left them, full of gratitude to God that He permits us to work for Him, to carry the comfort and cheer of His Word to His scattered Eskimos of Okak and Hebron. We beg the prayers of all our friends in the Homeland that His Word may not fall on empty hearts, but that we all may realize “What a friend we have in Jesus.”114 In 1973 a new “little hymn-book” was published for the Labrador congregations,115 containing fifty-five Inuktitut hymns, thirty-three of which were in previous Inuktitut Sankey collections. Only one quarter of the new texts were from Sankey; other additions included contemporary standards from the Protestant repertoire (“Just a Closer Walk with Thee,” “Amazing Grace”),

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popular Christmas tunes (“O Christmas tree,” “O Come little children”) and one passiontide hymn that is unique to Labrador (“Ernîk erdligidlarpagit”) and that will be considered in chapter 7. This Yellow Hymn Book (as it is commonly called in contradistinction to the Red Hymn Book) remains in use today, enjoying a status equal to the official Moravian Hymnal. A mimeographed English Sankey was printed for the settler population of Nain in 1966, and bilingual hymnals with a very high representation of Sankey (and Alexander) hymns have been created in both Hopedale and Happy Valley in recent years. Comparing the various editions of these locally produced hymnals offers insight into the spiritual, aesthetic, and social progress of devotional singing in Inuit Labrador. Selection for the earliest “Sankey” editions was the work of the missionaries (although one Inuk was credited with translating one verse of one hymn in the 1900 edition). By the time the Yellow Hymn Book was printed in 1973, the curation of music in the Moravian Church along the coast had passed entirely to Inuit hands. The selection of texts that went into this final edition can be taken as a statement of established preferences, certainly in the case of those nine hymns that appeared in all seven editions. The list of hymns that retained favour across the whole of the twentieth century demonstrates a few consistent traits. They tend to have strong emotional appeal (“God be with you,” “How sweet the Name”), are frequently voiced from the perspective of a child (“Jesus loves me,” “What a friend”), or have widely acknowledged and enduring musical value (“Abide with me,” “Silent night,” “All people that on earth do dwell”). Similarly, the gospel hymns that enjoy considerable popularity outside Labrador but that make only one appearance (if at all) in these volumes reveal Inuit values by their absence. For example, nowhere to be found in these collections are any of Sankey’s own songs (“Out of shadowland,” “The Ninety and the nine,” “Sweet bye-and-bye”) or dramatic narratives that have no connection to Inuit life, such as hymns celebrating Christian militarism (“Onward Christian soldiers,” “Stand up for Jesus”). A closer look at a few of the most consistently performed and reproduced Sankeys will serve to highlight some of the characteristics that have accounted for the enduring popularity of this repertoire. Chief among these hymns is an otherwise little-known one called “Iniksalik.” The original hymn text, “Es ist noch Raum” (“Yet There Is room”), was written by the German pietist Ernst Wilhelm Woltersdorf (1725–1761) around 1750. Although it would be one of the most frequently anthologized of his devotional texts, it seems not to have appeared in hymn-books until the last third of the nineteenth century, at which time it was consistently paired with a Sankey-style tune by Dora Rappard (1842– 1923). From then until around 1920, when it disappeared from most repertoires,

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Figure 2.6  Siegfried Hettasch’s manuscript copy of “Iniksalik,” 1963, which led to the revival of the popularity of this hymn in Labrador.

Rappard’s setting appeared in numerous devotional hymn-books intended for evangelical congregations, missions, and Sunday schools.116 “Iniksalik” entered the Labrador Inuit repertoire with the 1905 edition of Tuksiagalautsit (No. 9), having been translated from the Gemeinschaftsleider (No. 75). It was reprinted in the 1912 compendium, but was deleted from Rev. Harp’s Eskimo Sankey of 1941. However, it remained popular with the Hebronimiut, and it reprised its popularity along the coast after Hebron was resettled in 1959. Writing from Makkovik in April 1963, Rev. Siegfried Hettasch noted that he had distributed copies of the music and a new translation of the text into English to make it available to all Labrador Moravian congregations: You will all be acquainted with the Eskimo choir song: “Iniksalik” (Yet there is room). Here our brass band had played it once or twice, and some of the Settlers took a great liking to the tune. So to help them on it, I went to work together with some of our Mission staff and translated the song into English, and it has already been sung here with great interest. So I thought I might as well pass the words along to you all, in case you would like your choir to sing it at some special occasion. I also found out that there are

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apparently no music copies to this song, at least that is what was told me here by others. We found a music copy of this song in an old German music book and made enough copies, one for each station. Perhaps you will be interested yourself and also pass the notes on to others who also may be interested, your English as well as Eskimo choir masters, etc.117 The text is a hodgepodge of biblical references, loosely gathered around the parable of the wise and foolish virgins and Christ-the-bridegroom’s invitation for all to enter heaven’s gates: “Yet there is room.” While the text has the comforting appeal of a place for all at redemption’s table, it is likely the setting that has ensured the lasting popularity of “Iniksalik.” It was one of only two “Sankeys” to be included on the Nain Choir’s 1967 lp,118 and it holds pride of place on the Nain Brass Band’s 2016 eponymous CD.119 The musical setting is perfectly balanced in an aaba’ structure, in which the recurrent A phrases are characterized by a Victorian lyricism: flexible rhythms, a well-profiled leap of a Major 6th on the first downbeat, and a rhythmic rhyme in the last two segments. By contrast, the B section has a martial straightforwardness to its insistent rhythm and a build of intensity created by the rising sequence that defines its two halves. A shortened return to the A material affords a satisfying conclusion. In contrast to the iconic Moravian chorales with their unvaried, metred rhythms, stalwart harmonies, and esoteric texts, “Iniksalik” offered a more “human” kind of spirituality. The text, however loose, could be taken as a personal invitation to salvation. But the music itself has an unapologetic emotional appeal. The humanness of the Sankey repertoire is best illustrated by another hymn that gained widespread popularity. “Nunamênimne akkunit” (“Must I go, and empty handed?”) is a highly personal narrative of redemption that had appeared in Alexander’s New Revival Hymns. The first Inuktitut version of it was included in the 1905 edition of Tuksiargalautsit. Here it is prefaced by a brief note setting the context for the hymn text. “After a month only of Christian life, nearly all of it upon a sick bed, a young man of nearly thirty years lay dying. Suddenly a look of sadness crossed his face, and to the query of a friend he exclaimed: ‘No, I am not afraid, Jesus saves me now; but oh, must I go, and empty handed?’”120 In 2011, Hebron-born organist John Jararuse spontaneously related this story to me. The difference was that in John’s version the young man was from Hopedale. John’s retelling was rooted in his sincere belief that this “young man” was an Inuk and that the hymn was centred on an Inuit redemption story. The melodramatic story of repentance and death-bed conversion rang true enough to Inuit believers to have become appropriated as their own. It was relatable and real and, over time, comfortably entered Inuit lore.

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Figure 2.7  Gravemarker of Julius C. Lane, Hebron. Inscribed on the headstone are the lyrics to the second chorus of “Nunamênimne akkunit” / “Must I go, and empty handed?”

In the lonely graveyard in the resettled community of Hebron stands the grave marker of Julius C. Lane. The main inscription reads “Thy Will Be Done / In Loving Memory / Julius C. Lane / Called to Eternal Rest / August 23 1925 / At Age 67.” The inscription is followed by two Sankey hymn choruses. The first is from “Safe in the arms of Jesus.” The second is the chorus of “Must I go, and empty handed”: I carried nothing with me I had no worldly possessions To take with me On my journey.

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Figure 2.8  Harry Webb’s boat with Nain Brass Band in tow going out to meet the Harmony, ca. 1910.

The deepest attachment to a piece of music among the Labrador Inuit is likely to the hymn “Takkotigêlarminiptingnut” (“God be with you till we meet again”). One of the fewer than a dozen hymns that appear in every Inuit Sankey hymnal from 1900 to the present day, “God be with you till we meet again” was written by Jeremiah Rankin in 1880 and set to music by William G. Tomer in 1882, appearing as Nr. 494 in Sankey’s Sacred Songs and Solos. It quickly became the ceremonial hymn of parting for auspicious occasions in the Labrador Moravian communities. As noted earlier, H.O. Essex observed that it was the fitting closing hymn at the end of his 1902 official visit on behalf the sfg. It was sung for the missionaries George and Linda Harp as they departed from Inuit summer camps in Okak and Ramah bays during their visitation in the summer of 1936. As noted by the missionary Br C.E. Heinrich Simon in the 1913 Hebron station report, it had become ritual to send off the annual supply ship with a concert that concluded with “Takkotigêlarminiptingnut”: “The arrival of the ship is, as is well known, hailed at all our stations with loud acclamations … It is different when the Harmony leaves the station. In this case, if time and circumstances are favourable, the brass band fetch their instruments, and row

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round the vessel in a boat playing chorales and other tunes. The closing piece is generally “God be with you till we meet again.”121 The earnest sincerity of the text expressing Godspeed “till we meet again” – whether in this life or the next – has resonated with Inuit for well over a century. It expressed an appropriate sentiment as families left the settlements for seasonal camps, or bade farewell to European allies at the departure of the annual supply ship, or, more profoundly still, as loved ones were carried to God’s Acre to meet again their departed loved ones in eternal rest. In Tomer’s setting of the text, the close harmonies and urgent homorhythmic movement of the verse form a tight choral community moving together as one, while the call and response of the more florid chorus is a metaphor for the parting of ways, only to come together once more in the final bars. In a society in which leave-taking with the hope of reunion is built into the cycle of life, it is unsurprising that a hymn such as “Takkotigêlarminiptingnut” has become a sort of spiritual anthem. Often those hopes were rewarded when Inuit reassembled at the mission stations following the fall hunt to reconstitute as a community and celebrate the liturgical cycle of Christmas to Easter together. Frequently the hopes of meeting again were vain ones, as Inuit themselves knew from centuries of living in an unforgiving environment. “Takkotigêlarminiptingnut” was the last hymn intoned as the boats left Hebron on the occasion of the forced relocation and dispersal of all its inhabitants in 1959. In more recent years, years of often unimaginable and tragic loss attributable to dislocation, cultural genocide, and intergenerational trauma, it has become the hymn of choice for funerals. There is always the promise of a happier reunion in the afterlife. A very public performance of “Takkotigêlarminiptingnut” confirms the enduring affection of Inuit for this hymn and its association with leave-taking, and presents it as an expression of Labrador Inuit core values and as a symbol of their identity. The speaker here is Patricia Kemuksigak; the occasion is the appearance of a delegation of Labrador Inuit before Canada’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission on 31 October 2011. Labrador Inuit (along with the Labrador Innu) were the only Indigenous groups in Canada to be excluded from then-Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s apology for the abuses wrought by residential schools – excluded on the technicality that Labrador was not part of Canada at the time the residential school system was introduced. Over the course of this hearing with the TRC, Labrador Inuit victims of the residential school system presented compelling evidence of the abuses they had experienced through colonial oppression. Led by their spokesperson Patricia Kemuksigak, the delegation ended its testimony as follows:

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… and we all need to stand together so that Labrador experiences of residential schools are acknowledged, recognized and we too have an apology for the injustices that happened in the residential schools. Our trauma, abuses, and losses in residential schools are real, true and we need that acknowledgment … We would like to end – the Labrador Inuit would like to end – with an expression from us. We would like to sing “God be with you till we meet again” in Inuktitut. This is our traditional way to end events. We don’t say good-bye; we say “till we meet again.” Thank you.122 This was not an innocent use of a Gospel hymn. Rather it was an overtly political pronouncement as the Labrador Inuit stated their intention to return for a just hearing and the righting of a serious wrong. There was no irony in employing a cultural artifact that originated with the colonizer. For well over a century, “Takkotigêlarminiptingnut” had been an Inuit vehicle to express the most deeply held sentiments of community at the time of parting, to convey forgiveness, and to proffer a firm belief in a better meeting in the future. “Till we meet again” is every bit as much an expression of identity as John Jararuse’s narrator of “Must I go, and empty handed?” was a young Inuk from Hopedale. The hymn repertoires introduced by the Moravians and other Christian visitors to Inuit on Labrador’s north coast became, over time, the spiritual and cultural property of Inuit. For almost two and a half centuries this repertoire permeated the rhythms of daily and domestic life, became the occasion for community, and was embraced as an emblem of the identity of a people.

VI. Hymn Communities The recurrent refrain across more than a century in the Periodical Accounts that Labrador Inuit had an aptitude for music was a statement of observed fact. But it was also an assurance to the supporters of the Society for the Furtherance of the Gospel that the work of the missions was succeeding – succeeding in bringing the grace of Christian civilization to those previously unbaptized, succeeding in spiritual salvation, and succeeding in creating a global Christian community through the shared practice of hymn-singing and the beliefs these hymns spoke. How different could a man be if he sang, with your same fervour, the words to “The Saviour’s blood and righteousness” – even if in an incomprehensible language? The practice of hymnody in the Moravian mission stations on Labrador’s coast created a Christian community among Inuit, whether within the mission

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churches or far from the missionary’s ear at their seasonal camps. But it also created a community with Christians around the world – at other “ends of the earth,” as well as in the European centres that sent missionaries to them. Zinzendorf ’s belief in a “hymn theology” – song as the most direct communication from and to the heart and therefore the most effective means of conveying Christian truth – was a core tenet of the Moravian Church. It was also considered to be a powerful tool in the missionary effort since the time of Spangenberg. Imprinting Christian theology on the minds and hearts of the converts through hymnody was conceived as a kind of spiritual earworm. Through the memorable tunes and simple rhythms of the Brethren’s ancient chorales, the words that outlined Christian belief became superglued to the subconscious through ritual repetition, even before their meaning was fully comprehended. Alongside hymns that were functional in some sense, the Moravians focused their hymn choices for Inuit on narratives of the Passion in the conviction that the emotional story of Christ’s salvic blood and the redemption it offered all men would win the day with potential converts. By the time of the Awakening in 1804, hymn-singing had become infused into the rhythms of community and domestic life around the Labrador mission stations. These hymns also comprised the core resource of the schools’ religious and literacy curriculum. Hymn-singing by its very nature is an inclusive and collective activity. The act of singing together creates instant community; singing together a text infused with passionate sentiments creates an immediate and intense bond. Earliest records confirm that Inuit love for hymn-singing preceded any real acceptance of Christian theology or a personal commitment to the church. To the missionaries the Awakening itself offered proof of the effectiveness of the hymn as a form of “sermon in song.” And by the testimony of the Inuit evangelists who precipitated the Awakening, it was this repository of spiritual truth embedded in their minds through the hymns, even if previously these truths had been indifferently understood, that spoke to them in the voice of Jesus. The extremely high number of hymns in the Moravian Gesangbuch that ended up being translated into Labrador Inuktitut – greater than for any of the other missionary fields served by the Moravians – is testament to the effectiveness of hymnody in promoting Christian faith, but equally, if not more significantly, a testament to the abiding affection Labrador Inuit grew to feel for this repertoire, as well as the deep sense of community that the practice of singing it together has created. As the Inuit hymn repertoire was expanded at the end of the nineteenth century with the introduction of “Sankeys,” the number of hymns in Labrador Inuktitut reached almost 1,200. The traditional

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Moravian chorales had been introduced to Inuit as a liturgical practice, but over time, as they bled into devotional use in Inuit homes and community gatherings, Sankey’s songs arrived as an addition to devotional observances at home and in the community. In time, Sankey-singing became the centrepiece of many social gatherings. This phenomenon underscores the Inuit conception of hymnody as a communal activity beyond all else. Its uses outside the liturgy are defining – at civic and community gatherings, to greet and bid adieu to visitors, for birthday and anniversary celebrations, as messages sent across communities via radio dedications, as nostalgic reminders of vanished pasts, as cultural identifiers. Through communal adoption and a uniquely Inuit pattern of use, the Christian hymnody introduced by Moravian missionaries was appropriated by Labrador Inuit as a cultural artifact through which they expressed their own identity.

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“The Seed of Music Takes Root” It gives us much pleasure to hear that the Eskimoes derive so much pleasure from music and learn to sing and play instruments so easily; even that some are able to provide accompaniment on violins to the congregational singing. Although some might regard this as a minor matter, not giving it much thought, rather [it offers] strong evidence that Christianity also enlightens the senses, and even in the soul of a people who were previously so barbaric, brings forth a transformation. In the old reports from Labrador one read of no music from the Eskimoes other than the hideous howlings and gruntings of the Angekoks through their witchcraft. Now, however, without music necessarily becoming a focus of their education, they have learnt to understand and enjoy the beautiful harmonies in the chorales of our church. In this way many Esquimo musicians can be led through this noble art that God has given us, to his honour and for the enhancement of the service in his house. May what they learn from it always be useful and may the singing and playing serve, through the beautiful truths contained in the music and the texts, to shape a deeper impression their memory and their heart.1 In his annual letter of 1824 to the mission station at Nain, Christian Ignatius La Trobe had ample reason to offer approbation for the initiatives undertaken by the missionaries to enhance Inuit participation in liturgical music. La Trobe, who, by this point, had been Secretary of the Society for the Furtherance of the Gospel for thirty-eight years, was the European point of contact for Moravian missionaries spread around the globe. Founding editor of the Periodical Accounts, he had spent the past thirty-five years telling the stories of the Moravian missions to supporters across the English-speaking world. Correspondent to missionaries stationed from South Africa to Labrador and

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Surinam to Greenland, no European was more conversant with the challenges that beset the Moravians who had gone out to preach Christ’s redemptive blood to non-Christians around the world. Christian Ignatius La Trobe was a uniquely informed and sympathetic liaison between these two worlds. At the same time, he was arguably the most accomplished composer belonging to the Moravian tradition, certainly in England if not across Europe. A man of deep spiritual conviction yet cosmopolitan and worldly in his musical culture, he had undergone his own life-altering epiphanies regarding the particular nature of music in service of spiritual truth. His encouragement to the Labrador missionaries to continue in their efforts to develop “this noble art that God has given us” among Inuit youth came from a deep personal conviction that through music spiritual knowledge could be enhanced without fear of abuse. His encouragement also came from a position in the Moravian institutional structure that could provide concrete support to the missionaries to enhance Inuit contributions to liturgical music in their communities. As with almost all developments in the Labrador missions, precedent for the development of native musical choirs was near at hand, in the earlier established stations in Greenland. Missionary John Gottfried Gorke2 provided this account, dating from the early 1780s, attesting to the musicality of the Greenlanders and their rapid mastery of instrumental and choral music: The Greenlanders being very fond of music, and several Brethren having made some proficiency in playing tunes on the violin, the trumpet, or the French horn, I was glad to be able to render them assistance, so that at last we could perform anthems on festival-days, which contributed not a little to the interest taken by the congregation in our beautiful services. I have always been greatly delighted and edified, by the celebration of the festivals in the Greenland congregations.3 By the time Br Gorke was offering these encouragements, Moravian missions had been established in Greenland for nearly fifty years. So it is not surprising that the first records of Inuit musicians in Labrador participating as instrumentalists and choral singers come from around the time of the fiftieth jubilee celebrations for the founding of the mission station at Nain. The first significant musical activity recorded in Labrador dates from the late autumn of 1820 and was described in lively detail in a personal letter to Ignatius La

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Trobe from Sr A.E. Kohlmeister, 4 excerpts of which were published in the Periodical Accounts: When we began again regularly to meet in the chapel, as usual in winter, new life inspired all our people. Our late Brother Martin seemed quite to revive. Being a musical man, he contrived to put the violoncello, which you sent us some years ago, in order, and to repair the old harpsichord. We carried it into the chapel, and though very imperfectly strung, it was made serviceable in accompanying the singing of the congregation. Brother [Johannes] Koerner played it, and Brother Henn the clarinet, two young Esquimaux play the violin. For Labrador this was a grand orchestra, and supported the voices of the congregation well, which otherwise are apt to sink and lose the pitch.5 Sister Kohlmeister continued with an account of a festival day, celebrated on 13 December. This account mentions what may be the first Labrador performance on record of an anthem sung by an Inuit choir: “The 13th of December, was a festival day to us all … At the conclusion they sung that anthem: Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace, goodwill towards men, and several suitable verses, alluding to the coming of our Saviour into the world, it being the Advent-Season.”6 The anthem sung on this historic occasion was very probably Gûdivut kotsingnermetok (Ehre sey Gott in der Höhe) by the Moravian composer Peter Mortimer.7 Based on watermarks, the earliest manuscript parts for this anthem are now found in the collection in Hopedale and date from 1817.8 These parts suggest the process by which choral music was prepared for and adapted for use in the Labrador missions. The parts are meticulously inked, with the original German text below the staff. In a different hand, a translation to Inuktitut is overlaid, suggesting that the parts were made in Europe from originals in collections there, then shipped to Labrador, where texts were translated for the use of the Inuit choirs. This pattern of text overlay is consistent for many of the anthems, where the earliest part sets display both German and Inuktitut texts – generally in two different hands – and subsequent copies have only Inuktitut text. A register of anthem texts in Inuktitut dating from the second half of the nineteenth century and found in the collection of the Hebron congregation demonstrates that the revision of Inuktitut translations of anthem texts was ongoing.

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Figure 3.1  Bass part to Peter Mortimer’s Gûdivut kotsingnermetok, manuscript date ca. 1817. The part shows the original text in German with the Inuktitut translation.

As possibly the first choral anthem to be sung on the Labrador coast, Mortimer’s Gûdivut kotsingnermetok seems, initially at least, an unlikely choice. The work is elaborately scored – it includes instrumental parts not only for strings and organ but also for two flutes, two trumpets, and two horns. However, as Sr Kohlmeister’s description of Nain’s “grand orchestra” indicates,

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Figure 3.2  Page 5 from a Hebron anthem register, dating from the second half of the nineteenth century, showing corrections to text translations. Anthem texts translated on this page (with dates of translation) are: Jaeschke, Gûd Gûd Nâlegavut / Kommt lasset uns zum Herrn fügen (1887); Jaeschke, Kuvianadlarpoĸ illa mana uvloĸsiorapta / Wir halten das Fest mit Freuden; Schultz, Piulijivut nertorsiuk / Thou child divine (185962); and Gregor, Gûdiga sângne / Mein Herz ist (1859).

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the performance was nothing if not pragmatic, employing the resources at hand. Still, the work is of considerable breadth by the standards of Moravian anthems, a full 127 measures in length and tripartite in its structure. Its Alla Breve Allegro tempo establishes a degree of ceremonial grandeur; the frequent false starts on points of imitation hint at a degree of complexity that never arrives. It is straightforwardly homophonic and tonal throughout. Outside of the scalar melismas in eighth notes in the coda, the rhythms don’t stray far from the short/long alternations familiar from the hymn repertoire. Although a good deal longer and more varied, and punctuated by instrumental interludes, Gûdivut kotsingnermetok would not present insurmountable challenges to an Inuit choir already accomplished at singing the chorale repertoire of the Moravians. Many of the jubilee celebrations in 1821 were marked by music. On the anniversary day itself, celebrated on 9 August 1821, fifty years since the Moravians’ arrival on the Labrador coast, music framed and punctuated the celebrations. Sr Kohlmeister wrote: That was indeed a day which the Lord had made. We were waked with music at six o’clock; at nine we met in the chapel, and the Lord graciously heard our songs of praise, and our prayers that He would be with us on this day of gladness; at ten, and again at eleven, we met to hear an account of all the remarkable events, that had taken place during the fifty years past, since the beginning of this mission: my husband had compiled, and Brother Schmidtman translated it into the Esquimaux language. In the afternoon, at three, was the baptism … then a love-feast … To conclude the day, the congregation ranged itself in a yard before the first house, and sung hymns of praise to God with cheerful hearts and voices.9 The day dawned with music, likely instrumental music given that elsewhere in this account the references to hymns and anthems are specific. Since it was the missionaries who were awakened by music, it can be assumed that the performers were Inuit, perhaps the same Inuit who were members of Nain’s “grand orchestra.” Although the jubilee commemorated the founding of the mission at Nain, the celebrations extended to both other mission stations at Okak and Hopedale. Coincident with the commemoration at Okak was the construction of a new church, which was dedicated on 19 January 1822, at which “some musical instruments accompanied the singing.”10 The jubilee celebrations in Hopedale in August 1821 were recorded in a first-person account by Sr Kohlmeister, thanks to the arrival of an unexpected visitor. Captain W. Martin, commanding

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HMS Clinker, had been sent by the governor of Newfoundland to survey the Labrador coast and had an express directive to visit the Moravian settlements: Captain Martin showed us all possible friendship; he seemed quite at home among us, and was satisfied with our humble fare. At each place he made a feast for the Esquimaux with bread and pease. We were present at Hopedale, on a visit, and were pleased to hear how the Esquimaux expressed their thankfulness, and afterwards sung the anthems – “Glory to God in the highest,” &c. and “Hosanna.” It delighted the Captain exceedingly … We had the pleasure to sail in company with his sloop to Hopedale, and had a most agreeable voyage. He came twice on board the Harmony to pay us a visit. As we approached Hopedale, the Brethren and the Esquimaux, not having received any account of the arrival of the sloop of war, were rather alarmed at its appearance; but we found means, before we cast anchor, to send them word, that all was peace and friendship, upon which the music began to play that hymn, “Now let us praise the Lord,” &c. and the Esquimaux afterwards to fire a salute with their pieces. The sloop answered with great guns, but the Esquimaux were determined to have the last word, and went on firing after the cannon had ceased to roar. It was a calm night, without moon, but the brilliant display of numberless stars and a glorious Aurora Borealis increased the enjoyment.11 Two observations here are especially revealing. First, Captain Martin’s arrival in Hopedale’s harbour was celebrated with what would become the traditional Moravian Inuit welcome: music and the firing of guns. Sr Kohlmeister specifies that “music began to play that hymn,” meaning an instrumental performance, an indication that by August 1821 there were Inuit musicians in Hopedale capable of rendering hymns on instruments. Second, the Hopedale Inuit expressed their gratitude for Captain Martin’s kindness by singing for him two anthems: “Glory to God in the highest,’ &c. and Hosanna.” The first of these was likely the same anthem by Peter Mortimer sung in Nain the preceding December. The second, Hosanna (Hosiana) by Christian Gregor, is perhaps the most emblematic composition in the entire Moravian repertoire and profoundly beloved to this day among Labrador Inuit. Composed in 1783 by the prolific hymnologist and father of Moravian liturgical music Christian Gregor,12 the Hosiana is a jubilant antiphonal setting of the text “Hosanna, Blessed is He that comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!”13 from Mark 11:9–10. Among the first anthems introduced to the Labrador coast, it has remained extremely popular. Though it eventually settled

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into use liturgically on the first and fourth Sundays of Advent and Palm Sunday, it was also sung at Christmas and on other festival days. The text acquired particular importance for Inuit because the “coming” celebrated liturgically coincided with the coming together of the community at those seasons of the year when the Inuit returned to or were about to depart from the settlements. The Advent performances marked their return to the mission stations from the fall hunting camps, while the Palm Sunday performance opened a week of intense spiritual reflection before the communities dispersed again to the spring fishing camps. Remarkable in the simplicity of its materials, Hosiana manages to express an extraordinary sense of ecstasy through the antiphonal exchange of basic triadic melodies. The anthem was sung in a variety of arrangements, including alternating adults and children. Generally it seems that the antiphonal performance practice was maintained in some form, even when performed congregationally. Sr Kohlmeister’s observations about the choral and instrumental performances in Hopedale in the jubilee year were seconded by a missionary stationed there, Lewis Morhardt. A second-generation Moravian in Labrador, Johann Ludwig Morhardt (commonly referred to as Lewis in the Periodical Accounts) was born at Okak in 1782, the son of Andreas Ludwig Morhardt, a member of the group of missionaries who had established the settlement at Nain. Following the protocol for all missionary children, Lewis had been sent back to Germany at the age of six for a Moravian education and to acquire a trade. He apprenticed first as a cabinetmaker, then a baker, finally training to be a teacher with his first appointment in Herrnhut in 1809. In 1811 he was transferred to Niesky to serve as a teacher at the boys’ school and subsequently the Pædagogium. While in Niesky, he was exposed to the very rich musical culture there and acquired some proficiency as a musician. In 1814 he received the call to return as a missionary to the place of his birth, being stationed first at Okak, then at Hopedale. After his furlough in 1822–23, during which he was ordained and married to Anna Maria Weber, he returned to Labrador, first to Hopedale, then Nain in 1827, then Okak in 1833. In 1834 he was appointed house father of the new mission at Hebron, where he remained for a decade before ill health forced a retirement to Herrnhut. He died there in 1854, having spent the last ten years of his life working on Inuktitut translations of the Bible. Though he professed no more than amateur status as a musician, he played a key role in the establishment of choral and instrumental music in each of the stations he served over a crucial thirty-year period in Labrador. The affection the Inuit held for him endures even to the present day. The name Morhardt was one of several missionary names that were adopted by Inuit families in the late nineteenth century when the government of Newfoundland insisted on surnames for all

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Labrador Inuit.14 In addition, the mountain that forms the northwest backdrop of Nain bears the name Morhardt. Late in the summer of 1823, the year Morhardt returned from furlough to take up his position at Hopedale, the station reported on the burgeoning music practice among the Inuit, the foundation of which had been laid by Lewis Morhardt in the years leading up to his furlough: The Esquimaux delight in music, and as several of them can play hymntunes on the violin, they accompany the singing of the Congregation and the performance of some short anthems, which the children and young people have learnt to sing. This contributes to the solemnity and beauty of our worship, especially at festival seasons; and we have heard many pleasing and edifying remarks made upon it by our people. As the Esquimaux learn to accompany hymns and anthems with great ease, we are sorry that we have so few violins for them. An organ would also powerfully support the singing.15 The pleas in the last two sentences are hardly subtle, and they follow on the heels of similar requests from the congregation at Nain. The official station report of Nain’s extended musical celebrations of the jubilee year had concluded with a similar hint that the development of music was hindered most by the dearth of serviceable instruments, especially instruments suitable for use in Labrador’s extremely harsh climate. In their 1821 recap, the Nain missionaries wrote: “Several musical instruments helped enliven the singing of the congregation on this festival day, and, early in the morning, some hymn-tunes played upon them, announced the day. But in very cold weather, wind instruments cannot be used in the church, as the breath freezes in them. An organ would be of essential service to us, and help much to keep the voices to the proper pitch.”16 In a personal letter to Ignatius La Trobe, Sr Kohlmeister had been even more direct in making their desires clear by articulating the limitations of Nain’s “grand orchestra”: “An organ, however, would do it better, and we beg you to remember us in this respect, if you should meet with one, even if ever so small. The cold is here so intense, that while a wind instrument is played upon, the moisture of the breath freezes in the holes, and chokes them; stringed instruments also feel its effect.”17 Lewis Morhardt would have had the opportunity to state the case to La Trobe in person during his passage through London to his furlough in Germany in the autumn of 1822 and again the following spring on his return to Labrador. The cause of encouraging the practice of sacred music among Labrador Inuit did

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not fall on deaf ears when it reached the SFG mission secretary. In his annual letter to the Labrador mission stations, sent with the spring 1824 sailing of the Harmony, La Trobe offered encouragement – both moral and practical – to the missionaries as they nurtured the Inuit aptitude for music: It has given us much pleasure to learn that the Eskimoes love music so much and sing with such pleasure, and even that some of them have learned to accompany the singing with violins and know how to perform short musical pieces. Therefore to encourage this commendable thing, we send two violins to each place, for the use of the players, but as the property of the mission. Thank you to those brethren who have proven themselves in bringing this beautiful art to the Eskimoes. [May] the Saviour grant his blessings to those who sing and play.18 The impact of La Trobe’s encouragement on the course of music in Labrador across the next decade and beyond is so pervasive that it is worthwhile devoting some consideration to his musical philosophy and the legacy of the man who so profoundly influenced the development of music in Moravian Labrador without ever setting foot there.

II. Christian Ignatius La Trobe and Labrador Christian Ignatius La Trobe19 was born on 12 February 1754 at the Moravian settlement of Fulneck in Leeds, England. His father was Benjamin Bonneval La Trobe (1728–1786),20 a Dublin-born Moravian minister who played a critical role in the acceptance of the Moravian Church by the British establishment after being appointed Superintendent of the British Congregations in 1765. La Trobe Sr. was on intimate terms with the church founder, Zinzendorf, and had an abiding interest in efforts to promote the work of missions. Among other contributions, he translated and wrote the preface to Crantz’s History of the Mission in Greenland. Ignatius’s mother was Anna Margaretta Antes (1728–1794), the sister of the gifted American composer and instrument maker John Antes. The La Trobes were distinguished churchmen, civic leaders, and artists across three generations. Ignatius’s brothers included Benjamin Henry Boneval La Trobe, the famous American architect, designer of the US Capitol, and John Frederick La Trobe, an Estonian physician and musician. Among Ignatius’s six children with his wife Hannah Benigna Syms were Bishop Peter La Trobe (1795–1863), a churchman and musician who succeeded his father as secretary of the sfg and

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Figure 3.3  Samuel Bellin, portrait of Christian Ignatius La Trobe after Thomas Barber mezzotint, ca. 1875–94.

editor of the Periodical Accounts as well as the composer/compiler of Moravian Hymn Tunes; John Antes La Trobe (1799–1878) an Anglican priest, hymnodist, and writer on music; and Charles Joseph La Trobe (1801–1875), travel writer and first lieutenant-governor of the colony of Victoria (Melbourne, Australia). Ignatius began his education in the boys’ school at Fulneck. At the age of thirteen he was sent to Niesky in Saxony to attend the Moravian College

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there, which was noted for the sophistication of its musical activities. In his autobiographical Letters to My Children, La Trobe noted that “the academy at Niesky was at that time a good school for music and the works of some great masters were often performed and helped to form the taste of those who loved that science.”21 Among his classmates at Niesky was Christian David Jaeschke (1755–1827), a prolific composer from the golden age of Moravian sacred music whose choral works rank among the most accomplished and enduring in the repertoire. In 1776, La Trobe moved on to the Moravian seminary at Barby, where he advanced his music studies and developed his lifelong belief that time spent making music was never in danger of being wasted. That attitude would inform his encouragement of choral music in the missions in Labrador and elsewhere. “Music remained a favorite amusement,” he later wrote, “and I had much more opportunity for improvement in it than I made good use of; being encouraged by those excellent men, Gregor, Loretz, Verbeek, and others of my superiors. I believe I may say with truth, that it kept me and others out of much mischief, and from spending much of our leisure time in idleness and folly.”22 At Barby, Ignatius felt he had come into his own as a musician, and he embraced his talent: “As it had pleased God to give me a genius for music, I learnt with great facility to play such instruments as were wanting to make our little band more complete; and successively took up the violin, viola, violoncello, oboe, French horn, trumpet, trombone, bassoon, clarionet and double bass.”23 Though most of his performance was on organ or piano, the instrument on which La Trobe would excel was clarinet. After completing his theological studies, in 1779 he was appointed a teacher at the Pædagogium in Niesky. He was delighted to be back in the heady musical environment it offered. From 1779 to 1784, La Trobe tutored in organ and worked with the maestro di cappella Johann Ludwig Freydt (1748–1807). Of this time, he would write: I found there a most musical party, and music afforded to most of us the sweetest recreation after our academical labours … As we had a good leader, our little band became more and more perfect, and our performances more correct and pleasing. This was particularly the case in the years 1783 and 1784, when, with the addition of all hands, both in the Institution and in the settlement, we could muster thirty-two vocal and instrumental performers. The celebration of the festivals and of the passion-week was enlivened by anthems, both of ancient and modern composition.24

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In 1784, newly ordained and after an absence of thirteen years, Ignatius La Trobe was called to return to London to assist his ailing father in administrative duties with the church and the mission society (sfg). The move brought major changes to Ignatius’s life, ranging from the determination of a suitable role for himself within the church to the establishment of a new community to nourish his appetite for musical collaboration. For the first time in adulthood, he was living outside the enclave of the Moravian choir system. His extreme sociability, gregarious nature, and erudition opened doors for him to the widest array of social circles, from the nobility and the corridors of power to the hierarchies of both the established and the dissenting churches, and from the intelligentsia of academic circles to the leading musicians of the day. His exceptional social passport would prove extremely advantageous to the support for the missions. He was elected a member of the sfg upon his return to London in 1784. Three years later he was voted its secretary, replacing the longtime and highly inf luential mission advocate James Hutton. Ignatius would hold the post of secretary of the sfg for fifty years, adding to this responsibility the position of Secretary of the Unity of the Brethren in England in 1795. From the position of these combined roles he became the voice both for and of the Moravian missions in Britain across their critical period of growth and expansion. A key moment in defining La Trobe’s influence was his reluctant involvement in the British debates surrounding the abolition of slavery. In 1786, William Wilberforce (1759–1833), British MP and the eventual leader of the abolitionist movement in Parliament, met with Ignatius La Trobe to learn about the activities of the Moravian missions among the slaves in the West Indies. The official Moravian position of avoiding any involvement whatsoever in public or political debate had been sharpened by a recent, decades-long rehabilitation of the church’s reputation following a mid-century controversy in Britain over aspects of Zinzendorf’s unconventional theology. Furthermore, the Moravian missions in the West Indies owed their existence to the institution of slavery and the complicity of the plantation owners, who permitted the establishment of churches for their slaves. La Trobe managed to maintain a semblance of non-partisanship. However, he was called upon to draft a comprehensive paper on the work and benefits of the Moravian missions in the West Indies. The example of Moravian missions provided a partial way forward with regard to the ethical and economic quandary of the institution of slavery while concurrently earning the Moravian Church a place of moral esteem among the highest circles of British churchdom and society.25

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Under the conservative and isolationist direction of the Herrnhut-based Unity Elders’ Conference, the Moravian Church in Britain had long eschewed the idea of publicizing its missionary activities. However, the newly favourable public opinion toward the Moravians in England in the late 1780s offered a solution to the financial pressures the sfg was experiencing as it expanded its missionary activities around the globe. Ignatius La Trobe’s affability and easy access to the highest circles of influence convinced the SFG that publicizing the activities of the Moravian missions might well be timely and profitable. In a footnote to Letters to My Children, Ignatius’s son John confirms that the idea of the Periodical Accounts, the first Missionary publication of that class which appeared in this country, originated with the writer [C.I. La Trobe], and met, at first, with opposition from certain of his Brethren who were afraid of too great notoriety. Of the first number published in 1790, only 300 copies were printed; before the editorship passed into other hands, the number of copies circulated amounted to nearly 3000.26 In his role as editor of the Periodical Accounts from its founding in 1790 to the passing of editorial responsibility to his son Peter in 1834, Ignatius La Trobe would be both the voice of the Labrador (and other Moravian) missions to their supporters across the English-speaking world and the confidante of those who toiled in the mission field. Across those forty-four years he himself ventured only once into the missionary field, to mediate difficulties that had arisen at the Moravian settlements in South Africa in 1814–15.27 Yet as the chronicler of the Moravian missions and empathetic correspondent to the men and women who laboured in them, no one was more knowledgeable about the worldwide mission activity, nor more persuasive in garnering support for it. Given the demands of his multiple roles in the church, it is a wonder that La Trobe’s parallel career as a musician did not suffer. But suffer it did not; indeed, across this same time period it flourished in ever-broadening circles. In the introduction to Letters to My Children, Ignatius’s son John describes his father as a charming and sociable man: lively, humorous, benevolent: “such was the charm of his society that he seemed ever surrounded with an atmosphere of light.”28 His vocation called upon him to be a brilliant and indefatigable correspondent maintaining an extraordinary level of communication with all the foreign missions, with the central church, and across a wide circle of friends. This vast network developed in him a wide range of interests, owing to his innate curiosity and to the exposure to the world that his correspondence

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allowed. But, as John notes, Ignatius’s informed amateur interests did not include his activities as a musician, which ranked him among the finest of his contemporaries in England: But though he was ever ready to own himself a smatterer in these respects,29 with the science of music he was thoroughly conversant. In this he knew his strength, and would not yield the position to which he felt himself entitled. Endowed with a very superior natural gift, which the excellent musical instruction he had received in Germany enabled him to turn to the best account, his earlier conceptions drew forth the praise and admiration of the celebrated Haydn, who urged him much to devote himself entirely to the musical profession. He however already then dedicated himself and his endowments to a higher service.30 Elsewhere in Letters to My Children, John La Trobe takes pains to establish that his claim for his father’s musical genius was no mere vanity: That such was the fact, no one who had the pleasure of knowing the author personally, of hearing him perform, whether on the organ or the pianoforte, or of listening to, or studying his many and diversified compositions for the church or the chamber, can for a moment doubt. Only a genius, and one of no common order, could have produced, amid the laborious occupations of an active official life and apparently without any severe effort, such a number of beautiful and original pieces, so varied in style, so devotional in character, and giving musical expression so exquisite and so appropriate to the language of Scripture, or the voice of poetry. For real genius, deep feeling, easy and graceful flow of musical ideas, and power of adapting sound to sense, it may be questioned if any native Englishman, since the days of Purcell, is to be compared with him.31 These filial assessments are tempered by the British music critic Edward Holmes,32 who offered a posthumous retrospective on Ignatius La Trobe’s pervasive influence in an 1851 edition of The Musical Times. Their paths having intersected frequently in London’s musical circles, Holmes lauded La Trobe for awakening Britain from its blind obsession with the music of Handel and opening the ears of a generation to the music of Mozart, Haydn, and legions of previously unknown Italian masters. But as a composer, Holmes viewed La Trobe as more competent than genius: “Mr. Latrobe himself composed with a high degree of ability, and shewed in the scores of his Dies Irae, and the

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51st Psalm, a thorough knowledge of the resources of German art. In his day these productions were thought to display genius, though they were probably little else than clever combination and imitation.”33 Whether he was a genius composer or merely an able master of contemporary style, La Trobe’s influence on contemporary British taste in sacred choral music was beyond dispute. Concurring with John La Trobe on this account, Holmes wrote: Mr. Latrobe exercised a quiet influence on music. He was not seen much in public, nor did he appear to take any prominent part in musical matters – yet he lived in correspondence with the first musicians of his time, and among these were Dr. Burney, Dr. Crotch, J.B. Cramer, V. Novello, 34 &c. From his secluded habitation in Neville’s Court, he issued extracts of fine compositions unknown in England, adapted from the score with judgment, so as not to alarm by their difficulty; and in this manner we received from him the first tastes of Mozart’s Requiem, Haydn’s Masses, and of a multitude of fine pieces of the old Italian Masters. His position, his character, and the influence of his powerful connection, gave a currency to these publications, from which we may trace the first inclination of the English to appreciate the successors of Handel in sacred music.35 Among La Trobe’s closest musical collaborators in London was the composer, performer, and musicologist Dr Charles Burney (1726–1814), the author of the first comprehensive history of music in English. La Trobe translated German documents for Burney and introduced him to continental repertoire that Burney had overlooked on his European tours. La Trobe’s most famous musical associate was Franz Josef Haydn (1732–1809), who enjoyed enormous popularity during his London residencies of 1791–92 and 1794–95. Celebrated by London audiences, but lonely in his linguistic solitude, Haydn sought out Germanspeaking musicians of account for companionship during his extended stays, and La Trobe fit the bill perfectly. A warm friendship developed between them. Haydn admired La Trobe’s compositions and, as John La Trobe recorded, encouraged his friend to abandon his vocation in the church and devote himself solely to music. La Trobe returned the compliment by dedicating his three piano sonatas to the German composer.36 Given the many other demands on his time, La Trobe’s compositional output was considerable. He wrote more than 100 anthems for soloists, mixed chorus, and orchestra, several of which remain mainstays of the Moravian festival

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repertoire today. Among his other works were several clarinet concertos (now lost) for his own performance. But the musical publications on which his reputation rested were the six volumes of Selections of Sacred Music, published between 1806 and 1826, anthologies that introduced to the English public the vast repertoire of sacred choral music from the continent.37 These publications expanded the tastes of the thriving community of musical amateurs in England; they also, eventually, forged a link between La Trobe’s life as a musician in London and his role as a catalyst for development of a musical culture in the distant Inuit settlements of the Labrador coast. The extensive editorial work he did for these editions reinforced his belief in the importance of simplicity in heightening the spiritual value of performing sacred music. To fully understand the connection between these two seemingly disparate roles and the bridge across them, we need to take one more step back into the life of Ignatius La Trobe. The centrality of music in his life was never greater than during the years of La Trobe’s apprenticeship in Germany. Ignatius’s extraordinary facility as a performer on the widest range of instruments and the companionship of dozens of equally versatile musicians resulted in a youthful lack of restraint in the execution of sacred music. In his later reflections on this period of his life, he regretted that “our taste at that time was bad. The noble simplicity of our church-music and hymn-tunes was lost in flourishes and ill-placed decorations, and deformed by long straggling interludes. Little attention was paid to that agreement between music and words.”38 It was during this period that Ignatius experienced a musical epiphany when he was called to account by the venerable Bishop Spangenberg39 for the excesses of his style in the accompaniment of hymns. That epiphany would shape La Trobe’s understanding of the nature and the role of sacred music for the rest of his life and across his several vocations. La Trobe recalled being summoned to an audience with Spangenberg one day before he was scheduled to be the organist at a Communion service. The bishop had become deeply disturbed by the ways in which the ornate and decorative accompaniments favoured by the young organists had become distractions from the spiritual reflection that hymn texts were intended to engender. Spangenberg invoked his long-standing family friendship with the La Trobes to ask whether Ignatius would consent to play that day’s Communion service in the “devout” style. In Letters to My Children, La Trobe quoted his mentor: “Now, do you think my dear brother, that you can bring yourself to omit for my sake, what you may consider very fine, and condescend to play a simple tune, unadorned with so many additional notes and flourishes, and though you should even not like it yourself, submit, for friendship’s sake, to humour my weakness.”40

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La Trobe, of course, honoured the bishop’s request and in doing so experienced a revelation in accompanying the hymns in a “simple and artless manner” that would last his lifetime: I was so fully convinced, by the experiment itself, of the superior effect of true simplicity in accompanying hymn-tunes, and suffering the beautiful combinations and transition, which many of them abound to present themselves in their native grandeur divested of the harlequin dress by which many organists are apt to cover and disgrace them, that from that day I changed my whole style of playing … But the most essential benefit I derived from this circumstance was, that it caused me to consider the services of an organist in the Church of God in a very different light; and taught me to pray that, as far as I engaged in it, I might serve Him acceptably, and not disturb, but rather further, the devotions of the congregation.41 This epiphany was more than personal: it formed the basis of his advocacy for liturgical and devotional music in his immediate world and across the Moravians’ global missionary network. In 1795 he published Hymns Sung in the Church of the United Brethren,42 a collection of harmonized chorale melodies adapted from Gregor43 for use in British congregations. La Trobe’s preface underscores the centrality of hymn-singing to Moravian worship and devotional life, emphasizing the spiritual edification that comes from the singing of hymns and the unification of the faithful that results from congregational singing. In service to this purpose, the organist accompanying the hymns occupies a position of highest trust as a servant of God. This trust is best met through La Trobe’s cardinal rule of liturgical music: simplicity. Every musician, possessed of sound musical taste and judgment, will readily acknowledge, that simplicity is a grand source of beauty in churchmusic … The tunes of the hymns of the Brethren are mostly antient [sic], the greater part being common to them and other protestant churches. They ought to be sung and played in their native simplicity, many of them having attained to too great an age, to appear to any advantage in a newfashioned dress. Others are of later date, yet little deviating from the style and simplicity of the former.44 Given his profound belief in the spiritual edification of communal hymnsinging, his demonstrated advocacy for making the finest of European sacred choral music accessible to amateurs, his embrace of the mantra of simplicity in

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all things musical, and his incomparable knowledge of the mission activities of the Moravians around the world, La Trobe’s sincerity in expressing “much pleasure to learn that the Eskimoes love music so”45 in his letters to the Nain and Hopedale mission stations in 1824 is beyond dispute. Missions and music – the two worlds that defined La Trobe – met in the newfound Inuit engagement with sacred choral music, and La Trobe took joy in being able to encourage and enable its development.

III. A Predilection for Extreme Simplicity The repercussions of La Trobe’s encouragements on both sides of the Atlantic were immediate and added to the growing momentum for choral singing among Inuit at the Labrador missions. On 20 August 1824, the Hopedale missionaries added a heartfelt thanks to their station report in acknowledgment of having received the newly expanded and revised hymnals, two new violins, and La Trobe’s words of approbation: We are greatly obliged to you for causing the newly revised hymn-book to be printed … We thank you, likewise, for approving, and assisting in, our attempts to introduce musical accompaniments to aid the singing, in which the Esquimaux delight. May the Lord richly bless and reward you for all the benefits we enjoy through your liberality, and enable you to continue to supply us with the necessaries of life.46 The Nain report included a similar expression of gratitude for La Trobe’s encouragement: “We thank you for your approbation of our attempts to teach our young people to perform sacred music, since many of them have so much talent for it. Brother Glitsch47 has been indefatigable, and very successful in their instruction; and our worship has, on various occasions, been greatly enlivened by their performances.”48 These reports sailed to London in the autumn of 1824 on the mission ship Harmony. Also taking that voyage were Benjamin and Anna Elizabeth Kohlmeister, who were retiring after thirty-four years of service in the Labrador missions. As was the custom, before continuing on to Germany the Kohlmeisters were received by Ignatius La Trobe, who invited them to the annual meeting of the SFG. Excerpts from their valedictory overview of the state of the Moravian missions to Labrador Inuit were published in the subsequent issue of the Periodical Accounts. The Kohlmeisters’ report was wide-ranging, covering the continued growth in the rate of conversions (there were now 705 baptized Christians among

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Inuit), the soundness of the Moravians’ efforts to encourage literacy and access to scripture, the need to expand mission activities farther north, and the tremendous value in encouraging singing and hymnody. Kohlmeister wrote: The new hymn-book, lately revised and enlarged, which you have had the goodness to print for them this year, is a truly valuable present. When they heard that it had arrived with the ship, they rejoiced exceedingly, and we are convinced, that the use of it next winter will, by the Lord’s blessing, prove a means of great edification to them, and fill their hearts with gratitude towards their benefactors.49 In publishing Kohlmeister’s address in the Periodical Accounts, La Trobe could not refrain from expanding on the significance of the musical developments at the Labrador missions. His audience – both those in the room at the SFG annual meeting and those among the readers of the Periodical Accounts – included the most faithful and generous of the benefactors of the Labrador missions. La Trobe’s expansion on Kohlmeister’s report did not avoid mention of the kind of material support they could provide to assist in encouraging the Labrador music practice flourish: Besides the information contained in the foregoing letter, Brother Kohlmeister communicated many interesting particulars relative to the Mission in Labrador, and especially in regard to the benefits conferred on the Christian Esquimaux, by their having been taught to read and write. During the long winter-nights, and when at a distance from the settlements, at their hunting-places, their most agreeable occupation is to read those parts of the Scriptures together, which, by the generous aid of the British and Foreign Bible Society, have been printed for them … They also delight to join in hymns, of which they easily learn the tunes. Many of the women and children having sweet voices, their singing is very delightful and affecting, nor is there any danger of their abusing this precious gift for improper purposes, as the use of music is altogether confined to the service of religion. Many of them show great capacity for learning to play upon any musical instrument. Violins have been introduced, and French horns, and a few of them accompany the voices with great precision and devotional effect. Some of the Missionaries have even succeeded in teaching them to sing short and easy anthems, in three or four parts, by which, on particular occasions, the worship of the congregation is much enlivened.50

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In Labrador, throughout the 1824–25 year the new hymnals and the new instruments were put to good and frequent use. In their annual report dated 13 August 1825, the Nain missionaries offered proof of the success of the new hymn-book and the Inuit choir’s mastery of several new anthems: The meetings and schools have, by the blessing of God, been made truly profitable to our Esquimaux. They have also learnt to sing several of the new tunes to the hymns in the new hymn-book. In general, we rejoice to perceive a new awakening by the spirit of God in the hearts of our dear people, which excites us to thank and praise the Lord. Several short anthems, translated into the Esquimaux language by Brother Müller,51 have been sung by a choir of Esquimaux, on solemn occasions, with great acceptance. We wish this pleasing addition to our Church-service may be encouraged and continued, as so promising a beginning has been made.52 Framing a statement regarding the “awakening” of the spirit among Inuit between two observations about expanded music in the liturgy served as a confirmation of the Moravians’ belief that liturgical music was both a rarified form of prayer and the most effective way of communicating spiritual truth. The reference to Brother Müller’s translation of anthem texts confirms that the manuscripts for these choral works had been prepared in Europe with original texts, shipped to Labrador, and translated there by missionaries with a degree of competence in Labrador Inuktitut. The station diary for the same year from Hopedale reported with considerable satisfaction on the musical elements of the celebrations around Christmas: Both, on these choir festivals,53 as well as on Christmas Eve and earlier at the congregational festival, some musical pieces and arias were sung, and we rejoiced that violin players as well as singers were paid with satisfaction for their diligence in their effort of learning them, in that singing as well as accompaniment of instruments were quite pleasant, and we hope that by additional practice something more complete will gradually appear.54 By the following year, Hopedale could report a flourishing musical choir with strong support from Inuit instrumentalists. The station report dated 26 August 1826 includes a paragraph on the truly remarkable progress that had been made: “In our liturgy and other solemn services of the Church, we are now assisted by the accompaniment of violins, which several Esquimaux brethren

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have learnt to play, and by frequent practice acquire more perfection. We thank you for the anthems you have sent; our people have learnt to play and sing nineteen different pieces.”55 One of the signatories of that letter, John Lewis Morhardt, was undoubtedly the missionary chiefly responsible for the burgeoning musical activities at Hopedale. In a personal letter to Ignatius La Trobe also included in the 1826 communications from Labrador, Morhardt expanded on his role in the rapid progress made by Inuit musicians: Being appointed both school-master and music-director, (as there is no better), I have enough to do, both with my pen and my schools, but it is a pleasure to me to serve the youth. I wish we had more violins, and a violincello, [sic] as likewise a larger assortment of strings; for I perceive, that it is well worth the while to teach the Esquimaux music, and our labour is not in vain.56 Only a few months later, the expansion of the church at the Hopedale mission was completed; it now included spaces designed specifically for the musical choir, with a designated space for instrumentalists: The erection of our new church was completed by the end of the preceding year [1826]. Having thus obtained a neat and convenient place of worship for our Esquimaux flock, we proceeded to add a small platform at each extremity, for the use of our musical choir, which is called into frequent exercise by the recurrence of liturgical and festival services. These platforms are occupied by the singers, the instrumental performers standing in the body of the chapel, opposite the minister’s desk. We beg to return our sincere thanks for the valuable present of two violins and a violoncello, whereby our young performers will not be a little encouraged to persevere in their endeavours to enliven the singing of the congregation.57 A year later the missionaries at Hopedale could report that the recently received instruments were being put to good use by Inuit: “You will be glad to hear, that our Esquimaux retain their love, and cultivate their talent, for music. They play and sing anthems on festival days, and on other occasions. One of them has learnt, in a very short time, and with but little instructions, to play the violoncello pretty well.”58 While the missionaries at Hopedale were penning this encouraging report, the station at Nain received cargo that would alter the course of music-making

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on the coast. Having recently been transferred from Hopedale to Nain, Lewis Morhardt wrote to La Trobe of the arrival of the first organ in Labrador, an instrument all the more precious because its history dated back to the earliest days of the Moravian renewal in Herrnhut: I cannot describe to you the pleasure which the introduction of the first organ into Labrador has excited among our Esquimaux, and how much it appears to conduce not only to the beauty of our liturgical services, but also to the devotional spirit which is essential to the true enjoyment of them. When the organ first arrived,59 in the summer of 1828, it appeared doubtful for a time whether we should be able to repair the injury it had sustained on its long journey and voyage, so as to admit of being used at all. The greater was our joy, when we found our endeavours crowned with success; and the delight which was depicted on the countenances of our Esquimaux, when the first sound of an organ was heard in Labrador, is more easily imagined than described. I am glad to be able to add, that notwithstanding the intense cold of our climate, we have seldom been prevented making use of it, during the past winter; damp seems to affect it much more than frost, the pipes being chiefly of wood, and of considerable age. You are probably aware that it is the same instrument, which assisted the devotions of the Moravian emigrants at Herrnhut, on the erection of their first meeting hall in the year 1724, and which has for nearly a century been more or less constantly in use with our Brethren in that settlement. To meet with an organist seemed at first a task of greater difficulty, but even this has by the Lord’s blessing been surmounted. Though possessed of very limited musical knowledge, and accustomed hitherto only to the touch of a piano-forte, I was kindly encouraged by my Brethren to prepare myself for this agreeable service in the house of God: and through His gracious help, I was at length enabled, on the 7th November [1828], to accompany the congregation on the organ for the first time. The English edition of our tune-book60 which you were so good as to send me, I have found particularly useful, and beg again to return my best thanks for it.61 After another full year in service in the Nain congregation, Morhardt wrote again to La Trobe, reflecting on the transformative role the new-to-Labrador organ played, even while acknowledging the limitations of an instrument already well over 100 years old when it arrived. Morhardt believed that the instrument had had a profound effect on Inuit auditors, as a mechanical and sonic marvel, as a means of enhancing the quality of the music they could make, and as a

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vital support to the spiritual enlightenment that Christian Inuit would attain through the anthem and hymn texts they sang: Our musical performances, in the house of God, have continued to afford pleasure and edification. The organ has remained in tolerable tune, and been in frequent use during our public and private services. All we have to regret is, that the compass is so small, and the pitch so high; the latter circumstances is productive of much inconvenience to our violin players. The singing, both of our little choir, and of the congregation, is very pleasing; and our people evidently take delight in this enlivening portion of the Christian worship. Their predilection for extreme simplicity of accompaniment is remarkable, and their example in this particular is not unworthy the attention of their more civilized Brethren in Europe. When visitors from other congregations at Okkak and Hopedale attend our services, they are much struck with the effect of the organ, and loudly testify their gratification. An Esquimaux, from the former place, expressed himself as follows: “How happy I feel; I am reminded, by what I have heard, of Jesus and of the company of the saved, who surround His throne, and sing His praises. Those are indeed delightful notes, which I shall not soon forget.” Some of the more intelligent of our people have come to me, and requested that I would shew them the interior, and explain the construction of the instrument. This being done, their wonder has been extreme. As long as they continue in their present simplicity, and neither know nor desire any other use of “stringed instruments and organs” than that which has an immediate reference to the “praise and glory of God,” we cannot but feel disposed to encourage their attention to the study and practice of music. May it long be sanctified to them as a means of spiritual blessing.62 La Trobe himself would have translated this letter from the German to English for publication in the Periodical Accounts. One can imagine with what relish he translated Morhardt’s words observing the Inuit “predilection for extreme simplicity,” resonating as it did with his own oft-expressed philosophy of sacred music. Less than a decade had passed since Sr Kohlmeister had described the Inuit participation in anthem singing and a “grand orchestra” in Nain. Fewer than ten cycles of annual updates had been exchanged across the Atlantic between the Secretary of the SFG and the Labrador missionaries. And now performances of the Moravian anthem repertoire were

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complementing congregation hymn-singing and enlivening worship in Labrador on a regular basis. With repeated encouragements in his annual letters and material support to answer every request for additional instruments and music scores, La Trobe stoked the Labrador missionaries’ determination and provided them with the resources to assist Inuit in acquiring a level of mastery in this recently alien form of cultural expression. In turn, the accomplishments of Inuit musicians offered La Trobe a confirmation of his own deeply held belief in the role of sacred music as a form of spiritual enlightenment. It was equally a confirmation of La Trobe’s creed of simplicity in achieving that goal through music, as well as, for him as secretary of the SFG, a confirmation of the rightness of the mission venture in bringing Christian values to Inuit. In 1834, partly paralysed and losing his eyesight, La Trobe retired from his positions as secretary of the sfg and editor of the Periodical Accounts, handing those reins to his eldest son, Peter (1795–1863). Ignatius’s death two years later elicited fond and personal tributes from Brethren stationed all along the Labrador coast. Long after his death he was remembered as a true friend and musical benefactor of the Labrador missions. In 1844 his portrait was hung in the library at the Nain mission house;63 in 1852, Br A.F. Elsner, a young missionary stationed at Hopedale with a strong interest in encouraging Inuit musical activities, wrote Peter La Trobe: Our services in the Passion-week were enlivened by the introduction of the new Liturgies, which I was enabled, through the kindness of some friends of the Mission, to get printed during my visit in Europe. The musical choir performed their part to great satisfaction … I also regret that, of your father’s beautiful and devotional compositions, we possess only one anthem: “Holy Redeemer, by Thy Rest Most Glorious &c” which we performed at Easter, with the accompaniment of the pianoforte and two clarionets.64

IV. Jêsub niaĸone nêrpa – Early Anthem Repertoire in Labrador The implantation of the Moravian sacred music culture on the north coast of Labrador in less than a decade is nothing short of extraordinary. Champions on both sides of the Atlantic capitalized on the Inuit attraction to European sacred music and nourished their innate aptitude for it. La Trobe provided the

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Figure 3.4  Detail of Br Jonathan Mentzel’s drawing of the Hebron mission building, 1831. The chapel is the leftmost room in the structure. Platforms for the choir and instrumentalists are added in pencil on the right wall of the chapel.

Figure 3.5  Hebron men’s choir, ca. 1958, on the choir platform at the rear of the church.

imprimatur of the church and acted as the European advocate, engineering the acquisition of material resources from Britain and Germany to facilitate this development, raising donations of stringed and wind instruments, brokering the gift of the first of what would be a succession of organs for Labrador churches, and assembling and shipping the collections of music manuscripts and tune books that would form the core of the choir libraries in each of the Labrador

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congregations. On the west side of the Atlantic, Brethren with even a smattering of musical skills added music teaching to the list of their duties. Missionaries like Lewis Morhardt, Zacharias Glitsch, and the recently arrived Jonathan Mentzel offered instruction across the range of string, wind, and keyboard instruments to eager young Inuit men in “extracurricular” meetings. Singing became a core element of the school curriculum to the degree that by the time Inuit youth were ready for confirmation they could sing in parts. Many were musically, as well as verbally, literate.65 A highlight of every school examination period would soon be the singing of hymns in parts or the performance of a canon or round by the younger children. Those missionaries without a musical background contributed to the effort by translating anthem texts from German or English into Inuktitut – a challenge that exceeded the already daunting tasks of translating books of the Bible or hymn verses because of the inherently reflective nature of anthem texts and their scansion, which was typically much more complex and varied than the simple fast/slow binaries that characterized chorale rhythms. The significance and presumed permanence of this f ledgling practice was reflected in the architecture of the mission station. As noted earlier, the new chapel at Hopedale, completed in 1827, included raised platforms for the singers, one each on the men’s and women’s sides of the chapel, as well as a designated space for instrumentalists along the centre back wall facing the table from which the service was led. Early in the next decade, as the mission expanded northward, establishing the settlement at Hebron, the earliest floor plan drawings would include the placement of platforms for the singers and instrumentalists as well as for an organ,66 now an essential component of rudimentary chapel layout. By far the most telling evidence of the nature of this rapidly acquired musical culture among Inuit is found in the paper on which the music was written. We do not know exactly what the Hopedale and Nain choirs sounded like in 1829, nor even how many members they had or how many string players backed them up. The clues we have about exactly what repertoire was sung where and when are also inconclusive. But the worn sheets of music manuscript – single sheets for each soprano, alto, tenor and bass; violin, viola, cello – some of which have lived on the shelves of the choir loft or vestry for more than 200 years, do offer clues not only about what was sung but, often, about how it was adapted to the Inuit voices of Labrador. Based on watermarks and other paleographic evidence, we know that by 1829 there could have been manuscript materials for up to about forty different Moravian anthems in the collections of one or another of the choirs at the Labrador missions. All the watermarked paper on which these parts were written

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c a l l e d u psta i r s Table 3.1  Anthems in Labrador that predate 1821 wm

Composer

Inuktitut title

German title

1814

Gregor

Jêsub niaĸone nêrpa

Jesus neigte sein Haupt

1814

Gebhard

Nâlekab saimarsaininget

Die Gnade und Wahrheit des Herrn waltet

1816

La Trobe

Nâlegaĸ inôgutaujoĸ

Ruhe sanft nach langem Leiden

1817

Gebhard

Gûde nakorijomavavut

Wir wollen täglich rühmen von Gott

1817

Mortimer

Gûdivut kotsingnermetok

Ehre sey Gott in der Höhe

1817

Wolf

Kailauritse piulijaujosse

Versammlet euch, erlöste Seelen

1817

Wolf

Nertorsiuk Salaĸartoĸ

Anbetung, Dank und Preis und Ehre

1818

Grimm

Kuvianak Bethaniab

O Bethania, du Friedenshütte

1818

Naumann

Jêsusib aunga ikkingillo

Du süsser Weinstock, deine Reben

1818

Mozart

Jêsub timinga ĸaitaungmit

Heil’ger Leib für uns gegeben

1818

Freydt

Tarniptigut tautukaptigit

Seh’ich in deinen Seelenschmerzen

was manufactured within a radius of 240 kilometres from the sfg headquarters on Fetter Lane in London, making it likely that the source for the Labrador repertoire was La Trobe himself. Eleven anthems are written on one or more sheets of paper that predate the “grand concert” at Nain in December 1820. Some or all of these anthems may have initially been intended for “house” use, to be performed by members of the missionary household as part of domestic devotions and liturgies. The strong Moravian choral tradition made music an integral part of communal life within the mission house. Several of the Labrador missionaries had competence on one or more musical instruments. But as opportunities developed to integrate Inuit singers and musicians into the performance of festal music, the German texts for these anthems were translated into Inuktitut. This first generation of music manuscripts included anthems that would be among the earliest sung by Inuit choirs. In addition to Mortimer’s Gûdivut kotsingnermetok (Ehre sey Gott in der Höhe) which Sr Kohlmeister noted was performed on 13 December 1820, and Gregor’s Hosiana, which was performed at the jubilee celebrations at Hopedale the following summer, this earliest set of manuscripts included a number of anthems that have remained mainstays of the Inuit repertoire to the present day. The copious manuscript materials for Gebhard’s Nâlekab saimarsaininget / Die Gnade und Wahrheit des Herrn waltet offer some insight into the probable

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Figure 3.6  A short score for Johann Gottfried Gebhard’s Nâlekab saimarsaininget (detail), watermarked 1814, with original German text.

Figure 3.7  A later short score for Nâlekab saimarsaininget with text in Inuktitut.

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process of preparing, receiving, and adapting music manuscripts for use at the Labrador missions. The earliest dated material in this set is a short score watermark-dated 1814. This rather extended chorus with two contrasting sections for soprano solo was condensed into two or three staves: two containing most of the material for the chorus, strings, and organ, and one for the solo soprano when present. The underlaid text is in the original German. There are two additional manuscripts that appear to date from around the same time, likely for distribution to the other two mission stations. A fourth, early short score is marked for “Canto et Violoncello” with Gebhard’s German title, but with an Inuktitut translation of the vocal texts. A later, complete set of parts belongs to a catalogued collection of anthem manuscripts assembled by Br Jonathan Mentzel, a missionary who first arrived on the Labrador coast in 1819. This set consists of parts for flute or oboe, two French horns, strings, organ, soprano soloist, and satb chorus; these are texted in the original German with an Inuktitut translation entered below in a different hand. The Mentzel collection manuscript would become the Urtext for individual vocal and string parts copied across the ensuing decades. A comparison between these two sets of materials for an anthem that appeared early in Labrador suggests that prior to the establishment of Inuit choirs, music manuscripts were shipped to Labrador in the most economical form, that is, as a skeletal score from which the missionary household could construct performance materials to suit their needs and capacities. The much more comprehensive materials included in the set assembled for Jonathan Mentzel, presumably once the determination had been made to encourage the development of Inuit choirs, speaks to more openended ambitions for developing a musical practice in Labrador. Except for Mortimer’s doxology Gûde nakorijomavavut and Gebhard’s Nâlekab saimarsaininget, both originally written for festal anniversary celebrations, all of the other early-appearing anthems were intended to be performed as part of the Passiontide cycle, the most solemn and compelling moment in the Moravian liturgical year. The story of Christ’s Passion, His blood shed for the remission of mankind’s sins, was central to the Moravian narrative and the core tenet of the Church’s conversion strategy. As discussed in the chapter on hymnology, a disproportionate percentage of the hymns that entered the Labrador repertoire to the time of the 1824 hymnal were intended to inspire contemplation of the Passion narrative in general and Christ’s salvific blood and wounds in particular.67 So it is hardly surprising that anthems that extended this trope figured prominently in the early repertoire. The earliest of these Passion anthems to enter the Labrador repertoire was quite probably Christian Gregor’s Jêsub niaĸone nêrpa (Jesus neigte sein Haupt /

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Jesus bowed his head), a reflection based on John 19:30,68 dramatically pinpointing the moment of Christ’s death on the cross: Jesus bowed his head, bowed his head and gave up the Ghost! Tis done? The precious ransom’s paid. Tis finished! Jesus cries. For us he bows his sacred head, He bows his head and dies! Jesus bowed his head, bowed his head and gave up the Ghost. This text was central to the Moravian message of redemption through Christ’s Passion. Beyond that, Gregor’s setting, composed in 1766, provided the Inuit musicians with a familiar point of access to the musical complexity of an anthem. Jêsub niaĸone nêrpa takes a form analogous to the instrumental chorale prelude, with the voices intoning the text in a simple four-part texture, reminiscent of a hymn in its homophony and undifferentiated rhythms. Chorus and a soprano soloist alternate verses in a familiar call and response pattern. Meanwhile the upper strings (and organ, once there was one) introduce, interject, and embellish the voices with an intricate accompaniment. With doubling support in the lower strings, the Inuit choir, already skilled in hymn-singing, would find the mastery of Gregor’s anthem straightforward, even as the instrumental filigree that surrounded their voices added a layer of solemnity to the contemplation of Christ’s death by crucifixion. Watermark evidence indicates that a complete set of instrumental parts, plus the soprano solo for Jêsub niaĸone nêrpa, could have been in Labrador by 1818, given that the earliest watermarked part dates from 1814. A short score, with both German and Inuktitut texts and similar to the format of other early short scores, bears no watermark. It is also possible, however, that the material for this anthem arrived in Labrador via La Trobe’s 1811 published volume of Moravian anthems for liturgical and devotional use.69 Copies of this publication remain in the choir collections of each of the extant churches on the coast. The copy now at Hopedale shows a partial underlay of the Inuktitut translation of the text in a careful hand. Several of the remaining anthems that could have been in the Labrador collections before 1821 have remained mainstays of the Inuit choirs’ repertoire up to the present day. These include: • Tarniptigut tautukaptigit (Seh’ich in deinen Seelenschmerzen / When we in spirit view Thy passion, O Jesus!), composed by Johann Ludwig Freydt in 1782 while La Trobe was under his mentorship in Niesky. With its text of tearful repentance over Christ’s shed blood, this anthem continues to be sung during the Good Friday liturgy.

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• Mozart’s beatific Ave verum corpus, K. 618, which is the source music for four different contrafacta found in Labrador collections. As Opinak ikkeliojotit, it continues to centre the 3 p.m. liturgy sung on Good Friday.70 • Jêsusib aunga ikkingillo, an Inuktitut version of one of several texts sung to Johann Gottlieb Naumann’s (1741–1801) Du süsser Weinstock, deine Reben, itself a contrafactum from the priests’ chorus Du heilge Quelle reiner Seelen from Act 1, Scene 3 of his 1782 opera Cora och Alonzo. In this version of the text, the sacred wine of communion taken on Holy Thursday prefigures Christ’s blood shed on the cross. • Ernst Wilhelm Wolf ’s (1735–1792) Nertorsiuk Salaĸartoĸ (Anbetung, Dank und Preis und Ehre), a complex anthem with a continuous history of performance on Easter Sunday from the nineteenth century to the present day. The earliest short score and choral parts bear watermarks from 1817. • An aria, Kuvianak Bethaniab iglunga (O Bethania, du Friedenshütte / Bethany, O peaceful habitation), sung today in Labrador churches on the eve of Palm Sunday. Composed by Johann Daniel Grimm (1717–1760) for his cantata Selig sind die Toten, this aria makes extreme technical demands on the soprano soloist for vocal coloratura in a high register. • Christian Ignatius La Trobe’s own 1784 anthem Nâlegaĸ inôgutaujoĸ (Ruhe sanft nach langem Leiden / Lord of life, now sweetly slumber), widely regarded by his European contemporaries as one of La Trobe’s finest sacred compositions and with a long performance history in Labrador. Over the course of the nineteenth century it would undergo much adaptation at the hands of Inuit musicians. These early acquisitions to the catalogue of anthems in Labrador may have been intended for use in the mission house, but they were prescient for the future. Except for two anthems by Gebhard, Wolf ’s Kailauritse piulijaujosse, Mortimer’s Gûdivut kotsingnermetok, and La Trobe’s own Nâlegaĸ inôgutaujoĸ, all of these works have remained in the active repertoire of the Nain choir to the present day. While some of them, like Gregor’s Jêsub niaĸone nêrpa, the Hosiana, and even the contrafacta on Mozart’s Ave verum corpus, were composed in a style that would make the transition from call and response or four-part hymnsinging to anthems relatively comfortable, others, like Mortimer’s Gûdivut kotsingnermetok and Wolf ’s Nertorsiuk Salaĸartoĸ, presented new challenges with their polyphonic textures and complex rhythms. Ignatius La Trobe curated the repertoire sent to Labrador, leaving the mission house musicians at Nain

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Figure 3.8  Signatures of C.I. Latrobe, demonstrating that he personally prepared some of the anthem manuscripts provided to the Labrador missions: (above) from an 1825 letter to Nain missionaries; (below) from the manuscript to Nâlegaĸ saimasaijoĸ, prepared for Hopedale in 1823.

and Hopedale to adapt it to the instrumental resources they had at hand and to the capacities of the Inuit musicians whom they had begun mentoring. Late in the autumn of 1821, Sr Kohlmeister’s report of the “grand orchestra” and the burgeoning choral activity at both Nain and Hopedale alerted La Trobe to the potential for developing a practice of choral singing in the Labrador missions. The prospect of this would have been considerably reinforced when Lewis Morhardt met with La Trobe in the autumn of 1822. It seems that while returning to Labrador via London the following spring, Morhardt added a set of at least eight new choral anthems to his baggage. Each of these anthem sets, all of them still in the collection of the Hopedale choir, is partly or entirely on paper manufactured in 1823 by J & T Jellyman of Downton, Salisbury, southwest of London.71 Indeed, some of the manuscripts in this 1823 group appear to have been written in Ignatius La Trobe’s own hand, including a set of parts for the anthem Nâlegaĸ saimasaijoĸ, which bear the unusual feature of indicating the composer’s name in the upper right corner. These eight new anthems expanded the repertoire range for the Hopedale choir, adding works suitable for liturgical festivals outside of Passion Week and mirroring the expansion of liturgical repertoire in the soon to be expanded hymnal. Also among them were three anthems for use during the Christmas cycle:

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• La Trobe’s own Anêrne ĸartut (Was Odem hat verkünd’ge / Now all that breathe His mighty), sung on the Feast of the Epiphany. • An anthem for Children’s Festival Day by the stalwart Moravian composer Johann Christian Geisler (1729–1815), titled Kittorngauneĸ Kristusemut ânanâĸ! (Wie herrlich ists ein Schäflein / How great the bliss to be a sheep). • A dazzling aria and chorus from La Trobe’s friend and mentor, Franz Josef Haydn, destined to be sung on Christmas morning, Engelit ĸillangmiugaseksuit. This excerpt from Haydn’s oratorio, The Creation (1797–98), is sung in the voice of the Archangel Gabriel with a chorus echoing the resounding praises of God. The soloist’s high tessitura and the demanding choral parts reveal La Trobe’s ambitions for the Inuit choirs. As to be expected, a number of anthems to enhance the liturgies of the Passiontide were included in this collection, among them: • Ahâĸ Gûdib Saugârsunga (Siehe das ist Gottes Lamm) by Gottfried August Homilius (1714–1785), a chorus from his 1775 Passion Cantata and a work that would become a staple of the Labrador repertoire at all mission stations in the latter half of the nineteenth century. • A complete part set for La Trobe’s own recently composed Nâlegaĸ saimasaijoĸ napĸigosuktolo (Er hat ein Gedächtnis gestifret seiner Wunder / The Lord hath made His wonderful works), an extended work of considerable complexity. • A short chorus by Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach (1714–1788) that has remained an integral moment in the Holy Thursday services to the present day, Piniarneĸ ussornartoĸ! On a text from Christian Fürchtegott Gellert’s Geistliche Oden und Lieder, Bach’s setting dates from 1759. It was subsequently adapted by Christian Gregor for use in the Moravian Passion liturgy and was published in 1811 in an arrangement and translation by La Trobe as I smite upon my guilty breast.72 • And a simple chorus by Geisler, Nutaĸĸallo amamaĸtullo (Aus dem Munde der jungen Kinder), performed as a companion to the Hosiana on Palm Sunday and, like it, composed in an antiphonal style between two equal voices with accompaniment.

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The remaining anthem belonging to this 1823 collection is a curiosity, even in the Moravian repertoire, and once again points to La Trobe’s hand guiding the development of the Labrador repertoire. The composer of Kuvianak nerringijavut (O angenehme Augenblicke), Joseph Jackson (1769–1808), was the son of a Moravian missionary in Jamaica. After a European education, Joseph returned to the mission field in the place of his birth in 1800.73 His compositional output was slight, comprising half a dozen anthems set to German texts. None appear to have been published, and only seventeen known manuscript copies exist outside of Labrador. Because of his role as secretary of the sfg, La Trobe would have been among the few musicians who knew Jackson’s work. Kuvianak nerringijavut is an anthem of modest means and proportions and eventually entered the repertoire at all Labrador stations, being performed on the Widow’s Festival Day. La Trobe used Br Kohlmeister’s 1824 report to the sfg to underscore, among other things, the rapidly emerging choral practice among Inuit, bringing this worthy development to the attention of mission supporters. In Labrador itself, La Trobe responded in 1825 with the tangible encouragement of forwarding to Labrador another collection of new anthem manuscripts. As had been the case two years earlier, discrete paper sources for this material suggest that this collection was assembled at one source. All the watermarked manuscripts dated 1825 remaining in the Labrador collections come from either of two British papermakers: J Simmons and Gilling & Allford.74 The works in this collection once again mirrored La Trobe’s own beliefs regarding the nature of sacred music, as well as his knowledge of the capacities of the Labrador choirs and his ambitions for their further development. Six of the nine anthems new to Labrador choirs in this collection are works by the earlier generation of Moravian composers: Christian Gregor, Johann Christian Geisler, and Johann Heinrich Riess (1768–1831). Unlike some of La Trobe’s previous shipments of choruses and arias by composers like Naumann, Wolf, Haydn, and Mozart, the anthems by these Moravian conservatives are notable for their utmost simplicity in textures and rhythms, which meant they could be easily mastered by a choir newly graduated from the homorhythmic four-part writing of chorales. Included among these works are: • Gregor’s Ave ĸakkaktitotille (Ave o du blass und bleiche) to a text by Zinzendorf, set for three voices (SAB) and with a hymn-like texture, with instruments doubling the parts.

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• Employing the same doxology text as Mortimer’s previously noted anthem, a short score/organ part for Gregor’s Gûdivut kotsingnermetok nakoridlartaule (Ehre sey Gott in der Höhe / Glory to God in the highest) provided the source from which all parts could be extracted. • Geisler’s Good Friday anthem Jêsusib ânianget illuvinganut (Das Passions Getöne führt mich bis zu der Gruft / In this sepulchral Eden), for which several different versions would emerge over the next decades. • A short score for Geisler’s Amen, Amen, Nâlekab, Gûdipta (Amen der Herr thue also / Amen! The Lord our God we bless), other materials for which would be among the first catalogued anthems in Jonathan Mentzel’s Hebron collection. • Johann Heinrich Riess’s Pangna Kristus nertortaule (Lob sei Christo in der Höhe), a lengthy anthem for use on the Feast of the Ascension or Pentecost, but with straightforward triadic and scalar writing for the voices. • A brief, unattributed anthem in homophonic texture with martial rhythms, Issoĸangitoĸ ĸaumajoĸ (Das ew’ge Licht geht da herein), scored for two satb choruses in antiphony. • Piulijivut nertorsiuk (Thou child divine) by Johann Abraham Peter Schultz (1747–1785), an energetic chorus for the Christmas season. With the possible exception of Piulijivut nertorsiuk, none of the above works would have presented new or unusual challenges for the singers. Two additional, more demanding anthems are among those watermark-dated to 1825, and both of these are attributable directly to La Trobe’s circle. One was his own extended chorus with tenor and soprano soloists integrated, to be sung at the evening service of Good Friday, Toĸĸolauravit pivluta (Mit deinem verdienstlichen Tod / By Thy meritorious death). The other was an otherwise extremely obscure anthem by Johann Friederich La Trobe (1769–1845), Ignatius’ youngest brother and a physician, farmer, and conservatory director living in Livonia (now Estonia) from 1794. Makkilerit ĸaumalerlutillo (Mache dich auf werde Licht / Zion arise and shine, Christ thy light) is a jubilant extended chorus that has traditionally been sung at the closing liturgy on the Feast of the Epiphany in all Labrador churches. The station report on the state of music at Hopedale dated 26 August 1826 noted the rapid progress being made by the Inuit violinists through diligent practice. In the next sentence the author, presumably Ludwig Morhardt, thanked La Trobe for the anthems he had sent, adding that “our people have learnt to play and sing nineteen different pieces.”75 Among these nineteen, simple

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anthems like Gregor’s Jêsub niaĸone nêrpa and Hosiana, Geisler’s Nutaĸĸallo amamaĸtullo, and Jackson’s Kuvianak nerringijavut would certainly have been included. But it is also likely that more ambitious Moravian anthems were also starting to enter the repertoire, such as Freydt’s Tarniptigut tautukaptigit, Wolf’s Nertorsiuk Salaĸartoĸ, and some of La Trobe’s own extended pieces. It is also possible that among these more challenging anthems were examples of the more cosmopolitan repertoire that La Trobe had championed among British amateur singers, works like Haydn’s Engelit ĸillangmiugaseksuit and C.P.E. Bach’s Piniarneĸ ussornartoĸ! Under La Trobe’s influence these early Inuit choirs were beginning to sing choral works that sometimes extended beyond the canon of anthems by established Moravian composers. Whatever the specifics of the repertoire, it is clear that by 1826 an Inuit tradition of anthem-singing by a trained choir accompanied by Inuit instrumentalists had been firmly established at Hopedale. Across the next two decades the implantation of this tradition followed Lewis Morhardt up the coast as he assumed postings at Nain (1827–32), Okak (1832–33) and Hebron (1834–44). At most of these postings he was accompanied by Br Jonathan Mentzel, whose musical skills and enthusiasm imparting them matched Morhardt’s. While other missionaries certainly contributed to the development of the choral tradition, it appears that Morhardt and Mentzel were the driving forces. Like Morhardt, Mentzel was the son of missionaries and had been born in 1792 at an Inuit mission station, in his case Lichtenau, Greenland. At the age of six, he was sent to Germany for his education and apprenticed as a cabinetmaker. In 1818–19 he served as supervisor at the musically vibrant Pædagogium in Niesky. Jonathan Mentzel was called to missionary service in Labrador in 1819. After his initial posting at Okak he served at Hopedale and Nain, overlapping in both places with Lewis Morhardt. In April 1830, before going on furlough to Europe, he returned to Okak to help with the pre-construction of the house for the new station to be built at Hebron. While in Europe, Mentzel was ordained; he also married Friederike Henriette Gehler (1801–1884). On 11 April the Mentzels left for Labrador, arriving on 20 July 1830. They were posted to the newly commissioned station at Hebron, where they would serve for twentysix years, retiring to Herrnhut in 1856. Jonathan Mentzel died in Herrnhut on 24 April 1873. If Ignatius La Trobe was the Maecenas of the Moravian choral music tradition in Labrador, Morhardt and Mentzel were its chief mentors. From the 1820s to the 1850s, at their various postings, both Morhardt and Mentzel provided music instruction. In 1839, less than a decade after the new mission at Hebron was established, Br Ferdinand Kruth reported:

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For music they [Inuit] shew more of a natural talent. Several of our young people have come and asked me, if I could not procure for them a common flute. I was sorry I had none to give; perhaps this mention of the desire of the applicants may induce some kind friend or friends to help us out. There is no danger of the instrument being used for any profane purpose. Br. Mentzel is at present teaching three Eskimo to play on the trombone, and Br. Morhardt gives occasional lessons on the pianoforte and organ to three others.76 Contained in the collection of manuscripts that were brought to Makkovik when the Hebron mission was closed in 1959 is a discrete catalogued collection of about thirty anthems, all bearing Jonathan Mentzel’s name on their folder covers. Like the thirty or so anthems that came to Ludwig Morhardt at Hopedale in the first half of the 1820s, this collection offers a coherent and complementary snapshot of the early repertoire that Jonathan Mentzel amassed for his postings both before and after his extended tenure at Hebron. There are twenty-two extant anthem part sets in this collection, though the catalogue numbering runs from one to twenty-eight. Three anthem sets bear no catalogue number, indicating that some manuscript sets may have been lost, destroyed or mixed into other collections.77 All of the original part sets contained in this collection are on paper that appears to have originated from the area surrounding the Moravian heartland of Saxony. The paper is coarsely textured, rough and opaque, characteristics that identify German-produced paper in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries.78 The paper’s opacity renders watermarks largely illegible, though two of the manuscripts in this collection79 can be identified as from B. Altmann, Giersdorf, a papermaking centre in Silesia favoured by the Moravians.80 A few other manuscripts are on paper watermarked from Honig & Zoonen, a large Dutch enterprise with an international distribution system. All the manuscripts are entered in one of two consistent hands, frequently using archaic clefs and with the anthem text entered in German only. In most cases a translation into Inuktitut has been added above or below in a different hand. Everything points to a discrete assembly of this collection. Unlike the early anthems received by Morhardt from La Trobe, which often arrived in the form of a short score, the Mentzel collection is made up of complete part sets with individual pages for each voice part, each stringed instrument, obligato winds, and organ.81 The other striking coherence in this collection is the repertoire itself, almost all of which can be ascribed to a narrow radius around Herrnhut. Of the eleven composers represented in the collection, eight were organists/choirmasters in

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Figure 3.9  Folder cover for John Gambold’s Gûde nertortaule from Jonathan Mentzel score library, originally in the collection of the Hebron choir.

Moravian settlements in the vicinity of the church headquarters in Herrnhut.82 Another two (Naumann and Wolf) were Moravian-sympathetic composers based in nearby Dresden and Leipzig. The one remaining was Ignatius La Trobe, whose works were highly esteemed among Herrnhut composers. Compared to the more cosmopolitan repertoire La Trobe had provided Ludwig Morhardt, the Mentzel collection is conservative and more orthodoxly Moravian. For these rapidly expanding collections to enter the performed repertoire, the anthems needed to be taught and the complexities of European music notation mastered. By the 1820s Inuit already had several decades of hymn-

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singing in parts under their belts. The hymns’ syllabic, short-phrased melodies with their undifferentiated rhythms were easily mastered by aurally acute Inuit. With the practised memories of an oral society, Inuit had no difficulty mastering a vast repertoire of chorale melodies with the mnemonic aid of the metered text in their printed hymnals. The reliance on Inuit aural acuity in the mastery of hymn-singing is confirmed in a report from Hopedale dated 9 September 1828. You will be glad to hear, that our Esquimaux retain their love, and cultivate their talent, for music. They play and sing anthems on festival days, and on other occasions. One of them has learnt, in a very short time, and with but little instructions, to play the violoncello pretty well; but the most pleasant part of their performance is, playing hymn-tunes in four parts. The first violin player has learned the verses and the tunes belonging to them so well, that if he only hears the beginning of the first line, he immediately falls into the proper tune and the key in which the singing is begun.83 But even the simplest anthems were another matter altogether for Inuit musicians. Melodic phrases were longer; rhythms were far more varied, with few cues afforded by the text metre; and alto, tenor, and even bass parts were less likely to be intuitively supplied by the ear. For the instrumentalists, the parts were frequently independent of the voices and often quite florid. But by far the greatest hurdle was the European construct of musical time. Lewis Morhardt reported on this challenge from the time that instrumental instruction was introduced on the coast. He noted that for the Inuit musicians “the most difficult part is keeping time, and that seems to puzzle them exceedingly. When, seven years ago, I made a beginning to teach two young Esquimaux the violin, one of them grew so peevish about keeping time, that he declared, that it was impossible to learn it; but he is now one of my best scholars.”84 The challenge Inuit musicians faced in mastering European musical time was encountered at every one of the mission stations. In a private letter dating from late summer 1834, Morhardt, who had been stationed at Okak for one season before moving on to Hebron, wrote: “Our musicians have exercised their calling, to their own satisfaction, and that of the congregation, but appear sometimes to find it more difficult, to keep time than tune.”85 Six years after his arrival at the new station of Hebron, Morhardt could report of encouraging developments among the musicians in this northernmost settlement, despite a perennial challenge: “For

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several years past, I have been giving instruction to three Esquimaux youths in organ playing; and I am pleased to find that my labour has not been altogether thrown away. Our violin players often meet to practise, and shew some skill in the use of their instrument, being able to assist in the performance of easy anthems, difficult as they find it to keep strict time. The Esquimaux are certainly a musical nation.”86 The disparities between an Inuk conception of time and the European construct of musical time make this “peevishness” easy to understand. The beat of the drum was additive, a linear sequence of equal pulses that mirrored the heartbeat. Though undifferentiated, it could accommodate shifts in rate of pulsation and even the doubling and halving of pulse values. By contrast, European musical time is divisive – that is, based on hierarchical patterns of strong and weak beats that organize musical time structures on micro- and macro-cosmic levels. Superimposed on this foundational metre, musical rhythms of widely varying complexities are overlaid. And all of these relationships are captured in a notation that is dependent on assumptions about relatively sophisticated numeric literacy, as well as a grasp of fractions and multiples. Before the arrival of the missionaries, Inuktitut had a very pragmatic relationship with numbers. For most situations, “one, two, many” sufficed to express quantity. The actual words in Inuktitut for numbers ended with the number of digits on hands and feet. Larger constructs relating to the passage of time were expressed through descriptions drawn from natural phenomena: cycles of the moon, cyclical weather patterns, seasons of hunts. The missionaries forced the adoption of an arithmetic vocabulary directly from German, so that, until quite recently, the Labrador Inuktitut word for 322, for example, was “drei hundert zwei und zwanzig.” Although the vocabulary necessary to express number was covered off with this systematic “loan vocabulary,”87 the underlying mathematical processes these number words were meant to unlock were as foreign as the German numbers themselves. To Inuit the imposed numeracy was unnecessarily complex and without an apparent purpose beyond a very limited use in trade negotiations. The reports from the mission schools annually laud the Inuit students’ skills at reading, writing, memorization, singing, and even geography, but express frustration at the lack of interest in “ciphering.”88 Ever pragmatic, Inuit saw little use for these arbitrary manipulations of quantity that had no direct application in life. The obstacle of musical time notwithstanding, the missionaries who oversaw the development of the choral and instrumental practice on the Labrador coast could report on continuous progress across the late 1820s and 1830s.

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V. Our Little Musical Choir Encouraging reports on Inuit music-making at Nain continued, with references both to singing in the schools and by an Inuit choir for festival liturgies. The station report dated 13 August 1825 noted: “Several short anthems, translated into the Esquimaux language by Brother Müller, have been sung by a choir of Esquimaux, on solemn occasions, with great acceptance. We wish this pleasing addition to our Church-service may be encouraged and continued, as so promising a beginning has been made.”89 Further encouraging reports on the choirs and the growing numbers of instrumentalists are contained in the annual letters from both Nain and Hopedale throughout the decade. Writing from Nain in 1831, Br Morhardt reflected on the fact that the choir had become an established tradition that was contributing to the liturgical and community life of the settlement: The winter is, as you know, the liveliest season for our Esquimaux flock. For several months together, our people are mostly with us, and the various services at chapel are diligently attended. The schools are likewise frequented by a considerable number of children, with whose progress in learning we have much reason to be satisfied. The members of our little musical choir, continue to take much pleasure in their opportunities for exercise, and for the performance of anthems on festival occasions.90 Up to the mid-1830s the names of Inuit who sang in and accompanied the choirs did not figure in the published records. But in December 1835, the Nain station diary recorded, with some sense of occasion, the first time an Inuk organist had played the organ at a full Sunday service. Sunday, the 13th of this month, we had a delight that had not yet happened in Labrador, namely, that the Eskimo brother Markus played for the first time the organ during the sermon [service]; still very inadequately, but nevertheless so well as can be expected from an Eskimo who had not had any instruction. This man has a special talent for everything, music (he plays clarinet, violoncello, and violin) as well as cabinetmaker, carpenter, smith, metalworker and other work, and we regret only that his sickliness hinders his activity.91 Markus would have little time to perfect his skill at the keyboard; the tumour that hindered his activity in 1835 took his life less than two years later, in August

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1837. But he was among the first Inuit to be acknowledged for exercising agency as a musician in the church. Born at Arnaujak in September 1800, he was received (under his Christian name Markus) into the church as a baptismal candidate in 1815. His embrace of the church was gradual. In his obituary, it is noted that as a young man he ridiculed the missionaries for their poor command of Inuktitut. However, he experienced a carefully documented religious conversion in 1821 while at his sealing place.92 The missionaries noted his wide-ranging talents in his obituary. “He was the first clarinet player, he also has learned to play the organ in a makeshift manner, as he was gifted in many things, especially in woodworking.”93 While Markus may have been named because he was a “first,” other Inuit musicians began to appear in the record owing to their accomplishments both as musicians and in leadership roles. On 20 December 1835, only a week after Markus’s debut, a young Inuk named Samuel took to the organ bench. Samuel immediately displayed a great aptitude for music. The Nain diary noted: “This young man (23 years old) has a great talent for music. In it, he is much more adept at keeping the time than the abovementioned Marcus. He is also one of the best providers, [it is] only regrettable that his walk [of life] is not always a joy to us.”94 By 1838, Samuel was acknowledged to be a highly accomplished musician. Br C.G. Albrecht reported on his skills in a German missionary publication: “For an Eskimo, he had far advanced in playing the organ and had a great musical talent. He had copied for himself the entire German Book of Chorales (Choralbuch) and transposed it into another key, and in the meetings, he played all melodies with skill.”95 Samuel’s services were shortlived, however: he was excluded from the congregation in 1838, leaving Nain without an Inuk organist again. His 1864 obituary expressed regret that he had squandered his musical skills and all-round capability by leading a life of sin. The Nain diary records: He was born and grew up here and showed himself in everything as a man more gifted, smarter and more able than others. Among others, he learned to play the organ as one of the earliest persons, and was also otherwise employed in choir music; he copied for himself the entire Book of Chorales. But he soon fell into sins of the flesh; his pride, which drove him in a strong way, especially since he was a good provider, did not permit him to acknowledge he was a sinner; and thus, he fell into ever deeper darkness and enmity against the truth.96 An Inuk musician in Nain with greater longevity of service was the violinist Joseph. First identified in 1846 by Br J.T. Vollprecht as a devout Christian and

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one of Nain’s violin players, Joseph was singled out as a musical leader several years later in a letter from Br Freitag: We beg to express our best thanks for the present of a flute, the want of which had been greatly felt. Our musical staff is in good order, which is principally owing to the ability of our first violin and horn-player, Joseph. He shews much tact, in the selection of suitable pieces of sacred music, for performance at the several festivals. He is likewise very useful in assisting the Missionaries to perfect themselves in the Esquimaux language. I wish I could speak as favourably of his proficiency in the knowledge and possession of the “one thing needful,” although I am glad to be able to say, that he is not by any means indifferent to the Gospel.97 Joseph’s roles in the church were multiple and highly valued. In addition to providing the missionaries with critical assistance as they prepared translations of sacred texts into Inuktitut for publication, and besides being an accomplished musician, Joseph appears to have assumed the function of music director, selecting tasteful music for performance at the various church festival days. Br Freitag’s misgivings about Joseph – his failure to make a firm commitment to the faith – proved to be his eventual downfall with the church. In 1859, he was excluded from the congregation. His obituary, a year later, noted his many contributions, weighed against the sin of pride in being Inuk: On the 19th of October last year, died a man named Joseph, who was well known along the whole coast. He was a native of good understanding and sound judgment, and had been often employed by the Missionaries in the revision of works intended for the press, – a duty which he always discharged in an obliging and pleasant manner. But we regret to say, that his state of heart was not satisfactory, and for the last two years of his life he was excluded from the congregation. Yet, as he earnestly cried to the Lord for mercy and forgiveness before his death, we venture to hope that he departed in peace.98 Joseph’s transgression of Inuk “pride” recalls Samuel’s fate before him in the eyes of the church and constituted a trope that would echo again and again across the decades to follow. As the mid-century approached, Inuit musicians assumed increasing responsibility at the other Labrador stations. In 1837 at Okak, missionary Br Henn was assisted by an Inuk “brother who is able to play most of the hymn-tunes in use among us on the organ, and gladly assists in the services of the church.”99

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This organist is later identified by Br Freitag as Jacob, “an old violin player in his 50s [who] has learned to play fairly well without any guidance.”100 Like Joseph, Jacob was estranged from the church at the time of his death in 1853.101 However, the following year, Br Albrecht, newly arrived from Hopedale at Okak, could report that two Inuit organists “play our excellent organ in very good style, which contributes much to heighten the solemnity of our liturgical services.”102 In Hopedale a young Inuk of extraordinary promise enters the station narrative in 1861. Only twenty-one years old, David, the grandson of Hopedale’s learned national assistant, Amos, had been groomed to become the first Inuk teacher in the mission schools. He was a musician of striking ability, serving as organist to the Hopedale congregation and equally accomplished on violin, flute, and trombone. In his short-lived tenure as a schoolteacher, he taught his young charges to sing complex anthems in parts. But by the start of the school session in 1863, David had resigned his all duties, eventually leaving Hopedale for Zoar, and abandoning his activities in the mission for the life of an Inuk hunter.103 Hebron had only been commissioned as a mission station in 1830, but with Brn Morhardt and Mentzel there from the earliest days, music training was a high priority. Still, it seems that Morhardt and Mentzel directed the musical activities themselves as long as they were physically able. The station report for 1842 records that there was no organ music at all that year due to Morhardt’s infected foot and Mentzel having an abscess on his knee.104 But after Mentzel’s retirement, a pair of Inuit brothers, Jacob and Isaac, are identified as organists at Hebron in the 1860s. Jacob died in 1864; Isaac would hold the bench for decades after that. His status in the community is signified by fact that, on an 1861 ground plan of the Hebron settlement, the large house of “Isaac Orgelspieler” is near the church and clearly identified. The extended obituary published at the time of Isaac’s death in 1885 speaks of a man who led an exemplary life in the eyes of the missionaries and in service to the community: On May 21st [1885] our native helper and organist, Isaac, the oldest man in the congregation departed this life. He was born in 1823 at Hopedale, and moved in 1833 to Hebron. He had thus known the congregation almost from its very commencement, and looked upon most of the members as his children. He had enjoyed a married life of forty years, a circumstance seldom or never before paralleled in Labrador. Distinguished from many of this countrymen by his amiability, cleanliness, and thrift, he had never given any difficulty to the brother superintending the store, and managed always to keep beforehand with the world, though not a particularly successful huntsman or fisher. Possessed of musical abilities, he had in one way

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Figure 3.10  The status of organist Isaac is suggested by this 1861 ground plan of Hebron, which shows the prominent placement of his house (marked “Isaac Orgelspieler”) nearest to the mission house and church.

or another probably assisted with the congregation music from his youth, and we shall often miss his services as organist. Of late years he complained of failing eyesight, but continued to fulfil his duties until within a fortnight of his death. In conversing privately with the missionaries on spiritual subjects, he always spoke very humbly with regard to his own state of heart. Church-discipline had never to be exercised in his case. As a native helper, it was a pleasure to him to conduct meetings, and on one occasion last winter, at a time when there was much to be censured in the conduct of the married people and many differences had arisen between man and wife, Isaac delivered a most powerful address. His words produced such an effect upon those present that a happier and better state of things began from that very hour. When overtaken by his last illness, he soon perceived that our Saviour was calling him away from this life. Everything earthly then lost its attraction, and his one wish was to enter into his eternal rest through the merits of Christ’s death. Our people, as some of them declared, felt as though they had lost a father, and assured us that he would often be missed.105

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Isaac appears to be the exception in terms of longevity of service as a musician. Elsewhere along the coast the missionaries themselves would take to the organ bench, rehearse the choirs, and instruct the string and wind players during those periods when Inuit musical leadership was weak, faltering, or absent. In addition to Morhardt and Mentzel, who left Labrador respectively in 1844 and 1856, Br Carl August Ribbach served as organist at Nain in the 1840s. The missionary couple, August Ferdinand and Maria Bertha Elsner, were both competent musicians and led the choirs, played the organ, and taught music at Nain and Hopedale during their tenures there. Across the 1840s through the 1860s the activities of the choirs and instrumental ensembles continued to develop to varying degrees under the encouragement of the missionaries and with periodic Inuit leadership. Each community followed its own trajectory. Lewis Morhardt’s departure from Nain in August 1832, first to Europe on furlough and subsequently on reassignment to Hebron, left the community without an organist. Aside from the blip of Inuit organists Markus and Samuel between 1835 and 1837, there does not appear to have been much musical leadership at Nain until the arrival of Br Carl August Ribbach, who assumed the roles of organist and choirmaster in 1844. Of his new responsibilities, he wrote: Having been lately appointed to the office of organist, I esteem it a real favour to be permitted to contribute, in this and other ways, to the enlivening of our liturgical services. Our little musical choir performs very respectably; and both instruments and voices are gladly employed in praising Him, who alone is worthy. Most thankful should I be could I obtain a piano-forte, no matter how small or old-fashioned, for our occasional house-performances, it being sometimes next to impossible, owing to the extreme cold, and other hinderances, to make use of the organ for the purpose of exercising our little choir. I am almost ashamed and afraid to ask for such a thing; but you will perhaps have no objection to let it just be known, that an old piano-forte would be very acceptable.106 Two years later Ribbach was joined at Nain by Br August Ferdinand Elsner, who, along with his musically skilled wife Bertha, would teach and animate musical activities at their postings along the coast. By the 1848–49 season, Elsner was directing the Nain choir and instrumentalists from the organ, offering a positive progress report: “Last winter, our musical choir gave me much pleasure. The singers were delighted to perform anthems in four parts, which they had previously sung in unison.107 The instrumental performers likewise take great pains to improve. As, however, the Exquimaux do not succeed in producing a pleasant

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tone on the clarionet, we should be very glad to have a flute, to assist in the execution of some pieces.”108 Elsner’s optimistic assessment is balanced a year later by Br Ribbach, who maintained responsibility for teaching music in the school: Their favourite lessons are reading, writing and singing. During the past winter, I practised with them canons in three parts. At first they did not succeed at all, because counting and keeping time were required; but at length they understood it, and were not a little pleased with their performance. Br. Elsner has taken great pains with the musicians, who are diligent and zealous, both in practicing and performing choral music, both hymn-tunes and easy anthems. But it is with our music, as with many other things; the long interruption during the summer is greatly against it, though the degree of perfection to which our performers have attained with so little practice, is really surprising. It is generally admitted, that the Esquimaux are not without talent for music, this is true to a certain extent; they are, however, very liable to sing flat, and it often happens, particularly in singing the longer tunes, that their voices sink so much, that the key must be altered in the middle of the tune, which is rather a trial to a musical ear.109 The picture that emerges is one of Sisyphus-like progress: dedicated commitment and real progress was made under missionary guidance during the season between Advent and Easter, only to roll back during the almost two thirds of the year when Inuit were away from the mission station. A battle was being won in the smallest increments against the Inuit musicians’ antipathy toward Western rhythmic complexity in anthems and their natural tendency to sink in pitch across the duration of hymns, which could run to a dozen or more verses. In this context, the leadership role at Nain assumed by the violinist Joseph was especially noteworthy. His great accomplishments on several instruments, his sophisticated musical taste, and the respect in which he was held by his peers marked him as a positive influence, at least until his exclusion in 1859. It seems that across this same period, music in Hopedale continued quietly, with periodic reports of musical accomplishment when the missionaries were able to provide sufficient encouragement. Hopedale may have been the last mission station to receive an organ. Labrador’s original organ, the now ancient and weathered instrument received at Nain in 1828, was transferred to Hopedale in 1846. Almost immediately it was pronounced too small to be serviceable for congregational use. In August 1847, Br J.C. Friedrich Andreae wrote: “Our organ is now so far finished, that we use it in our various services; its tone is good, but rather too weak for the place; and we should be very thankful for the addition

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of a couple of stops, which would enable it better to support the singing of our congregation.”110 Across the next decade Hopedale missionaries sent repeated requests back to Europe for new and replacement instruments – clarinets, trombones, violins, celli111 – to expand their collection or replace those instruments that were no longer functional. These were needed in support of an active choir. Now late in his Labrador service, Br Zachary Glitsch, who had begun music instruction at Nain in 1821, wrote from Hopedale in 1843: “Our musical performances have succeeded better than usual last year, as I was able to devote rather more time than heretofore to this branch of the temple-service. The singing of the congregation is very sweet and devotional, and makes a pleasing impression on all who visit us.”112 Glitsch’s valedictory reflections were echoed in the reactions of new arrivals. Br Carl Gottlieb Kretschmer, who landed at Hopedale on 8 August 1852, contrasted his first impression of the austere landscape in what would be his home for thirty-six years with the welcome by Inuit: The aspect of the country is, indeed, dreary beyond description, so that it appears almost impossible to live in it. The Esquimaux resemble their country in the poverty and meanness of their outward appearance. Some of them held out their hands to welcome me. Their singing and conduct at church are, however, truly edifying, and such as one would hardly expect from them. I have been appointed to remain at this Settlement, with which I am very well satisfied.113 A few years later, in August 1856, Br Christian Barsoe returned to Labrador from furlough in Europe, arriving at Hopedale: On the 5th [of August 1856], we at length reached the usual anchorage, being welcomed with shouts of joy, and the discharge of fire-arms. As soon as we had dropped anchor, the band, standing before the Mission House, played several hymn-tunes. I cannot express our feelings in words. Yesterday evening, before the preparatory meeting for the Holy Communion, they also played, and awoke us in this morning in the same pleasing manner. The choir in this congregation is admirable and, I think, not surpassed in Germany. I wish you could hear them sing and play.114 In 1862 the Hopedale congregation received the pipe organ which today stands silenced in the middle of the choir stall at the rear of the church. The arrival of this handsome and functional instrument occasioned the training of the Inuk

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organist and teacher David and stabilized what was already an admirable choral tradition at Hopedale. During this decade the first non-Moravian observations on Inuit choral traditions are recorded. In 1864, American naturalist Alpheus Spring Packard made his second trip to Labrador, this time reaching as far north as Hopedale. His memoirs of his trips, which he published some thirty years later, focused on the flora and fauna of the region; in an aside, he observed that the science of anthropology was not yet in fashion. Nevertheless, in his final chapter, he ventured into something of an ethnology of Labrador Inuit, largely drawn from other published sources. Packard concluded with an observation about the musical achievements of Inuit, resulting from the “civilizing” influence of the missionaries: “They are especially attracted by music, and whoever plays to them always finds a grateful public; and they are not listeners alone but also play themselves. Thus the organ or harmonicum used in the church service is played by Eskimos in the winter in the presence of the entire brotherhood, and the organ is accompanied by a small orchestra likewise composed of Eskimos.”115 Among the other passengers on this 1864 voyage along the Labrador coast were the landscape painter William Bradford and a travelling glove salesman from Concord, New Hampshire, named Algernon Willis. Willis’s unpublished journal is a colourful personal account of the voyage, which was marked by much camaraderie, seasickness, swarms of mosquitoes, and poor (verging on mutiny-inducing) food. His telegraphic entry for 30 July 1864 offers a glimpse into the Hopedale chapel on a Sunday evening: “After supper we all went ashore to attend services at the Mission’s Chapel. There were about 150 present consisting of ourselves, 18 German Men + Women, the balance Esquimaux. They have a good organ and the singing fine. The whole service was singing.”116 More detail is offered by Commander William Chimmo, who conducted hydrographic surveys of the Labrador coast from Indian Harbour to Hopedale in the summer of 1867 and had the opportunity to interact with missionaries and Inuit at Hopedale. On Sunday, 25 August, Chimmo attended a service in the Hopedale church and recorded what he heard and saw: We all visited the afternoon service at the Church, and certainly a more imposing & interesting sight I have seldom witnessed. There were 57 men [and] 50 women, four men playing the violin, one the French horn, basefiddle, and one the harmonium. The whole of the service was singing, one long hymn; Six women were arranged in a back form singing their parts from printed music; four men on the opposite side, and all the others joining in … It was astonishing to see with what pleasure they all

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Figure 3.11  The first pipe organ provided to the church in Hopedale arrived in 1862. It has four stops and a keyboard range of 3½ octaves. While the exact provenance of the instrument is unknown, it is likely the work of a mid-nineteenth-century German organ builder.

attended prayers. I fancy the music had much attraction for them. And I think they were much pleased to see us all attend their place of worship.117 Chimmo captured not only the evident pleasure that making music in the church offered to Inuit, but also a quite vivid picture of the size and disposition of the choir and orchestra, together comprising a sizeable proportion of the congregation. Although there was less evidence of musical activity at Okak in the 1820s and early 1830s than there was at Nain and Hopedale, by 1835 the missionaries stationed there could report positively about the activities of their musicians: “Our people continue to take great delight in musical performances, by the help of which they greatly enliven our public and private worship, and especially our festive celebrations. Though their execution is far from being of a masterly kind, it is such as might put to shame the attempts of many a country choir in civilised Europe.”118 Two years later, the station report expressed cautious optimism about the choir’s progress: “Our psalmody, we trust, is in progress of

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improvement, as, besides Br Christian Benedict Henn, we have an Esquimaux brother [Jacob], who is able to play most of the hymn-tunes in use among us on the organ, and gladly assists in the services of the Church.”119 In 1845, with the arrival of two missionaries with musical interests, Johann Friedrich Martin and J. August Miertsching, the Okak choir received a boost. The station report for that year records: “Our musicians, under the leading of Brethren Martin and Miertsching, have improved considerably in their art; both at Christmas and in the Passion and Easter seasons, they were enabled greatly to enliven the services at church. We pray the Lord to keep them humble, that the exercise of their musical skill may be the means of edifying their Brethren and Sisters.”120 Br Miertsching himself offered more detail in a personal letter to the Secretary of the sfg: “Our musical choir consists of ten singers and eight players: these meet every week for exercise, of which regulation we perceive the good effects, in their improved performances at church. A few additional anthems would be very acceptable to us.”121 The enthusiasm of the young missionary was tempered by the observations of a more seasoned colleague, Br August Freitag, who had been serving the Labrador coast since 1831. Writing in 1844 to family in Europe, he offered an extended observation of musical life in Okak. He prefaced his comments by underscoring the Inuit love for music and their exceptional ability at grasping it quickly and by ear. He noted how easily they picked up string and wind instruments and taught themselves to play them. Curiosity and a pragmatic inventiveness had led several Inuit to construct their own instruments, including violins strung with seal gut and bowed with human hair and an oboe carved from local spruce. Hymn-singing came naturally to them and was accompanied by a violin choir and clarinets or flutes. But without supervision from a trained musician, the choir had difficulty producing a satisfactory result. Freitag continued: They have less of a natural disposition for rhythm during the performance of easy anthems, of which they make much. Left alone to themselves, as sometimes happens, it will turn, of course, only into a similar-sounding garble, with which they can offend even a not very trained musical ear. But as soon as there is a brother who can instruct them, they learn quickly, and I have sometimes been edified by it, even though their choral singing can by far not be compared with that in our [European] congregations.122 Thus by mid-nineteenth century, the musical activity of the choir can be characterized by a high level of enthusiasm and natural aptitude but also by an absence of local Inuit leadership that might provide stability and cohesion to the

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Figure 3.12  The Moravian mission station at Hebron in 1861 as depicted in a lithograph, based on a drawing by Bishop L.T. Reichel.

practice. The arrival of Okak’s first organ in 1847 offered a support to the choir that would further stabilize choral singing.123 As would happen at Hopedale, the arrival of the new instrument served as an incentive for aspiring Inuit musicians. Among them at Okak was Henoch (1826–1876), whose rapid mastery of the instrument was recorded in the Okak diary in 1847: “Henoch … started to practice on the organ last fall under the direction of Brother Miertsching and advanced until now so far like no others here in Okak, for he plays the organ here in Okak with the most feeling, of all his countrymen, even though several were animated to play the organ and also spent much effort, but no one was able to accompany the singing like he.”124 The mission station at Hebron opened with a temporary building in 1831; six years later, in 1837, it completed and moved into its now iconic mission complex. For the establishment of a musical culture, Hebron had the advantage of counting Lewis Morhardt and Jonathan Mentzel among its founding missionaries. But even with their experience as teachers and dedication to developing music, a functioning choir and instrumentalists emerged slowly at this northernmost station. In the summer of 1836, Morhardt reported back to the sfg: “With our musical performances we are still very far behind the older stations. If our violin players succeed in learning to play a hymn-tune, we must be satisfied for the present.”125 A little over a year later, the dedication of the Hebron church offered

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Morhardt the promise of a spiritual renaissance in the community, abetted by the arrival of a new organ to stimulate the edifying effects of liturgical music: We cannot, however, refrain from expressing our hope and belief, that the impression made upon our Esquimaux flock by the solemn services of the 11th [of October 1837] has, in many instances, proved an abiding one … A further enjoyment, and, we trust, a spiritual one, was provided for our congregation, about three weeks ago, when, on the 4th of the present month [August 1838], the organ, which formerly stood in the prayer-hall of the widow’s house at Herrnhut, was used for the first time at a service of thanksgiving in our chapel.126 As noted elsewhere, Morhardt and Mentzel were actively engaged in teaching Inuit musicians on keyboard, wind, and string instruments by the end of the decade, an initiative that bore fruit in the faithful and dedicated Inuit organist Isaac, who was undoubtedly among Morhardt’s early organ pupils. After Morhardt left missionary service in 1844, Isaac likely became de facto music director at Hebron. Br Jonathan Mentzel continued to offer instruction on wind and string instruments, and in the last few years before his retirement to Europe in 1856, he ensured the renewal of the bank of instruments available for use in church services. In August 1852 he wrote the Secretary of the sfg: “Our musical choir continues to give us much pleasure. I should however, be much obliged to any Christian friend, who would present us with a violoncello, as the one in use has long since served its time.”127 A year later, while expressing gratitude for the new cello, he requested a viola to replace the mission’s 100-year-old instrument; two years after that, he requested two new clarinets.128 All this speaks to an active musical cohort in Hebron a mere two decades after the mission’s founding. So too does a unique document, the earliest extant order of musical service on the Labrador coast, a listing of the anthems sung in Hebron dating from Holy Week, 1859. Carefully inscribed in missionary hand, this single sheet tucked in an early twentieth-century catalogue of anthems and service orders offers a snapshot of the active repertoire of the Hebron choir. During the eight days stretching from Palm Sunday Eve to Easter Monday that year, the Hebron choir sang a total of twenty-one anthems, ranging in complexity from simple arias like Gregor’s Inûb ôma niaĸoa (Wiederholts mit süssen Tönen) to homophonic choruses like Gregor’s Jêsub kanimanivut (Fürwahr, Er trug unsre Krankheit) to three part-canons like Geisler’s Nutaĸĸallo amamaĸtullo (Aus dem Munde der jungen Kinder) to extended anthems of considerable complexity, including Freydt’s Tarniptigut tautukaptigit (Seh’ich in deinen

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Figure 3.13  Detail of the Holy Week sung service order from Hebron in 1859, showing the anthems to be sung from Palm Sunday Eve (Sonabend) to Good Friday (Freitag).

Figure 3.14  Page 3 (detail) of Gustav Tuglavina’s catalogue of sung service orders for Hebron, ca. 1950, showing anthems to be sung from Palm Sunday Eve (Palmorum) to Holy Thursday (Donnerstage).

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Seelenschmerzen), Ernst Wolf’s Nâlegaĸ nertortaule makkiviojok (Ehre sei dem, der da ist die Auferstehung), and Johann Gottlieb Nauman’s Siorniudlarnernit merngoerserpotille (So ruht dein in Todeskummer), a cantata-length work with soloists and a six-voice chorus with strings and winds. While the presence of these titles on a service order is no guarantee of a sophisticated performance, many are ambitious compositions that couldn’t be attempted without a quite high level of musical ability and leadership. The 1859 service order compares instructively with the Hebron choir’s surviving repertoire lists for Holy Week from 1890 and with the catalogue assembled by Hebron’s final choirmaster, Gustav Tuglavina, in the 1950s.129 The repertoire maintains a remarkable consistency across a span of a full century, a telling indication of the conserving nature of the Moravian liturgy in Labrador and the music that has served it. These are traditions that maintain deep roots. Although the number of anthems sung by the Hebron choir in the 1950s had increased substantially, from twenty-one to twenty-eight, part of that increase is attributable to what can best be described as a “greatest hits” sung service that closed out the Easter Monday celebrations. On this final day of the winter season, when the Hebronimiut were together as a community before departing for the spring and summer camps, the choir performed a number of their most beloved anthems, irrespective of their usual liturgical functions. The 1859 Hebron service order indicates that a tradition of choral singing of anthems for the chief liturgical festivals was firmly established by the middle of the nineteenth century, even in the smallest and most isolated of the Moravian stations in Labrador. The repertoire, whatever the performance standard may have been, was largely what it would remain throughout the next century and into the present day. While some new works would be introduced later in the nineteenth century, consistent with changes in taste generally in Moravian liturgical music and hymnody, the core choral repertoire was in place by the 1850s and would remain constant for more than a century and a half.

VI. Leading from the Choir Loft In 1861 the Labrador missions received their first official visitation by a representative of the Unity Elders’ Conference since 1773. Bishop Levin T. Reichel travelled with the Harmony that summer, spending time at each of Hopedale, Nain, Okak, and Hebron, meeting with missionaries and Inuit. His purpose was to deliver the wishes of the Unity Elders’ Conference to the people and to assess the conditions in the Labrador missions. Reichel’s account of the voyage, written

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for the eyes of mission supporters and published in both the Missions-Blatt aus der Brüdergemeine and the Periodical Accounts, offered a comprehensive snapshot of the Labrador missions.130 Although beleaguered by mosquitoes at Hopedale and Nain and daunted by winter-in-September at Okak and Hebron, Reichel painted a vivid and colourful portrait of his voyage. Part adventure travelogue, with harrowing narratives of treacherous passages through fields of icebergs and excursions on a land wild beyond any European imagination, and part ethnology, with vivid descriptions of Inuit, their features, customs, and spirit, Reichel’s account was meant for an audience curious about the world beyond their experience who were supportive of the mission cause of bringing Christianity to Inuit. The music he experienced at each of the stations formed in integral part of that narrative. Of Hopedale he wrote, “I had the pleasure of addressing the Esquimaux congregation on all the Sundays of my stay here, a Missionary acting as my interpreter. The attendance was good and the singing excellent. On Sunday, July 21st, we were awoke by the sound of hymn-tunes, played on clarinets and trombones by the Esquimaux.”131 At Nain, he was similarly impressed: “The whole congregation assembled at half-past 4 o’clock, and the meeting commenced with music sung by the choir, and accompanied with a violin. The performance was excellent.”132 Likewise, at Okak, “the singing was excellent, and accompanied by a good organ, played in turn by Sr. Albrecht133 and two Esquimaux … The children sang very nicely some musical pieces, taught them by Sr. Albrecht. In general, the Esquimaux have a talent for music.”134 In his internal communications with the Unity Elders’ Conference, Reichel offered a more nuanced portrait of the Labrador missions. Among the topics he broached was the relatively ineffective cultivation of Inuit leadership by the missionaries stationed in Labrador. A topic of concern to the Herrnhut Elders, the development of spiritual and community leaders among the mission subjects had long been a fundamental principle for the Moravians. Their goal had always been to replace themselves with native spiritual leaders. This they did through the encouragement and training of officially designated National Helpers (NationalGehülfe), who would hold meetings in homes and at camps, resolve conflicts in the community, speak at services, and act as go-betweens for the missionaries and Inuit.135 National Helpers were well established, with a focused program of training, clear duties, and a record of success in several of the Moravian mission fields. But as late as the 1830s, they were not being cultivated in Labrador, and this failure was a source of friction between the Unity Elders’ Conference and the Labrador missionaries. By the 1840s, each of the Labrador stations had acceded to the directive to identify and empower Inuit in their congregations to positions of leadership, yet two decades later Reichel found that the responsibilities of the

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Labrador “helpers” were ill-defined and that their influence in their communities – however admirable specific helpers might be as individuals – was limited. Reichel blamed the missionaries, suggesting that they were uncomfortable with Inuit who were too influential. He recommended that young Inuit be specifically trained to assume these roles and, once sufficiently prepared, be encouraged to take on roles of public speaking and holding services. Hans Rollmann writes of this development: “In the wake of Reichel’s visit of 1861, Inuit teachers were employed alongside missionaries in the Labrador schools, more academically trained superintendents would administer mission work from now on, and, eventually Congregational Councils and Elders Councils would emerge to deal more effectively with congregational and community concerns.”136 One arena where Inuit leadership would emerge with consistency in the Moravian missions was music. With rare exceptions, Inuit musical leadership had been sporadic to this point, with sparks of brilliance from the likes of Samuel at Nain and David at Hopedale – only to be extinguished through their defections and exclusions. The exceptions were a handful of Inuit musicians who provided consistent and reliable musical leadership in their communities – men like Nain’s violinist Joseph and the long-serving organist Isaac at Hebron. The development of Moravian music in Labrador across the first century of the mission had been at the instigation and direction of missionaries like Brn Morhardt, Mentzel, Glitsch, and Elsner, encouraged and supported from Europe. As the Labrador missions approached their second century, those roles would shift. The organ benches and choir lofts would become the domain of Inuit musicians, who began the process of making this music their own.

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Trumpets on the Roof

I. An Emblem of Community I have always loved how the Nain choir would sing and the brass band would play … I remember how good it felt to be a part of our church, to be a part of the Nain [community] family. My atatsiak [grandfather] was a part of the brass band. I remember seeing him play on the roof of the Nain church. I also remember getting up so early with my family and getting ready for church for Easter Sunday. Walking to church and then to the graveyard with the brass band leading the way. We would listen to the minister then sing with the brass band. The song “Till we meet again” was always sung. I always cried while singing it … I could feel the love and the pain of everyone that we have lost in all those years.1 Evelyn Lidd offered this reflection after a 2012 screening of the documentary film Till We Meet Again: Moravian Music in Labrador. In the film a young group of brass players accompanied the pre-dawn procession from the church in Hopedale to God’s Acre (the cemetery) on Easter morning. It was the first such procession in several decades. Earlier that morning, a lone trumpeter had climbed up to the roof of the old mission church to summon the congregation to witness the commemoration of the resurrection, reviving a tradition that had endured more than a century before it fell off at the end of the twentieth century. Evelyn’s memories prompted by these moments were echoed by many at Hopedale, Nain, and Makkovik. They were memories of a middle-of-the-night call to assembly, the resonance of brass instruments cracking the crisp subarctic air on a frigid April morning, the biblical heralding of the afterlife, and an audible expression of the community shared with those present. “Till We Meet Again” – a sonic emblem of both loss and fellowship.

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Figure 4.1  The Nain Brass Band on the roof of the church, 1923.

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Figure 4.2  The Nain Brass Band on the roof of the church, 1966.

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The iconic brass bands of Labrador’s Moravian coast were both a musical activity and, for many Inuit of northern Labrador, an emblem of community identity. This chapter looks at the origins of the Labrador Inuit brass bands, traces their development across the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and considers their demise at the end of the twentieth century, as well as their recent rebirth. Equally there will be an examination of what the bands meant. The bands – especially when hymns like “Jêsus tessiunga”2 echoed from the rooftops of the simple Moravian churches across the fjords of coastal Labrador – became a widely recognized symbol of Inuit Labrador. They were symbols with as many meanings as those who contemplated them. To devout Moravians, the bands symbolized the permeation of liturgy and prayer into quotidian life among Labrador Inuit, just as they did elsewhere across the Moravian world, whether in Herrnhut, Germany, Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, Genadendal, South Africa, or Lichtenfels, Greenland. With its form and genre rooted in hymnody, and with its symbolic associations with the heralding trumpets of the Bible, each band summoned images of the spiritual goal and reward of the afterlife. To those colonizers who were sympathetic to the Moravian project, the bands symbolized the reach of Western civilizing influence and the salutary effects of Christianity and European culture on Inuit. But to Inuit through the last half of the nineteenth century and the entirety of the twentieth, they symbolized something much more immediate, local, and concrete. The bands had become an emblem of community, of fellowship. Their presence signified communal celebration and were a source of pride in who Labrador Inuit were as a people. They were also, as Evelyn Lidd’s reflection attests, a marker of the identity of a society. Across the last third of the twentieth century the brass band’s resonance as an identity marker grew fainter. The momentum toward political selfdetermination prompted Inuit leaders to look to identity markers that represented Inuit as a people outside and predating the imposition of European influence. Social upheavals in which the Moravian Church played a determining role, most dramatically enacted through forced resettlements and the uprooting of youth for placement in residential schools, had tarnished the brass bands’ status as an emblem of Inuit identity. Intergenerational trauma resulting from these social upheavals disrupted the long-standing tradition of mentoring that had encouraged the preservation of the tradition for a century and a half. By the dawn of the twenty-first century the brass bands had gone silent in all Labrador Inuit communities. But their symbolic meaning continued to resonate, even as the brass band was transformed from a symbol of community to a symbol of community lost. By

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the twenty-first century the bands – more precisely, the memory of the bands – had come to represent loss and nostalgia. They had become an echo of a past way of life and of a communal identity that was gone yet was still emblematic. The power of that symbol has since the second decade of the twentieth-first century prompted attempts at reviving the tradition in all the Moravian Inuit communities. This revival is itself a confirmation that Labrador Inuit had, across the course of time, staked a claim for a Moravian brass band tradition that was uniquely their own. Lidd’s memory of her atatsiak playing trumpet on the church roof signified a deeply personal connection to the extraordinary in the ordinary of what defined the life of her people.

II. The Moravian Trombone Choir and Brass Bands in Labrador The Moravian tradition of instrumental music can be traced to the very beginnings of the renewed Moravian Church in 1722. In the words of the Moravian historian Ben van den Bosch, “The Bohemians and Moravians did not bring only clothing, household goods, etc., into their new homeland; they also brought along their musical instruments: French horns (Waldhörner), flutes, stringed instruments, and trombones.”3 From early accounts of instrumental music in the renewed church, it is clear that instrumental ensembles were mixed, employing the instruments and the skills of the players at hand. Most often instruments were employed to accompany singing rather than in stand-alone performances. Gradually, the trombone emerged as a favoured instrument to accompany congregational singing in the absence of an organ. The match between the parallel ranges of a mixed-voice choir and an ensemble of soprano, alto, tenor, and bass trombones made it a natural complement to hymn-singing. The trombone’s ability to play chromatically in the era before valved brass instruments identified it as a practical choice. Most importantly, the trombone ensemble was capable of supporting, elevating, and beautifying choral singing without detracting from the intelligibility of the sung scriptural texts. As Trevor Herbert has observed, “a choir of trombones, or trombones and cornett, might be seen in the same aesthetic terms as the organ, as providing a complementary musical underpinning of meaningful worship.”4 Brass instruments – trumpets and trombones specifically 5 – also had a deep symbolic association with Christian worship. In both the Old and New Testaments, brass instruments (although extremely different from the contemporary instruments of the eighteenth century) figure frequently as symbolic representations of the spiritual world. Paul Peucker illustrates this point:

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In Luther’s translation of the Old Testament, the trombone is an instrument with which the people of God are called together, important news is announced, and the call to battle is made … It is the sound that accompanies the voice of God and symbolizes the power of God and his judgment. Furthermore, the trombone is played to please and praise God, together with a wide array of other musical instruments. In Luther’s translation of the New Testament, the trombone is the instrument that God’s companions, the angels, use to gather his elect to announce the Resurrection, the end of times, Judgment Day, and the Second Coming of Christ. When God speaks, his voice sounds like a trombone.6 Hymnodists, both among the Brethren and in the wider, German-speaking Protestant world, invoked the image of the trombone as God’s voice in numerous hymns, whether to proclaim the Gospel, summon the faithful to worship, or call them to battle for the Lord. These hymns “trumpet” the salvation available through Christ’s blood, announce the resurrection of the dead, or the coming of the Apocalypse.7 Across the vast repertoire of Moravian hymns this image of brass instruments as the voice of God is a recurrent, powerful, and highly evocative symbol. Within the first decade of the renewed Moravian Church in Herrnhut, the trombone quartet started to emerge as the iconic Moravian instrumental ensemble, even if, in actual practice, mixed instrumental ensembles continued to be used. In 1731 the Herrnhut community acquired the instruments for a trombone quartet through a donation from a Swiss benefactor.8 On 12 May 1731, the new trombone choir serenaded the Berthelsdorf pastor in his garden on the occasion of his birthday.9 The ritual uses of the trombone choir to both welcome and sound farewell were also recorded during the year of the instruments’ arrival: visitors to Herrnhut were greeted by the sound of brass and, for the first time, the dead were accompanied on their transport to God’s Acre by the trombone choir. Across the 1740s and 1750s, the trombone choir continued to acquire a range of public functions in the communal life of Herrnhut: calls to worship, festival days, and public celebrations of community milestones like the dedication of a new choir house.10 These civic functions of the trombone choir were not without precedent in Central Europe, where there was a long tradition of brass instruments being used to herald key moments in the life of a community. These uses of brass instruments are part of a Germanic tradition that dates back to the late Middle Ages, a tradition that was maintained by a class of musicians known as Stadtpfeifer. Professional musicians employed by the town, Stadtpfeifer provided music to articulate the daily rhythms and to mark the big moments of civic life. Their list of duties included “performance at official celebrations, festival parades, royal

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visits, civic weddings or baptisms, participation in church services and church and school festivities, as well as the education of the musical apprentices.”11 From the late sixteenth to the early eighteenth centuries, Stadtpfeifer were commonly called upon to play from the church tower or the tower of the town hall. The music they played on these occasions was called Turmmusik (tower music) and consisted of harmonized chorales and folk melodies or more extended pieces. Such music was normally played by wind instruments, in particular cornets, trumpets, and trombones, in four- or five-part harmony.12 The traditions of Stadtpfeifer and Turmmusik were very much part of community life in the Saxon towns of Zittau and Bautzen,13 16 and 34 kilometres, respectively, from the Moravian home church in Herrnhut. Intertwined with religious practice, but largely outside the structure of the church itself, Moravian brass bands resonated with the life of the community, performing chorales for celebrations and in observance of moments of passage. Over the course of the eighteenth century the Herrnhut trombone choir acquired an extensive list of ritual responsibilities. Ben van den Bosch14 enumerated these as • Ausblasen (from ca. 1750) – a highly ritualized announcement of the death of one of the Brethren; it was formalized to include, first, a single verse from the Passion chorale (Mel. 151a); then a verse from another chorale that identified the social choir the deceased belonged to; and, finally, another verse of the Passion chorale. • Funerals (from 1731) – leading the procession from the church to God’s Acre and accompanying the singing during the burial liturgy. • Aufblasen (from ca. 1740) – a pre-dawn procession through the village to awaken the community for the various festival celebrations on the Christian calendar. • Easter morning (from 1732) – leading the procession to God’s Acre at dawn on Easter morning for a service of remembrance and resurrection, as well as accompanying congregational singing there. • Nachtwache (from 1747) – at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve the trombone choir interrupts the speaker at the Watchnight service by loudly playing “Nun danket alle Gott / Now thank we all our God” in a “uniquely permitted liturgical catastrophe.”15 • Special services (from ca. 1740) – calling the community to special services, including Holy Communion and Lovefeasts, services for which the bell is not typically rung. • Non-liturgical celebrations – on occasions for welcome into the community or farewell, at feasts and other celebratory occasions.

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From Herrnhut, the tradition of trombone choirs or brass ensembles spread to other Moravian communities. There were brass choirs in Marienborn and Niesky by 1747; in Zeist (Holland) by 1746; and in Christiansfeld (Denmark) by 1778. In all these communities, the members of the brass ensemble were amateurs – watchmakers, joiners, or farmers by day; trombone players or cornetists by evening and on festival days. The members of the brass ensembles were neither professional musicians nor members of the ministerial collective.16 Whereas organists and choir directors had mandated liturgical responsibilities, brass ensembles functioned more within a social rather than liturgical sphere. Thus despite the Moravian belief in the liturgy of daily life, the brass ensembles evolved with a degree of autonomy from the church. Devotional though the activity was, the brass ensembles sprang from the domain of musical amateurs and non-clerics, and remained there. The brass ensembles were exported early to colonial fields, especially in North America: to Pennsylvania in the 1740s and to North Carolina in 1753. The trombone choirs were well-suited to supporting missionary efforts. Besides being able to reinforce hymn-singing (and even accommodating the occasional chromaticism in the chorales), the instruments were easily learned, relatively simple in mechanism, and light to transport; they also sounded well out of doors. Although, as we shall see, the extreme climate in Labrador and Greenland posed particular challenges. The advent of valve mechanisms and increased standardization in brass instruments early in the nineteenth century eliminated one of the main advantages that a trombone choir had over mixed brass ensembles, making it as easy to play chromatic music with trumpets and horns as with trombones. Except in the Pennsylvania colonies, where the “most important and most enduring” trombone ensembles in the Moravian tradition were created,17 mixed brass ensembles had begun to supersede trombone choirs in much of Europe and the rest of the Moravian world by mid-nineteenth century. Nevertheless, all-trombone choirs remained the norm in some communities, most notably in Pennsylvania and North Carolina, where they have maintained an iconic status that has come to be an almost universal symbol of Moravian music-making. The original name of the mission station at St Thomas, Virgin Islands, Posaunenberg (“Trombone Mountain),18 offers testament to how iconic the brass band/trombone choir was to the Moravian mission activity. Like the Moravian refugees who arrived in Herrnhut in 1722 with “Waldhörner, flutes, stringed instruments, and trombones” among their chattels, Jens Haven and his band of missionary men and women brought musical instruments

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with them on their settlement voyage to Labrador in 1771. The Amity, the ship that transported them from London, landed the Moravians on 10 August in Unity Bay at a spot christened Nain. The bill of lading for the voyage included provisions for one and a half years, guns and powder, two surplices, and “a pair of French horns.”19 It is a testament to the centrality of music – the brass tradition, in particular – that a pair of French horns were counted among the necessaries of life. In the busy early years of constructing the mission station, establishing relations with Inuit, and adapting to life in what for the Europeans would be an exceptionally hostile environment, little time and few opportunities were available to put these instruments to use. The Nain diary entry for 7 April 1776 records the first occurrence of an iconic Moravian ritual. “In 1776, for the first time in Labrador, Easter was celebrated in Nain in the traditional Moravian manner with the playing of French horns and the dawn service at the burial ground; this service, almost as the first baptism [which occurred the preceding February] had a singular effect on the Eskimos and helped maintain the enthusiasm and interest started in February.”20 It is notable that the first record of brass instruments being played in Labrador is attached to an account of that most symbol-laden of liturgies, the sounding of the resurrection at sunrise on Easter Sunday morning in God’s Acre. The acknowledgment of the “singular effect” of this ritual was further a recognition of music’s persuasive power in the campaign to bring Inuit to Christianity. This first use of brass instruments in Labrador had precedent in the Moravian missions to Greenlandic Inuit. The history of settlement there preceded that of Labrador by nearly four decades, and singing and instrumental music were already well established across the Davis Strait by the time Jens Haven arrived at Nain. In his Lebenslauf, Br John Gottfried Gorke, who spent forty-three years in Greenland, highlighted the musicality of the Greenlanders as being among his earliest memories. Writing of his impressions on his arrival in Lichtenfels in 1782, he wrote: The Greenlanders being very fond of music, and several Brethren having made some proficiency in playing tunes on the violin, the trumpet, or the French horn, I was glad to be able to render them assistance, so that at last we could perform anthems on festival-days, which contributed not a little to the interest taken by the congregation in our beautiful services. I have always been greatly delighted and edified, by the celebration of the festivals in the Greenland congregations.21

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Despite the auspicious beginning in 1776, records about the use of brass instruments in Labrador remain silent in the Moravian chronicle for almost fifty years. There is no reason to assume that the missionaries did not continue to perform at sunrise on Easter morning or that they did not introduce other typical uses of brass instruments in Labrador. They simply are not registered in published sources. It was only with the emergence of choirs at Nain and Hopedale around 1821 (see chapter 3), after which instruments began to be used to support choral singing, that we start encountering sporadic references to instrumental music and, increasingly, to its performance by Inuit musicians. These references consistently cite mixed ensembles of strings, winds, and occasionally brass instruments, made up of whatever was at hand and shaped by the capabilities of the instrumentalists. Typically they function in the church itself to support the singing, not as instrumental ensembles per se. Although there is sporadic mention made of brass instruments (at Nain in 1846, Joseph was singled out as an accomplished violinist and horn player,22 and missionaries were by then teaching brass instruments23), it seems that the real impetus for brass ensembles did not emerge until the 1850s.

III. Br Elsner and the Development of Brass Bands in the Nineteenth Century With a smidgen of fact and typically a large quotient of fantasy, the arrival of brass bands in Labrador was fictionalized by the mission apologist Fred W. Ward in an account published in 1900. He wrote: Education has been inculcated in a measure. An Eskimo Bible and a dictionary are accomplished facts, and the strains of a brass band – the one Eskimo band in the world – f loat through the icy air at the Hopedale mission. The story of this band is a curious one. The missionaries soon discovered that the Eskimos possessed a delicate ear for music, but nothing was done to cultivate this gift until after the arrival of a missionary who brought a brass instrument with him from his native land. The Eskimos were delighted when they heard him play, and asked to be allowed to try. He found them apt pupils and success soon rewarded his efforts. By the one mail of the year he ordered a full set of brass instruments to be sent to him from Germany. They were received a year later, and today instrumental selections are given at ordinary Mission services, with a full band

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on festival occasions, while at the oldest station, Nain, an Eskimo presides each Sunday at a small pipe organ.24 The possible grain of truth in this fable is around “missionary who brought a brass instrument with him from his native land.” Of course, as we have seen, brass instruments had been imported from the time of Jens Haven’s arrival in 1771 and were familiar both to the ears of all and to the lips of some Inuit. But the arrival of full sets of brass instruments and systematic instruction on them, leading to the formation of functioning brass bands, appears to have been the work of one missionary, Br August Ferdinand Elsner (1822–1895). Much as with the instruction and encouragement that Br Lewis Morhardt had exerted to inaugurate the choral singing tradition three decades earlier, Br Elsner stands at the source of a musical tradition that would rapidly take hold in Labrador and develop into an identifying emblem of Labrador Inuit social culture. Among the private letters from Labrador missionaries published in the March 1855 edition of the Periodical Accounts were several highlighting musical advances at the Inuit missions.25 Br August Freitag at Nain spoke of the high level of musical performance under the guidance of Inuk violinist and horn-player Joseph while thanking the SFG for the gift of a new f lute. From Okak, Br C.G. Albrecht remarked on the ability of two Inuit musicians to play that station’s fine organ with good style. Jonathan Mentzel added to his thanks for the recently received new cello a plea for a companion viola for Hebron. And from Hopedale, Br A.F. Elsner wrote: “Our church-music has been greatly improved by the present of three trombones, sent us from Zeist. The band have made such progress, that they were able to play several chorales at Easter, and on the arrival of the ship. Unfortunately, the tenor is still wanting.”26 This trio of brass instruments – and in this case it seems likely they actually were trombones, since Zeist was one of the places in Europe where trombone choirs were the norm – marks the beginning of the brass band tradition in Labrador. And it seems entirely likely that it was August Elsner who was the instigator. August Ferdinand Elsner was born on 16 February 1822 in Arnsdorf near Niesky. He had apprenticed as a cabinetmaker and at the age of twenty relocated to Herrnhut, where he worked as a carpenter and lived in the single brothers’ house. In 1843 he was received into the Moravian Church; in 1846, he was called to missionary service. On 21 July of that year he arrived in Labrador, beginning his assignment at Nain, where his skills as a carpenter were put to good use and he began acquiring Inuktitut by teaching the young children in the school. Like so many of the missionaries, Elsner’s skills as a craftsman were complemented

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by wide-ranging interests. He taught in the schools throughout most of his thirty-two years in Labrador, and after his retirement, in 1880, he wrote and had published the first Inuktitut-language geography textbook.27 Another constant across his years in Labrador was music. In his Lebenslauf, Elsner downplayed his skills as a musician, yet it is clear that music was one of the earliest and most enduring points of connection for him with Labrador Inuit: I have always enjoyed music very much, even though my talent for this art is not exactly great. I translated suitable anthems for the different holidays, transcribed them for the singers and instrumentalists, and practiced with them. Doing so, we experienced, of course, not only joyous occasions, but we could always be assured of the indulgence and mild judgment of our audience. Often, we reaped thanks and admiration where we should have received blame. By the way, spiritual music, and especially singing, is for Eskimos more than mere pastime. It is edifying: strengthening both heart and soul. We have often felt this later, when my wife accompanied on Sunday afternoons the singing of the Eskimos on our piano. Those were nice, refreshing hours, which also joined our hearts more closely with our people.28 Right from the start of his first posting at Nain, Elsner had the opportunity to put his skills as a carpenter to the service of music. The Nain diary for 1846– 47 recorded: “In the beginning of September [1846], the Brn Elsner and Ribbach were busily employed with the erection of an organ, which had been presented to us by a kind friend at Herrnhut.”29 Within a few years Elsner had assumed responsibility for the choir and accompanying instrumentalists at Nain. Elsner returned to Europe on furlough for the 1850–51 season. On 29 April 1851 he was married to Sr Bertha Grasse (1828–1913), a teacher and herself an accomplished musician. Across her twenty-seven years on the Labrador coast, Sr Elsner would teach many of Inuit musicians who would assume stewardship for the musical tradition in the church. The Elsners arrived at Hopedale on 5 August 1851, where they quickly sparked a musical renaissance in that community. The following Easter, Br Elsner could report that “the musical choir performed their part to great satisfaction,”30 though he acknowledged that their progress was impeded by the lack of instruments in the community. The Hopedale congregation had at its disposal the ancient organ that first arrived at Nain in 1828 and was transferred to Hopedale in 1847. In addition, there was a pair of poorly maintained clarinets, altogether a thin resource to support a growing choir. The report of these Passion Week musical performances published in

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the Nachrichten der Brüdergemeine reinforces the plea for new instruments by citing the diligence of Inuit musicians: The practice of new musical pieces which are found in these liturgies has been a priority by our Sr Elsner and our actively engaged Eskimo musicians and choir, through their active participation. The choir has been completely revitalized by engaging in several hours of rehearsal per week with great enthusiasm to acquire the necessary skill. What remains to be desired in the execution is mainly due to the fact that our Eskimos do not have instruments at home with which they can practice.31 Just as they had in 1824, when not-so-subtle pleas came from missionaries at Nain and Hopedale for string instruments that Inuit musicians could use to accompany the choir, the European supporters of the Labrador missions answered the call. A trio of trombones arrived at Hopedale from Zeist the following shipping season. Over the next two decades, there were frequent shipments of brass instruments to the Labrador mission stations, enabling each of the communities to nurture brass bands and to develop many of the devotional and social rituals for them that had been established by the Moravians in Europe. At Hopedale, the adoption of some of these customary Moravian practices was immediate. Only four months after the Zeist trombones landed there, they blasted in the new year with Labrador’s first recorded “liturgical catastrophe” at a Watchnight service. Br Elsner chronicled the event in the Hopedale diary: “to start something new with ourselves and our Eskimo community, we entered the new year at midnight on December 31st. under the sound of the trumpets.”32 Within three years, the uniquely Labrador tradition of greeting arriving vessels with the brass band playing “Now thank we all our God” had been introduced. Br Christian Barsoe returned to Hopedale on the Harmony in August 1856 after a year’s furlough. He was greeted by the brass band that, “standing before the Mission House, played several hymn-tunes. I cannot express our feelings in words. Yesterday evening, before the preparatory meeting for the Holy Communion, they also played, and awoke us in this morning in the same pleasing manner.”33 Barsoe here also confirmed the established practice of the brass band calling the congregation to special occasions of worship. By the end of the 1850s all comings and goings of any note were marked by salutations from the band. Early in the spring of 1857, Br Elsner undertook a dangerous expedition by dog team from Hopedale to investigate the possibility of establishing a mission to Inuit living around the distant Hudson’s Bay post at Northwest River. Despite still harsh winter conditions, Elsner recorded,

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“I left Hopedale at five o’clock in the morning of April 13th [1857]. Our tromboneplayers had, of their own accord, assembled before our house, and played the well-known tunes of several benedictory verses, by way of expressing their good wishes.”34 So established was the brass band tradition of greeting that its absence was worthy of note. On 16 July 1861, Bishop Levin T. Reichel landed at Hopedale for his official visitation to the Labrador mission stations. It was an arrival of considerable import, being the first formal inspection tour from Herrnhut since 1776. The Hopedale diary acknowledged an absence of the customary greeting: “Our brass band, which usually greets the arriving brethren with the sound of a trumpet, was not present; but when the landing craft approach the shore, a significant number of women and children had lined up on the beach and greeted those arriving by singing ‘Now Thank We all our God.’”35 By 1865 even non-Moravian observers were struck by the unique welcome that Inuit brass bands extended. That summer two members of the British Society of Friends, Isaac Sharp and Edwin Pumphrey, travelled with the Harmony on its annual provisions trip. Sharp subsequently published a lively account of the voyage, largely focused on the missionaries’ good works and the adventure of crossing the North Atlantic. Inuit make few appearances in Sharp’s chronicle, with the exception of the visitors’ arrival at Hopedale, on 26 July 1865: “On a rocky eminence the Esquimaux had gathered to watch the ship’s arrival; they warmly greeted the Harmony, the whole of the wind instruments, probably, of the settlement being called into requisition for this purpose.”36 The most iconic function of the Moravian brass band in Europe was the Easter morning service, a foretelling of the resurrection of the dead with the sound of trumpets and trombones echoing over God’s Acre at sunrise. Its symbolism and the desire to introduce it, even in Labrador’s hostile physical environment, has already been registered by Jens Haven’s proud announcement that French horns sounded Easter’s promise of new life at dawn in April 1776. But to a much greater extent than the brass accompaniment to the Watchnight service (which uniquely was held indoors) and the heralding of arrivals and departures (which mostly occurred in the summer and autumn), the Easter sunrise service was extremely weather dependent. All of the Labrador mission stations were exposed to the harsh winds and frigid temperatures of the North Atlantic in early spring. Even today spring weather in northern Labrador is fickle at best; more frequently, it is downright feral. In the mid-nineteenth century it was almost consistently foul or frigid – conditions that prevaricated against playing brass instruments outdoors. So despite the heavy symbolic import of the sunrise service, the brass band’s participation in this ritual was never a

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given. Propitious circumstances were celebrated, as in 1862 at Hopedale: “As there was but little snow on the ground, and the temperature moderate, we had the privilege of praying part of the Easter-morning Litany among the graves of the departed, where the solemn sound of trombones added considerably to the enjoyment of Easter-morning.”37 The Nain diary for 1861 notes that the weather was too foul for the brass players to accompany the congregation to the sunrise service in the cemetery.38 But two years later, in April 1863, the weather was calm enough for the trumpets to echo across the horizon: “We were able to hold the Easter litany in the cemetery, and the sound of trumpets over the graves of the dead reminded us of the happy morning of the resurrection, although the bleak natural surrounding of snow and ice presented a picture of death.”39 Even when the weather made it possible to process with brass instruments outdoors in the early spring, these Easter morning outings of the brass bands were not without hazard. The tiny mission station at Zoar (1865–94) had received a set of trombones soon after it was commissioned, while the settlement was being established under the supervision of Br August Elsner. The trombones were used to accompany the singing both indoors and out, before a small church with a harmonium was erected. Easter Sunday in Zoar in 1872 dawned warm enough to hold the early morning liturgy at the cemetery, with unexpected results: As the thermometer indicated only 9o below the freezing point on Easter Sunday, and it was quite calm, we prayed our beautiful Easter morning Litany in our burial ground. The path over the deep snow, which had been prepared by some Eskimoes on the previous day, led over the fence surrounding the burial-ground, which is five feet high; but the snow not being sufficiently firm under foot, occasionally gave way, so that now and then a leg sank into it to the depth of one or two feet, a misfortune which occasionally forced an unexpectedly shrill sound from the trombones of the musicians who headed the procession.40 While Hopedale may have been the first station in which a brass band rapidly assumed many of the functions that similar ensembles performed in Moravian Europe, the other larger stations followed suit. The band’s level of engagement was correlated to two factors: the availability of instruments, and – until the last decades of the nineteenth century, when the bands became the domain of Inuit bandmasters – the presence of a mentoring missionary. Nain, as noted elsewhere, had a long history of instrumental musicians accompanying vocal music. The presence of a brass band calling the faithful to worship is first recorded in 1861.41 Okak, farther to the north, also had a rich tradition of Inuit

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instrumentalists, but the first record of an actual brass band doesn’t appear until 1867, following on the intervention of Br Michael Ernst Beyer. Returning to Okak via Hopedale from a European furlough in 1865, Br Beyer had been deeply impressed by the welcome the Harmony received from the Hopedale band. He immediately petitioned Brethren from several European Moravian enclaves to support the creation of a band at Okak. A set of new instruments arrived the next shipping season, and Beyer set to work. A funeral for Br Peter Mortensen, who died on 2 April 1867, heard the Okak band for the first time in a processional march to the cemetery. A few weeks later, it marked the more joyous celebration of Easter with Okak’s first sunrise service. Both events, along with an expression of gratitude to the benefactors, were recorded in the Nachrichten der Brüdergemeine: After a funeral oration [for Br Mortensen], the coffin of our blessed brother was carried to our God’s Acre by 6 men dressed in white [silapâks]. The brass band went ahead and played a few chorales up to the grave, followed by the numerous members of the community in solemn silence and in good order. We then held a love feast with the whole congregation in memory of the blessedly perfected one … On Easter morning we were awakened early by the sound of trumpets at 4 am. and because of the calm weather and a temperature of only 9o, it was possible, for the first time in Okak, to pray the second half of the Easter litany in God’s Acre in the presence of the graves of our beloved departed with our singing accompanied by the sound of trumpets. The efforts of our dear Br. Beyer have succeeded in teaching the Eskimos to play these instruments this winter and we herewith extend our most intimate gratitude to our dear friends, most particularly the single brothers of Zeist, as well as the single sisters of Neusalz and Herrnhut, whose generosity enabled Br. Beyer to acquire these instruments.42 Although Okak’s exposed position and northern latitude meant that Easter weather was frequently too inclement to allow the band to circulate on Easter morning, it appears that the brass band remained active under missionary guidance across the last third of the century. Farther north, the smaller settlement of Hebron was exposed to the harshest climate. Despite the encouraging presence of Br Jonathan Mentzel from the time the Hebron station was established in 1830 until his departure from Labrador in 1856, there are no mentions of brass band performances at Hebron until 1874. In that year’s report published in Nachrichten der Brüdergemeine a resurgence of interest among

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Figure 4.3  The mission house, church, and store at Zoar in 1894.

Inuit youth is noted: “Among our youth there has been a great interest shown in learning to play the organ and brass instruments which have been diligently practiced, although the trombones are old and nearly unusable. Nevertheless they succeeded (without instruction) to know how to play chorales on Easter morning among the Eskimo houses and afterwards from the church tower.”43 It seems likely that the implicit request for new instruments was answered. Three years later, the Hebron report notes that “on Easter morning at 3 a.m. our brass band inaugurated the festival with several chorales.”44 An anomaly in the spread of brass bands across the Moravian Inuit settlements of Labrador is the small and short-lived community of Zoar. Its outsized story of trombone choirs brings us full circle to Br August Elsner and his role as a progenitor of brass bands in Labrador. Commissioned in 1865, midway between Hopedale and Nain, Zoar was at its outset as much a commercial venture as a spiritual one. Part of its raison d’etre was to discourage Inuit from trading with the hbc post at nearby Davis Inlet. A significant presence of English-speaking settlers who fished and hunted in the surrounding area meant that the Zoar congregation was not only small but also more ethnically diverse than the older stations. Br Elsner was called upon to construct the first house at Zoar in 1865; the following year his family joined him there. A school was opened in

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1867 employing the services of the Inuk Thomas (1841–1895), the older brother of Nain’s organist and teacher, Natanael Illiniartitsijok. Thomas was himself an accomplished musician, and the annual examinations in Zoar featured performances of hymns and part-songs, to the delight of the Elsners and the community.45 Thus, despite its small size and primitive circumstances, Zoar had the makings of a sophisticated musical environment. In response to the news, published in the Periodical Accounts in 1869, that the Christian community at Zoar had vastly outgrown its meeting room in the mission house, a substantial benefaction was received from a Miss Harriot Athanasia Tucker in England – funds sufficient not only to construct a small church, but also to outfit it with a bell for the steeple as well as an organ. Fittingly, the laying of the cornerstone was sounded by a choir of trombones: “On the 29th September, 1870, the foundationstone of the little church was laid, in memory of the departed sister of a Christian lady friend in England. The solemn service was as usual, address, prayer, and singing accompanied by the trombones. We need not add, that we gratefully remembered the kind giver of the means for the erection of the church.”46 The new church was dedicated over two days of celebrations on 19–20 February 1874. Extended accounts of these celebrations were published in both the Periodical Accounts and the Nachrichten. The work of the Inuk teacher Thomas and the Elsners’ encouragement of and mentorship in music is evident throughout, as is the prominent role played by the small trombone choir. The opening service alone offers a rich portrait of the event: On February 19th, at 7 o’clock in the morning, the new bell, a present from the late Miss H.A. Tucker, was used for the first time, relieved at intervals by suitable chorales played by the band of trombonists from the neatly decorated cupola of the church. As soon as the people heard the first sound of the bell, they emerged from their huts in evident joy, the better to listen to those tones which should henceforward call them to their house of God. At half-past 8 o’clock as many as could find room met in the old chapel; a verse was sung standing, after which the congregation assembled in front and at the side of our house, as far as the snow had been trodden hard in the previous evening. First were the school children, next to them two little girls carrying the key of the new church upon a neatly worked cushion, then the brethren and sisters of the mission-families, the band of trombonists, the men and women of the Eskimo congregation. It was a beautiful, quiet morning. During the ringing of the bell, we walked in procession, two and two, round the church until we came to the women’s entrance, when Br. Elsner addressed the people in the words of the 4th

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verse of the 100th Psalm, “Enter into His gates with thanksgiving and into His courts with praise, be thankful unto Him and bless His name,” and thereupon unlocked the door in the name of the Triune God. The trombonists were the first to enter, and welcomed the congregation by playing the chorale, “Praise God for ever.”47 The Eskimoes were so taken by surprise at the sight of the beautifully decorated church, that they seemed willing to remain at the doors, scarcely venturing to take their seats. As soon as all were seated, a verse was sung, after which Br. Elsner offered up the dedicatory prayer, wherein he implored the Lord to take possession of this house, and ever to give both speakers and hearers in the same the gracious perception of His presence and blessing. After the prayer, the choir, accompanied by wind instruments and violins played by Eskimoes and a Harmonium played by Sr. Elsner, performed an anthem, Br. Elsner then with a suitable address welcomed the congregation to the new church.48 Music figured prominently in the dedicatory services spread across these two days. The schoolchildren, under Thomas’s leadership, performed Carl Maria von Weber’s short anthem “Holy, holy, holy is God the Lord.” Singstunden were held on both evenings, with the choir and instrumentalists contributing anthems to the service.49 In the years following the dedication, brass instruments continued to sound from the Zoar cupola, with an infusion of new instruments arriving in 1877. The Zoar missionaries expressed their gratitude to numerous benefactors in Europe: We are compelled to express our deep gratitude for the trombones which have been sent to us for the improvement of our church music. To Abraham Dürninger in Herrnhut, the dear friends of our mission in Lübeck, in Würtemberg, in Switzerland, England, Holland und Sweden we wish to express our most particular gratitude. These dear benefactors are known to our Lord; He will reward them richly for their love.50 The year after the dedication of the new Zoar church, the Elsners were granted a furlough to Europe. When they returned to Labrador in 1875 they were reassigned to Hopedale, where they once again encouraged the development of a sophisticated musical community. Bertha Elsner took an active role in training both organists and the choir. All evidence suggests that the brass band flourished. When Br Elsner’s failing health necessitated their retirement three years later, the mission stations regretted the loss of the Elsners’ “experience and

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varied gifts,” among which music figured prominently.51 The newly dedicated church itself would remain in Zoar for only two decades. After the station was closed in 1896, the church was taken down and transported to Ramah to replace the deteriorating structure there. Ramah was decommissioned only twelve years later in 1908, and the Zoar/Ramah church was dismantled once again and re-erected at Nain, where its rededication on 19 October 1910 was the occasion of another auspicious musical event in the Inuit history of Moravian Labrador.52 The reports of the 1873 Zoar dedication in the Periodical Accounts consistently refer to a “band of trombonists”; the parallel accounts in the Nachrichten refer to the same ensemble as a Bläserchor. Whether trombones or mixed brass, is impossible to determine. The ensemble would likely have been no more than four musicians to be able to play from the cupola of the small church. The little band both accompanied the singing, even in the presence of a harmonium, and performed independently in heraldic roles to announce the launch of the dedicatory celebrations. But was it a trombone choir of the type iconic in Pennsylvania Moravian colonies or a mixed-brass ensemble? And were the musicians congregants from Zoar or musicians from Nain, which was only a few hours away over the sea ice by dog team? It is impossible to say with certainty. The likelihood, however, is that it was a mixed brass band. By the time the bands were forming in Labrador in the mid-1850s, easy-to-play and -maintain valved instruments had become commonplace. Trombone choirs were a possibility in Labrador, especially in instances where the instruments were provided by communities like Zeist or Herrnhut. But it seems more likely, because of the casual inconsistency of the language used, the availability of a range of valved instruments, and sheer pragmatism, that the Labrador bands were largely mixed. Proof comes before the end of the nineteenth century, when photography came into widespread use at the Moravian missions of Labrador.

IV. Brass Bands into the Twentieth Century In the summer of 1888, Bishop Benjamin La Trobe (1847–1917), secretary of the sfg, editor of the Periodical Accounts, and a distant cousin of Christian Ignatius La Trobe,53 undertook the third official visitation to the Labrador missions in as many decades. Arriving with the mission ship at Hopedale on 3 August and departing from Hebron fifty-three days later, Bishop La Trobe visited all six stations, meeting with missionaries and Inuit congregants and collecting observations about the Moravian presence in Labrador. Later the same year, he published his reflections in a richly illustrated travel account

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titled With the Harmony to Labrador. For the benefit of the missions’ supporters La Trobe vividly captured the thrilling landscape, from the impressive peaks of Kiglapeit to the brilliant dance of the aurora borealis, despite the torments inflicted on him by clouds of mosquitoes. The chronicle recounts obligatory kayak demonstrations, a dog sled ride in the pre-winter of Hebron, and perilous near-misses with icebergs. Like all authors of visitation accounts, La Trobe presented an otherworldly topography as the backdrop to the edifying lives of Christian Inuit, starkly contrasting those lives with the remnants of their pre-contact existence. Even by today’s standards, the writing is compelling; to mission supporters of the late nineteenth century it would have been an absolute page-turner. At several stops along the coast, La Trobe, like Reichel before him, observed the devout and sophisticated musical performances of Inuit choirs, orchestras, and bands. His magical evocation of his last night at Hebron as the Inuit congregation piled into small boats and circled the Harmony singing hymn after hymn was cited in chapter 2.54 Among the illustrations in With the Harmony to Labrador is a group portrait of the Nain choir, a line drawing copied from a photograph by Hermann Jannasch.55 La Trobe also observed the ceremonial role of brass bands both at Nain, where the mission band rowed out to greet the Harmony’s arrival, and at Hopedale, where, on 12 August 1888, the band summoned the community to worship on the Church Anniversary Festival Day. He wrote: To-day the festival of the thirteenth of August, the spiritual birthday of the renewed Brethren’s Unity, has been celebrated in this far northern congregation, incorporated in the one bond with those in Germany, England, America, and our various mission-fields scattered thousands of miles apart over the surface of the globe. In the early morning the congregation band played suitable chorales in good time and tune, and the solemn strains were well adapted to prepare hearts and feelings for the spiritual privileges of the day.56 La Trobe did not capture or include an image of the Hopedale brass band, but five years later, another visitor to the coast did, providing us with what is likely the first photo documentation of a Labrador Inuit brass band. Eliot Curwen (1865–1950) was a British medical doctor who had been recruited for the summer season of 1893 by Wilfred Grenfell to serve the Mission to Deep Sea Fishermen on the floating hospital ship Albert. Though his main responsibility was to care for the seasonal Newfoundland fishermen who worked the Labrador coast, he

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Figure 4.4  The Hopedale brass band in 1893, as photographed by Eliot Curwen.

found himself anchored at Hopedale in late August 1893 for nearly a month, which afforded him many opportunities to interact with Inuit and the Moravian missionaries. An able diarist, Curwen was also an adept photographer, and he used his skills to document Inuit life. That included making a photograph of the Hopedale brass band on Saturday, 26 August 1893. The posed photograph shows eleven men, dressed ceremonially in their white silapâks, each holding his instrument. Front and centre is the bandmaster, Daniel, holding his euphonium. Directly behind him is Ambrose Assa, Hopedale’s organist and choirmaster, whose leadership role will be discussed in chapter 5. The musicians range in age from a couple of teenagers to several mature men. Possibly most interesting about this picture is the disposition of instruments. Although it is impossible to identify each instrument with certainty due to how they are positioned and the lack of standardization in brass instruments at the time, this is obviously a mixed brass ensemble and not a trombone choir. Equally evident is that it is a balanced, mixed ensemble, with two or three instruments capable of carrying each of the satb lines of their Moravian chorale tune repertoire. The sound would have been full, rich, and

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balanced, as confirmed by Curwen himself, who described the band as “trained to play really well by the missionaries.”57 Photographic documentation confirms a similar composition of brass bands at each of the larger and more established Labrador missions across the next two or three decades. By the close of the nineteenth century, the Moravians had become adept photographers, and they included this rather new technology in the curriculum for prospective missionaries at the Missionsschule in Niesky beginning in 1891.58 Overcoming the cumbersome equipment and primitive developing facilities, the missionaries used this new tool to portray Labrador Inuit to mission supporters in Europe and to share the lives of their remote Labrador communities with the communion of Brethren around the globe. The largest part of the photographs taken by missionaries in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries depict Inuit women and children engaging in various aspects of Inuit life. There are also a number showing travel across Labrador’s harsh environment by sled and boat; but there are relatively few of the natural environment, except for icebergs.59 Together with photographs made by a handful of visitors to the mission settlements, they provide us with a dozen or so defining images of the brass bands around the beginning of the twentieth century. A group of photographs of the Nain band from the first decade of the twentieth century show two slightly different configurations of the band. Two images, shot before 1905, likely by one of the missionaries, depict the same group of Inuit brass players. In one, seven men are sitting on a komatik outside the Nain church in winter. In the back row stand three trombonists; the leftmost is likely a bass. In the front row are four trumpets or cornets, the two in the centre being identical instruments, the two outer ones possibly lower-pitched. Like the 1893 Hopedale band, the ensemble is well-balanced across the satb voice range and would have been able to perform the Moravian chorales with integrity. The second photograph,60 again posed, is an interior shot. Here the seven band members seen in the earlier photo are joined by a clarinetist and the band leader and national helper, Michael Atsatatojok, who is not shown with an instrument. This second photograph61 accompanied an account of the visit to Nain by the governor of Newfoundland, Sir William MacGregor. Rev. Walter Perrett reported on this auspicious visit in the Periodical Accounts: During the afternoon His Excellency paid a visit ashore, when a very hearty welcome was accorded him by the Nain Eskimoes. The Red Ensign and other flags were hoisted on many houses, and the Nain Brass Band assembled at the wharf head and played a selection of music, His Excellency stepping ashore to the strains of the National Anthem. The bandsmen

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Figure 4.5  The Nain Brass Band, ca. 1905.

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Figure 4.6  The Nain Brass Band, ca. 1905. The band’s leader, Michael Atsatatojok, is in the top row centre, not holding an instrument.

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Figure 4.7  The Nain Brass Band on the beach, 19 October 1910, the day the new Nain church was dedicated.

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Figure 4.8  Nain Brass Band members on the roof of a house, ca. 1908. In this picture the band is made up primarily of trombones.

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were the first to receive a few words of thanks and complement, His Excellency remarking how gratified he was to see them so loyal, and how pleased he was to find they could accomplish so much with their instruments. Much to their delight he handed them a present of money to be divided among them.”62 Two years later, another visitor happened to be present for an even more auspicious occasion: the dedication of the new Nain church, an event much celebrated across the mission world, for it was the first church in Labrador constructed entirely with Inuit labour. The material for the new church came from the twice decommissioned one at Zoar/Ramah, but it was built entirely by the congregants. This new church was dedicated on 19 October 1910, inaugurated by the singing of an anthem composed by Nain organist and choirmaster Natanael Illiniartitsijok.63 But as with all Labrador occasions of significance, the day was announced by the brass band. On hand was Geoffrey Gathorne-Hardy, who had arrived back at Nain after accompanying Hesketh Hesketh-Prichard on a harrowing overland trek along the Fraser Canyon to the George River and back.64 Hardy made several photographs of the Nain band on 19 October 1910, both in front of the new church and on the beach. The beach photographs present a different ensemble than the mixed brass bands documented in other photographs. Here five trombones (likely one bass and four tenors) are complemented by three treble instruments, one of which may be slightly lower-voiced than the other two. This presents an ensemble strongly weighted toward the tenor voice and suggests that the Posaunenchor in nearby Zoar was in fact made up of trombones sent from Zeist, the instruments being transferred to Nain after the Zoar station was closed. Another Nain photo from roughly the same time period shows the same distribution of instruments. Photographic evidence from Okak and Hebron is scanter, but the available images from both point again to a well-balanced ensemble suitable for approximating the choral voice ranges required for the repertoire of Moravian hymns. A photograph made on the wharf at Okak by Samuel King Hutton likely dates from his first residency there as a medical missionary. Hutton’s colourful descriptions of the band in his 1912 memoir make it possible to identify several of the bandsmen: Samuel (leftmost) on the tenor; Solomon, one of the two cornetists; Benjamin on trombone, and Jeremias Sillitt encircled by the bombardon.65 Though slightly smaller than the bands documented at Hopedale and Nain, the Okak ensemble is, likewise, well balanced, with two instruments each on the outer soprano and bass voices and one each on alto and tenor. An undated

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Figure 4.9  The Okak brass band on the wharf, ca. 1908. Samuel (leftmost) plays the tenor; Solomon, is one of the two cornetists; Benjamin is the trombonist, and Jeremias Sillitt is encircled by the bombardon.

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Figure 4.10  The Hebron brass band in front of the church, undated.

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photo of the Hebron brass band, but likely from before 1918, shows a similar composition of instruments, with a tuba, trombone, and tenor horn supporting the bass clef lines and five trumpets or cornets to carry the treble. These turn-of-the-century images from the four most established Labrador mission stations66 present a composite portrait of Inuit brass band as registrally balanced, mixed ensembles. It seems unlikely that the iconic trombone choir, a musical symbol of Moravian settlements in Pennsylvania, Zeist, and Herrnhut, was ever part of the Labrador soundscape. Even where trombones outnumbered the other instruments, as in the photos from Nain in 1910, the instruments were predominantly tenors, indicating that there was no possibility of a full satb trombone choir. Rather, the Inuit brass band was a pragmatically constructed ensemble of instruments at hand, instruments solicited from mission benefactors through the annual reports published in the Periodical Accounts, Moravian Missions, and elsewhere. And the instruments at hand were sometimes not even brass instruments – witness the clarinet in the 1908 photo of the band from Nain, and other “band” photographs that include string instruments.67 Because of the limited capacity for acquiring instruments, the bands were inevitably ad hoc affairs determined by a match between available instruments and the players who could make them sound. There was, however, one consistent evidence of intentionality in the band composition. If an ideal was strived for in the make-up of the bands, it was the ideal of a balanced satb texture. These ad hoc ensembles always ensured that all four voices of a chorale could be reproduced with integrity, resulting in a full and harmonious texture, an echo across the landscape of the well-accustomed fourpart harmony that resonated within the walls of their churches, that animated their domestic devotions, and that signified their adoption of Christian spirituality. If there was a weighting in the balance of these ensembles that was other than circumstantial, it was perhaps a foregrounding of the outer voices – soprano and bass; emphases that are musically inherent in the chorale genre itself.

V. Brass Band Repertoire and Sound What the bands looked like is easier to determine than what they sounded like. Their repertoire was (almost) entirely comprised of hymns, both traditional Moravian chorales and the “Sankeys” that grew in popularity as the nineteenth century was coming to a close. But the specifics of which hymns were played and in what circumstances are known mainly through anecdote. As noted earlier, “Jêsus tessiunga” (“Nun danket alle Gott” / “Now thank we all our God”) was

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Figure 4.11  Page 9 from Samuel Terriak’s “Primo” Tune Book 1960, page 9, containing trumpet parts for Melodies 83b[f] and 95. In addition to the pitch notation on the staff, the pencilled numbers below indicate open or fingered positions.

among the melodies played by the earliest brass bands at Nain and Hopedale.68 By the beginning of the twentieth century, accounts of departures were noting that the band appropriately sent off visitors with “Takkotigêlarminiptingnut” (“God be with you till we meet again”). But beyond this handful of mentions, no formal records were kept of the bands’ repertoires until amateur recordings started being made. Thus, there is little physical evidence via the band music itself. The hymn-books were published and remain widely available, and the choral anthems were maintained in multiple copies in the choir lofts of each of the churches, but each bandsman was responsible for creating and maintaining his own music. The tune books he made, often employing highly personal forms of notation, remained his property and have never been systematically collected. The vast majority of these tune books have undoubtedly been lost, as have so many of the instruments that would have offered more precise information as to the sound of the bands. One exception is a collection that belonged to the late James R. Andersen, Sr (1919–2011) of Makkovik. “Uncle Jim” was an inveterate collector, and his collection extended beyond the tunes he copied out for his own personal use as a member of the Makkovik band. Besides sixty-five individual tune sheets containing approximately 125 different melodies in Uncle Jim’s collection, there are four tune books, which originated from bandsmen at Hopedale, Makkovik and Happy Valley, in the collection of the Hopedale Moravian Church. Though dating from the mid-twentieth century and randomly assembled, these sources, taken together, offer some insight into the kinds of hymns and other tunes the bands played.

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Table 4.1  Distribution of most frequently occurring hymn tune parts in the J.R. Andersen Brass Band Manuscript Collection Moravian chorales

Sankey hymn tunes and other

Occurrences

Occurrences

Melody number and title

Hymn number and title

7

185 – Nun danket / Now thank we

3

317 – Christ arose

7

166a – Pilgrimage / What off’ring

3

388 – The Prince of Peace

6

83f – Jesus meine Zuversicht / Jesus be our chief delight

3

680 – Stand up for Jesus

6

160 – Was Gott tut / What God ordains

4

14b – Lobt Gott / O Christ our hope

5

God save the King

4

132a – Allein Gott / All glory be

4

159 – Herrnhut / ’Tis most blessed

4

167a – Cassel / Peace be to this congregation

Of the total of 175 individual parts, almost two thirds are for Moravian chorale melodies. All but four of the remainder are for Sankey hymns. The final four are secular, but obligatorily ceremonial, and include “God save the King” (in multiple copies), “Rule Britania,” and, perhaps as a nod to the presence of American servicemen in Labrador during the Second World War, “Battle hymn of the Republic.” Although there were considerably more individual parts to the chorale tunes than there were for the Sankeys, the actual number of hymn titles was the same: forty-one Moravian chorales and forty-one Sankey tunes. Among these, a proportionately higher number of Sankey tunes were contained in the sheets that appear to have originated in Makkovik than in the Hopedale tune books. The most popular hymns (determined by the number of part copies) are shown in the table above. From this admittedly random sample, it is possible to conclude that the original Moravian chorale repertoire, which the bands adopted in the mid-nineteenth century, remained their core repertoire. The familiar four-part harmonies, secured in the aural memories of the bandsmen; the simple, often stepwise melody lines in the soprano and inner voices; the easy to remember and execute neutral rhythms – all these factors made the transfer of the sung chorales to the brass bands a straightforward and natural process. The deep and universal familiarity with these tunes confirmed the sense of connection that the band

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evoked as it circulated through the village, calling congregants to worship on festival days or fêting an Elder on a birthday or anniversary. As the hymn repertoire expanded in the early twentieth century with the influx of revivalist hymnody, the bands began to add “Sankeys” to their repertoire. Certain of these hymns, such as “Safe in the arms of Jesus,” “Shall we gather by the river?,” and, especially, “God be with you,” entered the repertoire of several of the bands. But the Moravian chorales remained at the core of the bands’ playlists. Beyond the hymns, each band had a small list of ceremonial tunes it could draw from. “God save the King” was pulled out to greet official visitors, from the Anglican Bishop of the Arctic to Newfoundland’s governors on their rare visits to the coast. Its necessary inclusion in every Inuit band’s repertoire served as a reminder that the entire Moravian/Inuit enterprise existed by grace of the colonial power. It was sounded as a symbolic thread connecting Labrador Inuit to the colonial power at times of insecurity and conflict. Writing to the Secretary of the sfg as news of the 1940 Blitz on London reached distant Labrador, Br George Harp offered this assurance of solidarity: “Our Eskimos pray for you. Indeed, we are called on daily to remember you in a way that is characteristic of a Labrador mission station: the brass band plays the National Anthem three times every evening at eight o’clock. This is midnight English time. Thus are our thoughts directed to you at the end of each day. God bless you all.”69 More locally, the Nain band had a special “Happy Birthday Song” with which it concluded the serenade of honoured community Elders on their fiftieth birthdays. And alongside “Jêsus tessiunga” and “Takkotigêlarminiptingnut,” the Hebron band played “Home Sweet Home” when the families of Joshua Obed and Hennock Lampe were the first to leave for Nain during the 1959 resettlement.70 Capturing the sound of Inuit brass bands is more challenging still. Most descriptions focus on either their function within the community or their effect on the listeners. Even more to the point, there never was a single brass band sound to describe. Each community that supported a band had its own tradition of practice. The decidedly ad hoc make-up of the individual bands further prevaricates against coming up with a defining sound. At any given time, who played and what instruments were played – all factors determining the sound – were very much matters of moment and circumstance. Photographs confirm that the composition by instrument and membership of the bands was fluid, even as they maintained an satb configuration. Furthermore, there is little documentation to suggest that the bands practised regularly. By comparison, the choirs had a fixed calendar of weekly performance occasions from November to April with an established repertoire and documented rehearsal routines. The largely social functions the bands performed and the often spontaneous

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occasions at which they played (who knew for sure when the boat was coming in?) lent an “in the moment” quality to their performances. Rev. F.W. Peacock framed his assessment of the bands diplomatically in an interview for the cbc in 1967 in which he contrasted the excellent musicianship of Inuit organists and string players with the enthusiasm of the bandsmen: The Eskimos also had brass bands. I don’t say that they are the best brass bands in the world, but they play with plenty of enthusiasm. On Christmas morning they are out, about six o’clock, going around from house to house giving the call to “awake,” I suppose to those who are not already awake. Then on Easter morning they start out about an hour before sunrise, or before the sunrise service, which starts half an hour before sunrise, and they go from house to house. Sometimes they get out at three and half-past-three in the morning and play. In the early mornings it is rather difficult conditions to play brass instruments, out in the cold and snow. They take spare players with them, and each instrument is covered with a duffle bag and they play underneath the bag, as it were. It doesn’t muffle the sound very much, as I can attest to since I’ve been awakened on many occasions by the brass band. However conditions are difficult and sometimes, as I said, the instruments freeze up.71 Peacock’s allusion to the duffles the instruments were wrapped in for outdoor winter occasions broaches environmental circumstances that affected both the sound and, especially, the players themselves. The scattered recordings of the bands that exist from the 1950s onwards definitely place them outdoors. Echoes from across the fjord, the resonance of the band against snow and ice, barking dogs, passing snowmobiles, and the sound of the footfalls of band members in the deep and crusty snow are very much part of the sonic environment. However, the two factors that affected the band members most stand out: the cold and the mosquitoes. To address the cold, Inuit musicians (more accurately, their wives) came up with an ingenious solution, essentially a mitten that fit around both the instrument and the “valve hand” of the performer. They called these “duffles” after the fabric they were made from. According to Mark Turner “these duffles prevent the condensation inside brass instruments from freezing by shielding valves and slides from the ambient temperature while simultaneously keeping valves, slides, and hands warm.”72 Less obvious to those not on the ground in Labrador, but no less perilous an environmental hazard, were mosquitoes. In the absence of a brisk breeze, clouds of mosquitoes plague the coastal settlements of Labrador during the

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Figure 4.12  The Nain Brass Band in the churchyard in winter. The brass instruments are encased in “duffles.”

warm, muggy summer days. Beyond the nuisance factor, the clouds they form are so dense as to constitute a breathing hazard. Most visitors’ accounts across the entire history of the Moravian settlements veer at some point into a diatribe against the Labrador mosquito. In the summer of 1940, Archibald Fleming (1883–1953), Anglican Bishop of the Arctic, travelled the coast of Labrador on the hbc’s steamship, the Nascopie. During a seven-day stopover in Hebron, after holding an Anglican service in the church, he was the recipient of a serenade by the brass band. On 28 July, he wrote: “One rather touching incident took place when the Hebron mission band played various selections outside the church after a service. It seemed strange to see the Eskimo in their white parkas blowing their eight big brass instruments. The evening was dull with slight rain and an abundance of mosquitos and their play was constantly interrupted in an effort to dispose of the persistent attention of these pests.”73 The most telling, if still spotty, evidence of the sound of the bands comes from a number of recordings dating from the second half of the twentieth century. The first recording of an Inuit brass band was made on 16 July 1937 in Hebron harbour on the rms Nascopie and broadcast on the cbc. Rev. George Harp reported on what he described as an epoch-making event: We then made our way to the Nascopie and [brass band] selections were played whilst we ran alongside to her anchorage. Everyone was pleased. We had been aboard a very short time when the bandsmen were invited to

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broadcast over the Canadian Broadcast Commission! This they did, and played very well indeed. The first selection was the National Anthem, and then two very well-known hymns. We hope everyone listening-in enjoyed the programme. Our instrumentalists had had no real practice for three months, and we are proud of their performance. All the people have left us to go to their trout-fishing places, where they will be two months, and we hope they do well. One thing we do know, and that is they will not quickly forget the time their brass band broadcast over the radio. I shall soon be going to visit them, and hold services in their tents, and I am sure one topic of conversation will be about the Hebron brass band broadcasting.74 Beginning in the 1950s, amateur recordings were made occasionally by band and community members, though the details of when and where these performances took place, and by whom, are usually missing. As Mark Turner has observed, “complicating matters, many of these early recordings were prepared at unknown tape speeds, making playback and digitization difficult.”75 By the 1970s, a small number of field recordings had been made by researchers or for documentary films. These tend to be technically more controlled recordings, though still far from studio quality (see list of recordings for listening online on page xxv). Typically they still capture the environment in which the bands played, replete with outdoor echoes, resonance from the snow surfaces, barking dogs, roaring snowmobiles, and the movement of the band itself through the space. Among the earliest sets of such recordings are three hymns taped by Rev. Siegfried Hettasch with a band made up largely of Hebronimiut who had been forcibly relocated to Makkovik in 1959. In the first decade after this forced resettlement, the reconstitution of the band and choir, particularly in the predominantly settler village of Makkovik, was seen by the church as a means of maintaining community among the displaced. The brass band clips from Hettasch’s collection offer a hint of what the Hebron band would have sounded like shortly after relocation (with the acknowledgment that tempo and pitch have likely been somewhat distorted during the digitization process). Although far from professional standards, these performances were recorded in controlled settings with minimal background noise. The recordings represent more intentional sound documents than are typical among the other samples of the bands. The sound is present, balanced, and rehearsed. Notwithstanding the likelihood that the digital playback is faster than the original performance, the band plays all four hymns at a brisk and forward tempo – considerably faster than other recordings of brass bands and choirs. There is a tendency to

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articulate cadences temporally either by pressing into the antepenultimate beat or articulating it with a caesura. While the soprano line sounds prominent because of register and the familiarity of the hymn tunes, the texture is fairly equal-voiced, with all four voices participating in the simple counterpoint. In the recording of Melody 83f, all four voices participate in the embellishment of line with passing notes and turning figures, continuations of the improvisatory practice common in Moravian hymn-singing. By contrast, there is no embellishment of the line in the recording of “What a friend we have in Jesus.” In this popular, Sankey-style hymn, the lower three voices are purely harmonic in function and don’t invite the kind of simple counterpoint that was both composed and elaborated through improvisation in the Moravian chorale repertoire. Both these recordings reflect a transfer of the hymn repertoire as sung to the voices of the brass instruments. Another recording from this group represents something more akin to a resetting or adaptation of the material to instrumental performance. The band’s rendition of Dmitry Borniansky’s Vesper Hymn (1818) is also known under the title “Now, on land and sea descending.” One short anthem by Borniansky, Hailig, Hailig 76 entered the repertoire of the Nain choir to be sung at the Watchnight Service on New Year’s Eve early in the twentieth century. But otherwise Borniansky’s work has no profile in Labrador. The Vesper Hymn does not appear to have been part of the choir’s repertoire, and it is unclear how it came to the Hebron band. Furthermore, in this performance, the hymn has been restructured, rendering its original aabc form to aabbcc. In the Makkovik recording, the instrumental voices all participate in the embellishment of their lines with passing tones and other figures. The bass line separates itself from the rest of the texture with a more detached articulation of its part, securing its role as the fundament of the harmony, while in the final phrase of the second strophe the first trumpet takes its line up the octave. All of these qualities contribute to a sense of a genuine instrumental performance, a step removed from the simple transfer of a hymn to brass band. In sum, these recordings of the band from Makkovik in the 1960s present polished performances, both of hymn repertoire transferred directly from the choral tradition and of an adaptation to the medium of the band. Though not without their imperfections, the recordings suggest a well-rehearsed, cohesive ensemble. The consistent synchronicity of the players; the balance of the voices, allowing the melody to be heard clearly even while surrounded by interesting counterpoint; the forward tempo – all of these factors attest to a mature tradition. Lifelong Makkovik resident Henry Jacques shared a vivid memory of the Inuit brass band in Makkovik in the 1960s:

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Mid-sixties I can remember well the brass band. Going to church as a little kid and the brass band would start unexpectedly sometimes too. [laughs] You know they were like behind us, on a balcony, and as a kid you were expecting it, you know, and then the trumpets would start playing. It would give you a pretty good fright sometimes. But I’ll tell you, it was excellent, excellent. The music; they had it down pat. These were the Inuit people, right? There were settlers too who could play well. But the Inuit had their own band and they were excellent too. There was a whole group of them. They would play like Easter time, Christmas time, too. Special occasions they’d play. And they would go around with their brass band, their brass instruments and play like door to door, you know. So that was pretty neat.77 Ethnomusicologist Maija Lutz spent part of the winter of 1978–79 at Nain, interviewing musicians and community members and making a series of field recordings. One of these recordings captures the Nain Brass Band as it made its way through the community on Christmas morning of 1978. Dr Lutz’s field notes described the experience: “This took place shortly before daybreak. The band walked around the community playing Christmas hymns and carols. The accompanying sound of this tape included howling dogs, a passing snowmobile, and the ethnomusicologist stumbling along in the snow.”78 The recording consists of five short performances, three of Moravian chorale melodies and two of standard Christmas carols, both extremely popular among the Labrador Inuit. The environment figures prominently in these recordings, not only in the soundscape – which includes the noisy intrusion of a snowmobile, a crying baby, and the footsteps of band members (and Dr Lutz herself) – but also in the inevitable effect that the frigid temperatures of a Labrador pre-dawn morning had on the players, compounded by the challenge of playing while trudging through the deep snow. The result is less polished than the Makkovik recording of a decade earlier. But through the chill of the environment, clear differences emerge in the sound of the band compared with the Hebron musicians in Makkovik. Most obviously, the tempos are much slower – true andantes in that they were certainly determined to some degree by the walking pace of the band members. One of the performances, the children’s carol “Sorutsit” (“O Come little children”), appears to have been recorded in a dwelling, but it maintains the same plodding tempo of the other tunes. In all five performances, the texture is characterized by a polarization between the first trumpet and the bass line, with the inner voices much less prominent aside from occasional bursts of enthusiasm from the tenor horn. In this texture the first trumpet is the clear

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Figure 4.13  The Nain Brass Band in 1985, left to right: Boas Onalik, tuba; Tom “Star” Uvloriak, euphonium; George Barbour and John Andersen, trumpets. (Dog unidentified.)

leader of the ensemble, starting each line a fraction of a second before the other instruments enter. When not perambulating, the first trumpet maintains a more legato line; the lower three voices are consistently more detached. On the whole, this ensemble is less tight and less balanced than the one in the Makkovik recordings. It is unclear whether that is a factor of the conditions of the performance or of a more casual approach to preparation. In her monograph on the musical traditions at Nain, Maija Lutz repeated the belief of some of her informants that, despite efforts to safeguard and preserve the Moravian traditions, there was an evident decrease in mentorship of these traditions and their practice.79 A third archival set of recordings captures the Nain band a little more than a decade later. These recordings were made around Christmas 1989 by Tom “Star” Uvloriak (1928–2005), an organist, bandsman, and local broadcaster at Nain. By this time, the core band was a quartet of players: two trumpets, tenor horn, and tuba. The recording was made as a gift to the Moravian minister, Siegfried Hettasch, then living in retirement in Ontario. It includes two traditional chorales: Melodies 68 and 71b, and a less likely choice: “Aggakka tigulugit tessiunga” (“So nimm denn meine Hände” / “Lord take my hand and lead me”), a hymn

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often sung at funerals. Also on this recording is the Inuk-composed Passion narrative, “Ernîk erligidlarpagit,” which will be considered in some detail in chapter 7. The band heard here is easily recognized as the same one that Maija Lutz recorded in the field a decade earlier, even if recorded in more controlled circumstances. The slow, plodding tempos; the treble/bass polarity; the lead role played by the trumpet, continuously cuing the other instruments whose entry is delayed by a split-second as each phrase begins; the detached articulations in the inner and lower voices – all these traits define a consistent tradition of practice across these different iterations of the Nain band in the last quarter of the twentieth century. The contrast with the recorded performance of the Hebron musicians in Makkovik in the 1960s confirms that there was no single tradition of performance across Inuit Labrador, even if the general composition of the bands, their repertoire, and their functions in the communities were shared.

VI. “Connected to My Culture” The Inuit brass bands of Labrador are a manifestation of a practice that is both an importation by the colonizing Moravian Church and, at the same time, a fiercely local tradition. Among brass ensemble traditions, the trombone choirs of Bethlehem and Herrnhut have become iconic representations of this otherwise little-known Protestant church. They constitute a link between contemporary Moravian musical traditions and the ancient Central European Stadtpfeifer, which employed brass instruments to mark the cycle of ritual events in a community. But to Labrador Inuit these Moravian precedents have but little resonance. Rather, across a century and a half, Inuit brass bands became a symbol of communal celebration, of Labrador Inuit identity, of what binds people together. Today the idea of the brass band evokes an almost overwhelming nostalgia among many of Nunatsiavut’s Elders. The powerfully emotional responses that community members manifest to the sound of the brass band constitutes a reconnection to people and times lost; to memories that may have been difficult but that hold the allure of being less complicated and more connected to core values. Since the beginning of the Labrador brass bands in the 1850s, a wide range of meanings have been ascribed to the tradition. What they signify and to whom have varied considerably with the perspective of the auditor. For the missionaries who introduced the tradition to Inuit, the brass band represented another continuity with the worldwide Unity of the Brethren. As Paul Peucker has stated, for the Moravians brass music had far more than an aesthetic function.

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Resonant with the biblical associations of Posaunen and trumpets, the sounding of chorale tunes outdoors by brass instruments created an extension of liturgical space. Though proud of maintaining a long and distinguished tradition, the Moravian Church is clear in its understanding of the meaning of the brass bands. Paul Peucker articulated this when he wrote, “Since Moravians believed that life itself was a liturgy and that no separation should exist among worship, work, and leisure (all activities served the Savior and the congregation), the brass choir helped to create this extended liturgical space.”80 From Jens Haven’s delight in 1776 at being able to celebrate Easter morning in the “traditional Moravian manner with the playing of French horns and the dawn service at the burial ground” to Ferdinand Elsner’s evident pleasure at the arrival of a gift of three trombones at Hopedale in 1853, it is clear that the Moravians’ aspiration to living liturgy through music on all occasions was the underlying motivation for the introduction of brass bands to Labrador. And those aspirations did not fall on infertile ground. Even if most Inuit reflections about the brass band centred on fellowship and community celebration, the inescapable associations evoked by the bands’ repertoire, and the religiously resonant chorale melodies, were not forgotten. In a 1990 radio documentary on the Nain Brass Band produced by the Oĸâlaĸatiget Society, Katie Harris asked band member David Obed how it felt to play with the brass band. Responding through interpreter Martin Jararuse, David replied, “If someone wants to learn how to use the brass instrument, if they one day start learning how to use these instruments, they should not just quit. Because these kind of celebrations is praising God and our Saviour. And it is difficult to just quit and not think about praising God with these instruments. They are difficult just to quit.”81 Across the history of the bands, outsiders saw them from different perspectives than either the missionaries or Inuit. Like Canon William Pilot in 1899 and Newfoundland’s governor Sir William MacGregor in 1908, colonial visitors viewed Inuit bands as evidence of the civilizing effect of European traditions in general and the missionary influence in particular. The brass band’s welcome became a de rigueur element of every official visit to the coast. From the Anglican Bishop of the Arctic to the prime minister of England, J. Ramsay MacDonald, who made a stopover at Hopedale in 1934; from Commander MacMillan to Newfoundland’s second lieutenant-governor, Sir Leonard Outerbridge, who toured the Labrador coast in 1951, all official visitors were greeted by the brass bands. The details of Outerbridge’s arrival in Hebron as recounted by Rev. Fred Grubb offer insight into these ceremonial welcomes and the prominent role played by the band:

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In July we were honoured by a visit of His Honour Sir L. Outerbridge, Lieut. Governor of Newfoundland. His ship was late in arriving, and did not reach here till 12:30 a.m. July 19th, and seeing few lights on shore (he told us afterwards) all on board thought that we were all in bed, so came in with only running lights showing aboard. But our band was not asleep, but was awaiting them; and when the ship drew in to her anchorage they struck up “Now thank we.” At once the ship was lit up and was ablaze with light, and the folk were very happy at the sight. At 9:30 a.m. His Honour came ashore and we met him on the wharf, the band played “O Canada” first verse and “God Save the King” first verse as a salute; then we went to church for the address of welcome. Levi Nochasak our chief Chapel Servant read the address in Eskimo (I read the English translation); then the Governor replied and told us how deeply touched they all had been at the welcome they had received and especially how they appreciated the band playing that lovely hymn of welcome the night before. We sang “O Canada” four verses in Eskimo which I had translated for the people to sing, and “Now thank we all our God” once again, and “God Save the King”. Then as his launch left the wharf the band played “God be with you till we meet again.” The Governor was delighted with the band, and the folk were as excited as schoolboys on an unexpected holiday. The band went out in a boat with some more of the people and played hymns round the ship till she got under way. We are grateful to him for his kind visit and it will be a topic of conversation for some time.82 The frame that the band’s performances set around the official visit speaks to a ceremonial role and a shared understanding of the band as a voice representing the community – one that could be understood as such by colonial visitors. The fact that the band was consistently used to greet such visitors constitutes a recognition, both by the missionaries and by Inuit themselves, that the band was a point of pride for the community, a symbol of some kind of achievement, and something that would delight and bring gratification to visitors. The missionaries also probably viewed the band’s existence as a testament to their work, though even by the beginning of the twentieth century, the bands were operating outside the sphere of missionary influence. A vignette published for mission supporters in 1929 suggests the complex layers of understanding around the bands’ integrity as an expression of Inuit autonomy and culture. Rev. Walter Perrett and his family were departing from Nain for a furlough in Europe after a long residency there. Perrett recounted his memorable departure:

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The evening they went on board is one we shall not forget in a hurry. About ten o’clock at night a motor-boat left the wharf filled with people, among whom were the members of the Eskimo Brass Band with their instruments, and the Eskimo Choir. When the boat got half-way to the steamer the band began to play hymn-tunes, and with the band playing and the choir singing the boat circled round the ship. It is not possible to describe what people felt; you must imagine it. A beautiful moonlight night, with the sea as calm as could be; and the sound of singing across the quiet water. Presently the Eskimos clambered on board; and there they sang “God be with you till we meet again,” and “God save the King.” As a passenger on the steamer said, “We don’t need to ask what you are doing for these Eskimos; we can see it for ourselves.”83 The passenger’s remark that Perrett decided to include as the close of his vignette propagates the lingering view that the missionaries were responsible for the “good” in Inuit society, for the civilizing influence brought by their brush with Christianity and Western culture, convincingly represented by a selection of Christian and patriotic hymns sung and performed admirably by a brass band. The still moonlit night with echoes across the quiet sea only added romantic resonance to this image (See figure 2.8). But to many Inuit, band and community members alike, there were no such colonial overtones in their affectionate farewell to a missionary who had carried out pastoral duties at each one of the mission stations on the Labrador coast since 1893. Their escort of the Perretts to the steamer, their serenade to departing friends, was by then an established custom – a sign of communal respect, affection, and celebration. For many Inuit the brass band was a voice of the collective, a united community sounding in four-part harmony. Outside the walls of the church, unconstrained by the unvarying rites of liturgy, the brass bands had, by the early twentieth century, acquired an autonomy from the missionary household. The bands’ roles in speaking for the community were their own, even if they had been adapted from traditions that had originated in European Moravian settlements. A review of the various roles that Inuit brass bands played during the twentieth century offers insights into the degree to which they were expressions of Inuit community. At the same time, high and low points in the activity of the bands, as recognized by both Inuit and the missionaries, offer a kind of social barometer, a reading of the health of community life across the decades. The welcome or farewell to travellers by sea was a tradition especially characteristic of Inuit brass bands. Landlocked Herrnhut or Bethlehem did employ

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their bands for ceremonial welcomes,84 but the arrival of visitors to the Labrador coast by sea was an occasion of special significance. For the better part of a century, it was a once-a-year occurrence – a settlement’s sole moment of contact with the outside world. The ship brought not only new or returning mission staff and the year’s supplies but also news from the outside world. The arrival of the annual mission ship was no less exciting to Inuit than to the missionaries. New trade goods, opportunities for fellowship, the excitement of contact with the world beyond, the break from routine – all this made the arrival of the mission ship Harmony an occasion for celebration. The resonant greeting of the brass band, whether from the roof of the church or from a tender sent out to greet the ship, was a symbol of friendship. And as ship traffic along the Labrador coast grew in the early twentieth century, the brass welcome became a tradition extended to other arriving vessels. The brass band welcome for arrivals by sea had precedent in Greenland, where comparable perils of travel and the extreme isolation of the mission stations meant that any ship’s arrival was cause for celebration. In a letter dated 12 May 1827, Brother Michael Eberle recounted a perilous nineteen-day journey by umiak from Lichtenau to Lichtenfels: “We … arrived safe at Lichtenfels. You may easily conceive what our grateful feelings were, when we heard from off the hill the sound of trumpets and French horns, playing that tune, ‘Now let us praise the Lord;’ our whole hearts joined in the words and voice of thanksgiving.”85 As previously noted, the first recorded welcome of a ship in Labrador occurred at Hopedale in August 1854, as the newly outfitted Posaunen-chor there greeted the arrival of the Harmony.86 By the end of the decade the brass band welcome had become an established tradition at Hopedale. Across the remainder of the nineteenth century the tradition was adopted by each of the larger stations, including Nain, Okak, and Hebron. Both arrivals and departures brought out the band, arrivals typically being marked by the salutation of “Jêsus tessiunga” (“Now thank we all our God”), which served both as an expression of gratitude for safe passage and as a hymn of solidarity with the arriving visitors. For departures, the band’s hymns were no less appropriate, as Br Carl Simon observed from Hebron in 1913: On August 14th, the Harmony arrived here on her first trip. The arrival of the ship is, as is well known, hailed at all our stations with loud acclamations – but at Hebron these are louder than elsewhere … It is different when the Harmony leaves the station. In this case, if time and circumstances are favourable, the brass band fetch their instruments, and row round the vessel in a boat playing chorales and other tunes. The closing

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piece is generally: “God be with you till we meet again,” or “Shall we meet beyond the river?”87 The brass bands’ roles in marking the major festivals of the liturgical year were certainly reflections of the similar functions that brass choirs played in the Moravian settlements of Europe and North America. But their significance, if not their form, in Labrador had an added import. The two most important festivals in the Christian year, Christmas and Easter, coincide with the approximate dates that Inuit returned to and departed from their winter camps. In other words, these liturgical high points of the Christian year align with the annual coming together (December) and departure (April) of the extended Inuit communities. For the remainder of the year, Inuit dispersed in small family units to fishing and hunting camps deep in the fjords. The still nomadic Inuit were thus hard-wired for communal celebration at these two points in the Christian calendar. For the missionaries the apogee of their faith and the message with which they sought to win over Inuit was embodied in the story of Christ’s redemption through his crucifixion and death. As noted in chapter 2, the theme of Christ’s salvic blood comprised the substance of the largest body of hymns to enter the Inuktitut repertoire. Similarly, the greatest number of anthems sung by Inuit choirs accompanied the liturgies of Passiontide, reflecting on this same theme of Christ’s suffering and redemption. Thus it is hardly surprising that the missionary accounts of the brass bands’ activities tend to focus most frequently on the bands’ participation in the observance of Easter and, particularly, the Easter morning graveyard service. One of the most vivid descriptions of this event is drawn from S.K. Hutton’s 1936 biography of Rev. W.W. Perrett, Shepherd in the Snow. Ostensibly based on Perrett’s own account of Easter morning 1924 at Hopedale, 88 Hutton’s depiction takes considerable poetic licence, fusing it with his own experiences at Okak two decades earlier. Although an amalgam of elements from both stations across a span of some twenty years, the image is both vivid and accurate in a generalized way: At half-past four on a bleak, dark Easter morning, you are awakened from your sleep by the sound of a brass band. Beneath your window it is, on the snow outside. “Christ the Lord is risen today / Hallelujah”89 it plays. You are curious to see the bandsmen; and as the tune comes to an end you open the window and look out. If you are wise you have wrapped yourself up, for the air is chilly indeed, and a biting wind is coming from the east. You look down; there is whispering among the bandsmen; they are making ready for another tune. You can only see some shadowy shapes

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in the darkness: a small boy is there, with a candle flickering in an iron lantern: he casts a light on Benjamin’s book – for Benjamin is the leader of the bandsmen and has the slide trombone. A whisper from Benjamin, and the band bursts forth into a triumphant chorale: “Praise God for ever.”90 The snow is sifting down upon the hooded heads; trumpets are wrapped round with woollen scarves; there is some hesitation about the sliding of the trombone, because the moisture of the breath is getting frozen; the cornet quavers a little when the high notes come: but I warrant that your pulse is beating a little faster, and I warrant that there is a lump in your throat, because of what you see and hear, and because of the way it sets you thinking. This is Easter morning; the bandsmen are waking you with their music of rejoicing … The band will lead the singing on this Easter morning, and the choir will sing. Benjamin gives a whispered order to his bandsmen, and quietly they move away: you hear their feet go crunching over the frosty snow. They have played under the missionary’s window; and a light shines from it because he is getting up; he is getting ready to go to church for the early service. Now the band is playing in the village, at old Abia’s house first, to be sure, then here and there among the houses. They are waking the village: more and more distant sounds the music; and as you close your window the first of the feet go crunching by: the village is going to church.91 Thus summoned to the pre-dawn service, the village first enters the church where Christ’s resurrection is proclaimed before the entire congregation. Then the congregation, led by the brass band, processes to the cemetery where the resurrection of their own Brethren is anticipated: The missionary walks in; the people rise to their feet as he stands behind the table. “Nalegak makkisimavok” (The Lord is risen), says the missionary. “Illa makkisimavok” (He is risen indeed), the people answer. They take their seats; there is singing and prayer and the reading of the beautiful Easter story. The short service comes to a close. The morning is still dark; but as the people leave the church and gather on the snow outside, the sky is beginning to lighten in the east. The bandsmen strike up a chorale again, and lead the long procession across the frozen beach to the little graveyard at the head of the bay. The air is still keen, and the missionary draws the hood of his Eskimo smock over his head, for even at Easter ears may be frostbitten. His hands are

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cased in furry sealskin gloves; he walks behind the band; his colleagues are with him. Men, women, and children, the people of the village follow: the whole of the village seems to be there. It is a great occasion; one of the greatest days of the year to the people, for it reminds them that Christ is risen – and God is very near to the people of the Labrador. They gather in the graveyard – God’s Garden, they call it – and as the missionary reads in his clear strong voice the words from God’s Book, he is reminding them of the sure and certain hope in which their fellows are resting there. He reads the names of those who have been called to their Eternal Home during the past year: they are among the great company of the redeemed, and the people gathered beside their graves on this Easter morning are strengthened in their faith by the words of the lovely Easter Liturgy and the thoughts that those words convey … With the band leading them in stately time they sing their hymn of faith and devotion to their Risen Lord; then with the words of the benediction they move quietly away, and turn their faces homeward. 92 Romantic and calculated to fire the imaginations of mission supporters, to be sure, these evocative, verbal images would accompany the lecture/slide shows that Hutton presented in his role as secretary of the sfg. Nonetheless, Hutton’s evocation of the Inuit brass band on Easter morning is an accurate portrayal of the role the band played in leading the community to and through the most solemn moment of the church year. Its significance to Inuit was compounded by the fact that the Easter rituals would be among the last communal gatherings before the winter community dispersed and families retreated to their active but more solitary lives at summer camps. While the missionaries placed the greatest significance on the celebration of Christ’s Passion and Resurrection, Inuit found more to celebrate in the church observance that coincided with their annual return to the mission settlement: Christmas. It was a time of joyous reunion, a time that celebrated the birth of a child in a culture that is child-centric. In contrast to the hungry time of late winter and the penitential message of Easter (no redemption without repentance), Christmas was usually a time of bounty and the joy of collective reunion. As Maija Lutz concluded, “Although the brass band makes an important contribution throughout the church year, it is especially indispensable during the Christmas season.”93 S.K. Hutton again offered a vivid evocation of the brass band on Christmas morning as the closing image in his 1918 memoir written for a youthful readership. No less colourful than his embellished version of the

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Hopedale band at Easter, this vignette is peopled by the musicians he knew while stationed in Okak. As he penned this sketch, there was no way he would have known that the band members he identified were all now dead from the 1918 influenza pandemic: How charming it is to hear the sound of music on a dark Christmas morning, when you waken with the frost of your breath upon the pillow and the windows caked with thick soft snow. On the snowdrift outside stands Jerry with his troop of bandsmen: there are small boys holding lanterns to show the players their notes. The cold air nips their fingers, the snow powders down upon their heads; but they puff lustily at their trumpets so that you may wake to the sound of a Christmas hymn. And so they move from house to house, delighting the village with their inspiring noise.94 The cycle of Christmas celebrations also included, of course, the Nachtwache, a brass band ritual first observed in Herrnhut in 1747. By Moravian convention, the New Year’s Eve service is interrupted at the stroke of midnight by a blast from the band, playing loudly “Nun danket alle Gott / Now thank we all our God.” This sanctioned bit of musical rowdiness was enthusiastically embraced by the Labrador congregations, providing the sole annual exemption from the rule prohibiting the brass bands from playing inside the church. Rev. George Harp gave a restrained description of a Watchnight service at Hebron in 1939: The bell begins to toll at 11.25 p.m, and we walk through the snow with hearts filled with joy, to take our places in church. As we get near the church, we hear the brass band, out of doors, accompanying the violins, and organ in church. The service commences when everyone is seated, and most of it is taken up by the minister’s speech to his people, and he finishes, and stands up just at twelve. The congregation stands also, and the brass band, violins, and organ commence: “Now thank we all our God.” The people sing, and the bell is tolled. Oh! I wish you could hear it. As soon as the hymn is over we enter the New Year reading the text for the day, praying, and end with a hymn.95 To Ron and Miriam Lyall, growing up in the 1940s and 1950s at Nain and Hopedale respectively, the brass band’s disruption of a solemn liturgy at the sleepy hour of midnight was always a jolting surprise and the launch of an unbridled celebration. In a 2010 interview, they reminisced:

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[Ron] And New Year’s Eve at 12 o’clock midnight, they’d be all, like Miriam was saying, they’d be all in the back of the church and all of a sudden you’d hear the whole brass band burst right out. You’d be in the church and everything being right quiet and the minister be doing his sermon and everything. It would be right quiet. And then all of a sudden you’d hear this big blast. [Miriam] It woke us up … Really loud, and frightened us.96 The most vivid account of the Watchnight experience in Nain is by Joan Stedman, a young nurse who took up her posting to the Labrador coast in 1958 and offered a detailed account of her first memorable New Year’s Eve there: Heard the New Year in from England on my radio (8 pm. our time) and then piled into warm clothes, parka, skin boots, all to go to church by 11:30 pm. Church was packed, the whole population I should think including the 5 day old baby I discharged yesterday. She had a feed during the sermon as, I feel sure, other babies did. Everyone looked so nice in their white silapaks over their ordinary parkas. These have a long “shirt-tail” effect at the back and lovely embroidery round the hood, some with carved walrus ivory decorations hanging from the hems. We had a hymn, prayer, a hymn and a sermon - a very tense moment for as Fred [Grubb] says the last word of the sermon at 12, midnight – crash! The Nain brass band, the organist and three fiddlers up in the gallery, and the choir burst into “Now thank we all our God” in Eskimo, of course. They can also sing in German, that was the language of the first missionaries and was the Eskimo’s second language till fairly recently. This woke all the babies and they started bawling. After another hymn we all milled around saying, “Happy New Year,” then we all poured out of the church, shaking hands with the minister and out into the night. I could not think what the noise was outside till I realized the whole band had gone up into the little bell tower and were playing, still playing, “Now thank we all our God,” while the rest of the men had got their guns from the porch and were firing into the night with blank cartridges. Marjorie Grubb pointed across the bay to the hill, Henriette, all covered in snow, and in the darkness were tiny points of light, lines all along the hills. Earlier the men had gone over the ice and placed hundreds of

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candles in jam jars stuck in the snow and lit them. They were still burning when I finally walked back to the hospital at 3 am. after having coffee and mince pies with Fred and Marjorie. At 7 a.m. I was awakened by the band walking down the path to the Mountie’s house to awaken the folk at that end of the village.97 Beyond the festival seasons of Easter and Christmas, the band exercised its call to assembly and processional duties on other church festival days, notably the choir festival days that were peppered through the winter season. Nora Mowl, a new teacher at Nain in 1937, offered a detailed account of her first year on the coast, including vivid descriptions of each of the Festival Days and the music sung and performed at them: On February 19th the Aipparet (Married People) had their festival: it lasted till the Monday night. On Saturday they all had the Opening Meeting; on Sunday their own services, and Communion for all, and Monday was their great day … The band, of course, played each morning and evening, and on the Monday all the married couples came visiting. On the following Wednesday the Nullêtut (Single Men) had their day … I had my first Festival (Uigarsuit – Single Sisters’ Festival) on March 6th … At six o’clock in the morning the band had wakened those who were not already up, and they played to us after breakfast and again after supper. I should have said that at the close of the afternoon service all the Uigarsuit, except Katie and I, were in tears, as were the Nullêtut on their day … After the band had played in the house after supper, each girl got up from her place and shook hands with each of the new Uigarsuit, and all started crying, and all the people in the room, too. However, they all cheered up and went visiting.98 While these choir festival days were designated by the church and much of the celebration centred on liturgical and devotional rites, including Holy Communion and lovefeasts, their intent was focused less on salvation than on building social cohesion and solidarity within the choir groups. Alongside the church services were feasts, parties, and rounds of visiting. The brass band performed both a ritual call-to-assembly role for the church services and an entertainment role as it made the rounds of the community, visiting the homes of the celebrants. These more strictly social functions of the band escaped the sphere of church influence entirely when they showed up at homes to enliven the celebrations of an auspicious birthday or anniversary. Mark Turner describes these practices:

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Though rarely mentioned in any genre of church literature, anecdotal evidence suggests that each of these ensembles had developed unique standing para- and extra-liturgical performance practices. In Nain, for instance, fiftieth birthdays, wedding anniversaries, and elders’ house visits all became regular performances within the repertoire. In each case, the band would travel to the home of the given audience, and at the band’s discretion, would perform any number of selections outside or inside the dwelling. Contemporary practice suggests these selections were drawn from the band’s regular liturgical repertoire, specifically in the form of hymns and chorales that generally complemented the liturgical season.99 By the end of the nineteenth century the brass bands enjoyed a considerable degree of autonomy from the authority of the mission. Though their role in several of the most important celebrations on the church calendar, such as the Easter sunrise service or Watchnight, was critical, their function was not, strictly speaking, liturgical. Like the Stadtpfeifer of ancient Moravia and like the trombone choirs of Bethlehem, they issued the call to assembly. They also accompanied sacred song where an organ or other indoor instruments were not feasible. And musically, they fulfilled the Moravian dictate to be prayerful in all of life’s activities through their repertoire, which was comprised almost entirely of hymns. At the same time, once musician leaders and mentors like Jeremias Sillitt and Ambrose Assa emerged, the brass bands managed their own affairs and attained a degree of autonomy from the mission. The bands became self-governing bodies, issuing invitations for membership based not only on potential musical ability but also on moral character. Describing the camaraderie among the bandsmen of Okak, S.K. Hutton wrote in 1912, “to play the trumpet in the band is one of the greatest honours that an Eskimo knows. Good character comes first in choosing the bandsmen.”100 The practice of membership by invitation continued right up until the demise of the brass bands near the end of the twentieth century. The all-male status of the band lent it something of the character of a boys’ club, and the social dimension of playing together was rarely far from the surface. Reminiscing about the band during her time as a teacher at Nain, Rev. Brigitte Schloss recalled a particular Easter Sunday morning after the sunrise services. She remembered climbing the hill behind Nain and following the sound of the band as it circled through the village: And we sat there and the smoke would come straight up out of the houses, and you’d hear them play down there, you know the band played and

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played, and it was beautiful. But they also had their fun times! … They played sort of around the village. Most of the village most of the day. And then one time they were at the boarding school actually. I said “I know that tune, what are they playing?,” it was “Beautiful Beautiful Brown Eyes!” … They had their fun, you know. They were fun people! You know they had quite a sense of humor, and without that they wouldn’t have survived.101 The band provided accompaniment to prominent manifestations of agency as Inuit assumed growing responsibility for their own affairs, both spiritual and civic. As noted earlier, the brass band played a prominent role in the dedication celebrations for the new Nain church during the first decade of the twentieth century. At the ceremony that accompanied the laying of the cornerstone on 19 October 1908, the band’s presence was an audible symbol of Inuit ownership of the project. Rev. Walter Perrett captured something of the enthusiasm with which the band played its role in a letter to the sfg: I had announced the service to begin at 9:30 a.m., but our Eskimoes were so full of joy at the announcement that they evidently could not sleep. Already at 5:30 a.m., as it was just beginning to get light, they were about, fixing flagstaffs at the two front corners of the foundation and at 6:30 the Brass Band assembled and played hymn tunes. When we began to stir, the village looked quite gay with flags and the chapel servants were busy bringing benches from the church to the site. At 9:30 the bell rang and the congregation gathered, and the band led us in the singing of a hymn.102 The band was no less front and centre at the new church’s dedication festival, as has been documented visually (figure 4.7). Although the missionaries and the sfg were eager to demonstrate to their supporters that Inuit were taking possession of all aspects of their Christianity (the report of the cornerstone service was accompanied by a plea for funds to purchase nails to complete the church), the band’s enthusiasm for its role, its clear initiative in contributing to these events, and the leadership role it played by guiding the community in celebration can be seen as representing ownership and agency in the Inuit connection to the church. But just as frequently as the band celebrated, it voiced loss. The ritualistic sounding of the trumpets graveside on Easter morning bore the solemnity of deep faith in the resurrection of the Christian dead; the missionary and visitor send-offs with the Harmony might signal a genuine affection at parting. But

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other times, the band voiced devastating personal loss, both in the moment and across future generations. Reflecting on his decades as captain of the ss Kyle, the Newfoundland coastal boat that served northern Labrador in the 1950s and 1960s, Capt. Earl Winsor was serenaded many times by Inuit brass bands in the Moravian settlements: There were some heart-breaking scenes on the Kyle and there was always one sentimental feeling about her. On the last voyage into Hopedale and Makkovik, where the Moravian Band existed, as the anchor was weighed and the ship steamed slowly out the harbour, the Band would circulate the boat and play “God be with you till we meet again.” They did the same thing with us in northern Labrador. We used to pick up the school children from Hebron and Nutak and bring them in to Nain and very often Hopedale to connect with the Kyle, then they would come into North West River to go to school. I recall one time weighing anchor early in the morning in Nutak and they brought all the children out, there was seven of them and one little one. One child, getting out of the boat, nipped (squat) his finger and someone bandaged it up. As we weighed anchor and steamed away those children were screaming and crying and bawling, leaving their parents. This mission Band, Eskimo Band, out playing, circling the boat and playing their old hymns and that. I brought the ship full ahead and went on the other side of the bridge and just wept. I placed myself in a parent’s place and went back to a child and placed myself in their place, what heartbreak, departing from their mother and father. It’s a cruel thing to experience; it happened all the time.103 In no Labrador Inuit community does the story of the brass band represent the cycle of loss and resilience more than in Hebron. Although there is less evidence about the Hebron band in the closing decades of the nineteenth century than there is for Hopedale or Nain, by early in the twentieth century, Hebron’s band seems to have been comparable in size with those of the other stations and performed many of the same functions. When the 1918 influenza pandemic came to Hebron, the loss to life was nearly as devastating as it had been at Okak, and consideration was given to closing both stations. But rebuilding the Christian community in the farthest North was essential to the missionaries, and Hebron was kept open. As a sanitary measure, however, all the brass instruments were destroyed, signalling the demise of the Hebron band. This is confirmed by an account of the Hebron observance of the 150th anniversary of the

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Moravian presence in Labrador in 1921, which noted, “As there is not any more a brass band here at Hebron, we commenced day with the ringing of the church bell.”104 Just under a decade later, Hebron celebrated the centenary of its own founding. The festivities were attended by Inuit from Nain, including members of the Nain Brass Band, whose presence lent an unaccustomed festivity to the occasion. The Periodical Accounts recorded: We had decided to keep the Jubilee Day on Easter Monday as really the only day to have all old and new Hebron people together. From Nain we had a part of the brass band and some violins and singers to improve and beautify the day … It was very nice to have even a small band playing on Easter morning. It is a pity Hebron has no more instruments since the time of the influenza, when they were all destroyed, because of the infection in the people’s houses. Some of our young men learnt quite quickly from the Nain men, and have been using the instruments up to now, but we had to return them with the boat going to Nain.105 Even before the visit of the Nain band members, the then superintendent of the Labrador missions, Rev. Paul Hettasch, had been trying to drum up financial support to re-equip a band for Hebron. In January 1930 he had written to S.K. Hutton at the sfg: Just received news from Hebron, all well. The people there have lost all the brass instruments in the epidemic. The Okak ones had been passed on to Makkovik and are now demanded from Hebron. Could you not raise enough money to get at least a set of 5 i.e. 2 cornets, 1 Alto, 1 Tenor, 1 Bass for Hebron? I had entertained hopes that Williams, Grenfell’s great friend who goes yearly to Hebron might give the money for it, but Grenfell has kept him in the south this year and I had no opportunity of assaulting him.106 It is unclear how much, if any, support Hutton was able to muster, but the Hebron band was reborn a year later thanks to the initiative of the retiring missionary, Siegmund Waldmann. Br Waldmann’s last posting had been at Hebron, and he knew first-hand how important a restoration of the band would be to the community. Waldmann raised enough money that, with the addition of funds contributed by the Hebronimiut themselves, he was able to purchase the needed instruments upon his return to Europe. His replacement, Br George Harp, subsequently reported:

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On Wednesday, October 12th, the S.S. Baynain arrived for the last time, and on the 15th left with Br. and Sr. Waldmann on board. The people had borrowed brass instruments from Nain, and played the ship out of the bay with suitable hymns. Since that time Br. Waldmann has collected the sum of £50 and is going to send a set of brass instruments for Hebron. The people of Hebron have themselves contributed the sum of £10 towards this fund.107 Within a very few years, the band had reaquired its vigour in marking the high points on the community calendar. Hebron’s storekeeper in the 1930s, Leonard Budgell, confirmed the band’s resumption of activity in his memoirs: In Hebron at Easter the Band and the choir visited the grave yard at 5 a.m. to play for those who had died during the year. Then they came to the mission house and played and sang, first at the minister’s end and then at our end of the building … I had been sound asleep and was awakened by the sound of the brass band which was understandably loud in the hallway.108 As recounted above, the reconstituted Hebron band was proud to share its tradition over the airwaves only a few short years later when it was broadcast over the cbc from on board the rms Nascopie in July 1937. The Hebron band thrived across the ensuing two decades. Its local popularity was such that in 1956 at nearby Nutak,109 where a fledgling Moravian congregation had been gathering in a makeshift meeting hall, there was an initiative led by the Inuit congregants to purchase instruments to start a brass band there too. The Mission Board strongly encouraged the Nutak congregants to redirect the funds raised to assist with the debt of the Moravian operations in Labrador.110 The band would have been ill-fated in any event, since Nutak was closed later the same year and the Inuit from around Okak Bay were forcibly relocated to communities farther to the south. Hebron would share the same fate only three years later. Courageous Inuit leadership was no match for the combined forces of the new provincial government, the Moravian Church, the Hudson’s Bay Company, and the Grenfell Association, which provided health care. The resettlement of Hebron was announced to the community on Easter Monday 1959 in the church. As with all occasions of import in the history of Labrador Inuit, the brass band bore witness. Tony Williamson, a sociologist documenting the effects of resettlement as it was occurring, stood on the dock at Hebron on 10 July 1959 as the first families were leaving and recorded the moment in his diary:

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Toward noon, Joshua Obed and Hennock Lampe left for Nain with their families. The thirty foot boat contained all their possessions, including a number of dogs. A canvas tarp was rigged as a roof for protection against rain. Many people from the town gathered at the wharf to see them off. When all was ready, Joshua Obed faced the people and said in his own tongue. “It is not our wish to leave our homes, our relatives and friends, but we have no choice and we must be strong. Since we all have to go I shall lead the way so that the rest of you will follow and find it easier.” As he turned around, he wiped his sleeve across his eyes. Many others had tears in their eyes. As the motorboat started up, with the one cylinder engine echoing across the bay, the Hebron brass band, standing on the hillside, started playing “God be with You ’Til we meet Again,” followed by “Home Sweet Home.” As the boat chugged toward the sea, a volley of rifle fire bid its farewell.111 Even as it signalled a colossal loss to the Hebronimiut, the dispersal of the community carried the seeds of resilience. The communities that received the dislocated bandsmen added them to their own bands. At both Hopedale and Makkovik the new arrivals were a source of rejuvenation, augmenting the numbers and revitalizing the bands in those communities.112 This rejuvenation was short-lived in Makkovik, as Joas Onalik, one of the displaced musicians from the north, recounted in his 1982 memoir: “When we got to Makkovik, they used to let us have an Inuktut service like anywhere else, and when there were more Inuit we used to have a brass band. Now there isn’t a brass band any more even though the trumpets are just waiting there to be played. I think if the younger people wanted to, there’d be almost enough, I guess they don’t want to learn anymore just like.”113 The demise of the Hebron band foreshadowed what would happen in the other Moravian Inuit communities as the century continued. Less traumatic than the forced resettlement of the Hebronimiut, but painful nonetheless, was the gradual attrition of the bands at Nain, Hopedale, and Makkovik and the erosion of their symbolic role as a voice of community. As Joas Onalik stated, the reconstituted Hebron band in Makkovik had stopped playing by 1982. At Hopedale, the brass band, also bolstered by new members from Hebron, flourished through the 1970s and into the 1980s but gradually began to recede. The Nain band remained active into the final decade of the twentieth century, but by the dawn of the twenty-first it existed no more. The reasons for the collapse of the century-and-a-half tradition of the brass band in Labrador are as varied as the number of people you ask. Some attribute

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it to the deterioration of their instruments; others cite a failure to recruit and mentor new members. The linguistic isolation of the unilingual Inuktitut speakers who made up the band in Nain from the younger, English-speaking potential recruits was a huge impediment. Personal conflicts arose between members, creating dysfunction across the group. The village of Nain grew in size and diversity, making the band’s circuit through the entire town more and more challenging. Longtime member Paul Harris recalled his time in the band with great fondness, remembering that they played all through the village, starting at the minister’s house, then to the storekeeper’s and around the entire town. He said the band stopped because the town grew too large for them to be able to parade through and play for all its citizens. That and the fact that they all lost their teeth.114 The actual reasons for the demise are complex, layered, and often beneath the surface of individual memory. They are closely intertwined with a gradual but inevitable shift in the nature of Inuit leadership in these Labrador communities; a distancing from all the institutions that could be connected to the Moravian Church as a colonial force; the disruption of intergenerational transmission of traditions, exacerbated by the language divide that separated the Inuktitutspeaking band members from the English-speaking youth; and an awakening to pre-contact forms of Inuit cultural expression, especially those that had been suppressed by the presence of the Christian church. These forces of change are considered in the next two chapters. However, change is a constant, and the demise of the bands turned out not to be the end of a tradition. The strong attachment to the memory of the bands as a symbol of community that was fading but still deeply valued led to a grassroots movement to revitalize the bands in 2013. Established as Tittulautet Nunatsiavuttini,115 this organization hosted a number of brass band workshops, clinics, and online resources across three years at Hopedale, Nain, and Makkovik. This has resulted in only occasional brass band performances at Hopedale and Makkovik; even so, the re-established Nainip Tittulautingit (Nain Brass Band) is now once again a vital voice for its community. In 2015 they participated in the Brüderischen Bläsertag in Herrnhut, the first time in history that Labrador Inuit musicians travelled to the mother church in Germany to perform their interpretations of Moravian music. In 2016, the band issued a self-titled cd that included professionally recorded renditions of fourteen of the hymns that have been at the core of the bands’ repertoire for more than a century, such as “Iniksalik,” “Takkotigêlarminiptingnut,” and “Jêsus tessiunga.” Making the recording was a cause for reflection by band members. Referring to

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“Jêsus tessiunga” as it threaded through his life, euphonium-player Karrie Obed wrote, “This song has been with me since I was a young boy. My father would get all the family or families together to pray for safe travelling. The words are a prayer that you may be guided by God’s hand, while travelling in this world.”116 But the true mark of the rebirth of the brass band is the resumption of its traditional roles in the life of the community. Change has come to the band. Women members are welcome – indeed, they now predominate. Membership is more democratic, no longer dependent on an invitation from a closed circle of current band members. Mentorship is more formal and embraces digital and technological resources where pragmatic. But the band’s procession to the cemetery on Easter morning, its blast from the church porch at midnight on New Year’s Eve, the greeting of the coastal boat in the summer, and, most powerfully, the serenades outside the homes of Elders are proofs that the band has once again taken up its role as a voice of the community. For the current members, being part of the band is both a connection to their ancestral past and a confirmation of who they are today. Speaking to a cbc interviewer at the time of the release of their cd, Mary “Binky” Andersen, a young trumpeter in her twenties and great-great-great-granddaughter of Okak band leader Jeremias Sillitt, said: For me, music has always been a part of my life; it’s part of who I am. It’s my identity. And when we play, we get so passionate about it. It’s our tradition; it’s our culture; it’s part of being Inuit in Nain when you hear this band. It brings us back to our history and makes us remember that things were simpler back then and music was something so valued because they didn’t have much back then. Our grandparents didn’t have much back then. When their band played, it was a treat. It was something so awesome, so different … you know? When I’m playing I try to remember that and it makes me feel connected back to my culture.”117 Even as today’s Nain Brass Band celebrates its connection to a deep tradition, and even as its members affirm that tradition as expression of identity today, it can, as before, be called on to give voice to the tragedy suffered by the community. After a year of lockdown due to the Covid-19 pandemic and with the impossibility of communal grieving under the health restrictions, the conjunction of the death of six Elders and the suicide of three youths within a month left Nain with an intense need to grieve together.118 The community organized a vigil on the frozen sea ice in Nain harbour. Snowmobiles formed a vast heartshaped circle, each vehicle spaced two metres apart and shining its lights toward

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Figure 4.14  Members of the Nain Brass Band play hymns of remembrance during the March 2021 vigil for Elders and youth who died during the period when funerals were not allowed because of Covid-19.

the centre – shining its lights on members of the brass band who played “Jêsus tessiunga” and “Kilarutjalaunga” (Nearer my God to Thee). As before, the brass band is a voice of the community; greeting, celebrating, mourning as one voice for the many.

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5

Taima … Nala … Music and Leadership

I. The Call to Lead A Nain Brass Band practice can be a confusing experience to anyone accustomed to band or orchestra rehearsals in the south. Time and place of the practice seem to be communicated by some form of telepathy; time is a fluid construct in any case. Still, the members drift in over a span of a few minutes, at which point the swapping session begins – swapping stories, instruments, mouthpieces, music scores – the group is a free-form collective in every sense. Its resources belong to all and freely move to where they are needed. There is no conductor, no music director with a predetermined rehearsal schedule, no pecking-order seating chart. At some seemingly random point, after everyone is caught up on the latest news and fully equipped, the members assemble in a loose formation in close sight of one another, someone in the group calls out a number, and sheets in the ringed tune books are f lipped. One member of the band calls out “Taima” (ready), then one pulse later “Nala” (go). One pulse passes and the band launches into the chosen hymn with total conviction. After a tour through one or two verses, the band falls silent and a round of chatter begins: “Too fast? Too slow?” Trumpet I to Trumpet II: “What fingering did you use on the third note in bar 6?” Euphonium to Trombone: “Is that a long note or a short note at the end of the second phrase?” After all the questions are posed and thoroughly discussed, the same member who initiated the first run-through sets up a second: “Taima … Nala …” The second try inevitably goes better, though there may be a third. And so it goes. Every aspect of the rehearsal seems to progress

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by consensus, yet there is also a constancy to the voice intoning “Taima … Nala …” It is a voice of implied authority, of leadership bestowed from within – inevitably, a leadership based on an acknowledged level of mastery. Yet it is a leadership without evident hierarchy. The Moravian missionaries valued community in ways different than Inuit, but those ways were no less ardent. The Moravians entered mission fields with the intention of making themselves obsolete. Their long-term goal was to establish self-sustaining Christian communities in far-flung regions of the world. Their conversion efforts were supported by a deep commitment to universal education with the ultimate goal of developing fully literate Christian communities and Indigenous ministries that could continue their work once a foundation had been firmly established. To that end, they encouraged Indigenous leadership by creating a “choir” system, appointing chapel servants, institutionalizing the election of chief Elders, establishing congregational councils, and designating national assistants. For the Moravians, these community initiatives were an exercise in social engineering – a well-intentioned albeit literally colonizing imposition of a new social order. This new structure replaced the long-standing Inuit form of social organization, which was defined laterally by kinship, with a hierarchical one organized within and across cohesive groups within communities.1 It disrupted and destabilized traditional social structures that had been rooted in complex family lines, supplanting a kinship-based structure with one based on gender groupings, age, and marital status. And across these groupings, the Moravian model established roles for community leaders, laying a foundation for Inuit empowerment while simultaneously introducing social hierarchies. In this realigned social organization there were opportunities for Inuit to assume decision-making roles, to voice dissent (within limits determined by the missionaries), and to rise to leadership positions. The choir system established at the Labrador missions mirrored the social structure in the Brethren’s communities across Europe. These cohesive groups were assembled for social and educational gatherings, and a highlight of the calendar year was the festival day honouring each of these individual choirs.2 Festival days were scheduled between December and March, serving as a church-determined social calendar across the four months of the year when most Inuit were present at the mission station. These festivals were occasions for communal celebration between Christmas and Passiontide. They have remained memorable and much anticipated highlights in the cycle of community life to this day.3 Betty (Ford) Koch, who grew up in Zoar and Nain, remembers the excitement of the Young Women’s Days of her youth:

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On your “Day” you wore your Sunday best; best boots, best dress, parka and so on. You’d have ribbons! It was quite a day. You’d have a special little bonnet. We’d get up in the morning, get ready, get your ribbons and white bottom boots on and go to church. Then you’d come home and visit the different houses in the village. It was at [chief Elder] Martin Martin’s house we had a big dinner. There was everything on the table, different kinds of food. Martin Martin would say Grace. After dinner we would go around visiting again and then back to the church for another service. It was a special day for visiting and it was really nice.4 In addition to creating these “choir” groupings within the mission communities, the Moravians designated men and women from the community to serve as emissaries between themselves and Inuit. Variously called helpers, chapel servants, national assistants, and, later, Elders, these men and women were Inuit who had distinguished themselves by leading exemplary Christian lives and who, the missionaries believed, could command the respect and confidence of their peers. Carole Brice-Bennett’s detailed examination of missionary–Inuit interactions during the first half of the nineteenth century5 elaborated on the dual roles performed by the chapel servants: Exemplary faith and devotion were the main qualities that the missionaries sought in choosing individuals for the position but the men selected invariably were already held in esteem by the congregation. Chapel servants were required to provide spiritual advice and guidance, preserve peace and order, prevent disputes, visit the sick and poor, and report periodically on the state of the congregation to the missionaries … Chapel servants formed an elite of faithful converts; by establishing the position, the Brethren instituted a hierarchy within their congregations. Chapel servants became the recognized leaders in the mission communities but they were as much representatives of the Inuit as the Brethren’s liaison agents; the community at large elected a leader or chief chapel servant from the group of chapel servants appointed by the missionaries.6 The missionaries appointed the chapel servants (in the early years confirmed by the Moravian convention of casting lots), but the chief chapel servant was chosen by the Inuit community at large. He was called the Attanek or headman and had to enjoy the confidence and support of his peers. In this way was established a de facto leader legitimatized by the community.7

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The Missionary Conference of the United Brethren had even higher aspirations for those Inuit who displayed a commitment to Christian values and had earned the trust of their peers. As elaborated by Hans J. Rollmann in his study of the attempts to establish an Indigenous ministry in Labrador,8 the mandate to encourage and prepare Indigenous religious leaders was articulated as early as 1782 by August Gottlieb Spangenberg.9 Spangenberg expected these national assistants to do more that visit the sick and assist the poor; he also expected them to help keep the peace within their communities, maintain a watchful eye over their peers, and make recommendations regarding who might be ready to be baptized or admitted to Holy Communion. Rollmann notes that more was expected of them than even this: The work of such helpers in the church extended even to participation in public service. “Such helpers as have gifts are sometimes desired to deliver a discourse, keep a funeral, &c.,” and included among them also female members of the congregation. “We also choose helpers of the female sex, who have,” Spangenberg stated, “the same incumbence with respect to their own sex, as the other helpers have on their part; public speaking excepted.”10 Spangenberg recognized that these helpers would be able to assume leadership in their respective choirs and act as intermediaries between the missionaries and the congregation groupings. The missionaries used helpers’ conferences to gauge the health of the congregation through the eyes and ears of the national assistants. The recruitment, training, and empowerment of national assistants met with mixed results across the fields of the Moravians’ missionary work. By the mid1830s they had become integral to the success of mission activities in Greenland and the Danish West Indies; however, in other mission fields, notably the British West Indies, South Africa, and Labrador, there was no formal approach for cultivating and designating national assistants. Beginning in 1836, and with increasing insistence across the next decade, the Moravian Church elders in Berthelsdorf, Germany, enjoined the Labrador missionaries to work toward recruiting true national assistants from among the ranks of chapel servants, who could then take increasing responsibility for the spiritual and communal life of the Labrador stations. The Labrador missionaries acknowledged that there were one or two individuals at each of the mission stations who met the spiritual requirements of these positions of enhanced responsibility. Nevertheless they were reluctant

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to assign them any responsibility for preaching, for they doubted their capacity for public discourse and feared that this step would create a hierarchy that could alienate the chapel servants from their peers. By the end of the 1830s, the European overseers had overruled these objections and national assistants had been established at three of the four Labrador missions. Over the next twenty years, a handful of other Inuit men and women were encouraged to assume more responsible roles, though specific duties were never established for them, nor were they provided with systematic training. When Bishop L.T. Reichel conducted his first visitation to the Labrador missions in 1861, he examined the lay leadership in the congregations and met with national assistants. While finding their presence beneficial, Reichel felt that few of them exerted much influence in their communities. Their duties consisted chiefly of holding meetings in homes and when Inuit were away at hunting and fishing camps. He considered their main function to be resolving community conflicts, and he noted the lack of a clear mandate and articulation of duties. He recommended that Inuit be engaged as teachers in the schools, a leadership role that would prove to be a platform for influence and authority in the decades to come. However tenuous the beginnings for Inuit leadership in Moravian Labrador, the roles of ĸivgait – chapel servants – and Angajokĸauĸatiget – community Elders – would continue to develop and expand across the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Periodic men’s meetings were established in 1865 at each of the Labrador mission stations to allow Inuit to openly discuss their concerns (often around trade) with the missionaries. In the last decade of the nineteenth century, with encouragement from the Moravian Synod for greater Indigenous involvement in church and civic affairs, the Angajokĸauĸatiget were established under the direction of the Labrador mission’s superintendent, Bishop C.A. Martin. These Elder’s Councils were comprised of chapel servants chosen by the missionaries, as well as elected congregational representatives. The sfg’s financial hardships at the beginning of the twentieth century forced the reduction of the number of missionaries sent to the coast. Along with the transfer of trade to external bodies, the reduced missionary presence opened fields of authority to Inuit leaders. Community leadership fell to the councils of Elders in each settlement. These councils exerted considerable social and political influence right up until the time of Newfoundland’s confederation with Canada in 1949. Among those Inuit leaders were a seemingly disproportionate number of organists and choirmasters, men who transferred their skills in music leadership to a community level. The stories of some of those leaders that follow will focus on how those skills were manifest both from the organ bench and in the destiny of their communities. Taima … Nala …

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II. Leading from the Choir Loft Hebron’s organist Isaac (1823–1885), mentioned in chapter 3, was the first Inuk musician to receive an extended obituary in the Periodical Accounts.11 However, Ambrose, or Ambrosius (Assa12), would be the first Inuk organist for whom we have a relatively complete life story. What we know about Ambrose exemplifies a pattern of leadership and community service that organists would demonstrate over the next half-century. Ambrose was born on 28 March 1854. His father, Assa (1818–1880), was a gentle, “God-fearing” man. His mother, Verona (1830–1891), was a much-respected chapel servant and the sister of Daniel, the first Inuk evangelist.13 Ambrose first comes to our attention in the historical record in 1876, when he is identified by visiting Bishop Levin T. Reichel as one of two skilled organists at Hopedale.14 The exceptional quality of sacred music in Hopedale, with Ambrose clearly at its centre, was also underscored by Bishop Benjamin La Trobe during his official inspection tour of the Labrador missions in the summer of 1888: The next service was commenced with a choir piece, when the organ and other instruments accompanied seven singers, four women and three men. The women especially had voices of power and compass. Alto, tenor, and bass were fairly sustained, as well as soprano, and the whole effect was good. The piece, which was not easy, but suitable in liturgical character, was well rendered both in forte and piano passages. This time Ambrose, another native, presided at the organ, and Ludolf15 played the first violin … I took the English service at three o’clock. Soon after we again assembled in the church, for the Eskimo choir had sent a deputation to request that they might sing some more of their pieces for us. The programme of their really excellent performance included such pieces as Hosanna,16 Christians Awake, Stille Nacht, Morgernstern (Morning Star), 17 and an anthem (Ps. 96)18 containing effective duets for tenor and alto.19 La Trobe was clearly impressed with the sophistication of the Inuit musicians’ performances, noting the difficulty of the repertoire chosen and the interpretive nuance of the performers. Singling out Ambrose here as he does, La Trobe acknowledged the Inuk organist’s leadership role. Ambrose’s skills both on the organ bench and away from it are highlighted by another visitor to Hopedale five years later. Grenfell’s medical missionary, Eliot Curwen, spent much time in the early fall of 1893 exploring the area around Hopedale, with Ambrose as his guide on more than one occasion. Curwen’s

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diary shows Ambrose to be knowledgeable about the pre-contact history of the area and local sites of archaeological interest. It would seem that Ambrose had a decent command of English as well, since Curwen spoke no German and generally required a translator when interacting with Inuit. Ambrose obviously impressed Curwen, and a clear sympathy emerged between them. Ambrose invited Curwen to the baptism of his newborn son. And he felt comfortable teasing the doctor, as indicated by a trick he played during a service conducted by Curwen, when he switched up hymn tune introductions. Curwen related the prank in telegraphic style in this journal entry: At the afternoon service there were about 120 people, mostly schoonermen; Ambrose played the organ again; I told him I would give out the number of a hymn, then he was to play the tune and after that I would read a verse; but whenever I gave out a number he would play the tune on the opposite page of the book, coming back to the right tune when we began to sing, and this he did he told me because he thought I should like the variety!20 The warmth of their mutual regard developed across a month of frequent contact. Clearly, Curwen recognized from the outset that Hopedale’s exceptional musical culture owed much to Ambrose, as he noted in this diary entry for 16 September: “After tea I attended Esquimaux service in the chapel and tried to follow in the singing; Ambrose, our Esq. companion of the afternoon, played the organ really well; service concluded with ‘Eine feste Burg.’”21 Ambrose’s status in the community is underscored by the unusual response to an all-too-common tragedy in the Moravian settlements. On 31 August 1896 a fire broke out and the houses of Ambrose and another chapel servant, Simeon, were destroyed. Ambrose being a figure of importance in the community, his plight was noted in the European newsletters about the Labrador missions, and a subscription fund was mounted, yielding what was then the impressive sum of £10. Two years after the fire, the annual report from Hopedale announced a happy outcome: “We are glad to know now that ample provision has been made for them [Ambrosius and Simeon], the missionaries making them a present of a building which had recently been replaced by a new one. Special interest has always attached to this building, for it was erected by none other than ‘little Jens’ Haven, one of the first Moravian missionaries to settle in Labrador in the year 1771.”22 A little over a decade later, in 1905, Ambrose was singled out again as a music leader when the governor of Newfoundland, Sir William MacGregor, visited

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the Inuit settlements along the Labrador coast. The governor made a Sunday visit to the summer fishing station of Uviluktôk, offshore near Hopedale. Here Inuit had erected a small chapel for Sunday services, which they conducted largely outside the sphere of the missionaries. Sir Wilfrid Grenfell recounted the Governor’s visit. At six next morning [Sunday] we were at Double Island [Uviluktôk] where we went ashore, and practically the whole of the congregation of Hopedale, who fish here in summer, gathered in the little chapel to meet the Governor. Zechariah [Kahle], the chief of the congregation presided. He is a most intelligent and warm-hearted Eskimo, and keeps prayers for the people all summer long, as well as carrying on his fishing. Ambrose, who is the leader of the choir and organist presided at the instrument which is a small harmonium, his own property, and which he had brought with him to assist Zechariah at services.23 The chapel at Uviluktôk itself offers insight into the nature of Inuit leadership at Hopedale on the cusp of the twentieth century, at least as seen by the Moravian missionaries. The construction of the chapel was entirely an Inuit initiative, borne of the collective will to have a place of worship during those several months each year when a large proportion of the Hopedale population resided on Uviluktôk. It was a place where Christian devotions could be practised, led by Inuit themselves. Under the leadership of a dedicated chapel servant, Manasseh Pijogge, the chapel was erected on stormy days when it was too rough to go out fishing. It took shape beyond the usual oversight of the missionaries. Inuit men supplied the scarce materials and the labour; Inuit women decorated the interior with fresh wreaths and greenery.24 The music too was the result of Inuit initiative: one of the three harmoniums transported to accompany the singing in the chapel was the personal property of Ambrose Assa. The dedication of the chapel took place on 30 August 1902 and, as detailed in the Periodical Accounts, was an occasion to celebrate Inuit “determination and unity”: At 9:30 am on Sunday the flag was hoisted for service, and the brass band played several hymn tunes outside, while the congregation was gathering. All having assembled on the outside we sang the Eskimo translation of a well-known Moravian hymn often used on similar occasions in the home churches, which was followed by an earnest and appropriate prayer by Manasseh Pijogge. Br. Perrett then read the prayer offered by

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Figure 5.1  Photograph of interior of Inuit-built chapel at Uviluktôk, 1902, showing two of the three harmoniums in use there.

King Solomon at the opening of the temple and also said a few words on that, to the Israelites, important event, and on this day’s ceremony which was, to us, of almost equal importance. Hymn No. 96925 in the English hymnbook was the first hymn we sang, and this was followed by a short address by Br Hettasch, who alluded to the decoration of the interior of the church (undertaken and carried out by some of the Eskimo women), and exhorted all to prepare their hearts, so that the Saviour might enter and abide there with joy. After the singing of another verse, Br. Lenz brought to our attention how much can be accomplished by determination and unity. For many years the Eskimos had wished for a little church on Uviluktôk; but wishing alone was not sufficient, whereas a united determination to build had brought about the result over which we today rejoiced … After a prayer by Elias Aggek we sang another hymn and this was followed by Benediction.26 The missionaries’ account of Uviluktôk depicts their ideal of Inuit leadership: a complete devotion to Christian values and the initiative to act on those values both individually and for the benefit of the collective.

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Ambrose would die in April 1921. Over the first two decades of the twentieth century he was at the centre of musical and community life at Hopedale. In 1906, Ambrose and his wife Johanna were identified as being responsible for the class of the youngest students at the Inuit school. The increasing settler population at Hopedale and in the bays farther to the south had prompted the missionaries to open a new English-language school at Hopedale, and they focused their own instructional time on this new initiative. Ambrose and Johanna were left to their own resources with the Inuit children, and the initial assessment of their work as teachers was positive: “The Eskimo school was presided over this time with good results by our organist Ambrosius and his wife Johanna. There was a larger number of pupils than for some years past. This, no doubt, helped to make the thing ‘go’ better than usual.”27 However, as their teaching service progressed, Ambrose and Johanna were found by the new housefather of the Hopedale station to be lacking. In 1913, Br Paul Hettasch reported that “our Eskimo school was again kept, as has been the case for a number of years, by our organist, Ambrosius Assa, and his wife Johanna. Although the instruction they give is not very satisfactory, still for the present no change can be made.”28 A year later, Hettasch was more specific in his concerns: “The Eskimo School was, as in previous years, entirely in the hands of two of our native helpers, Ambrosius and Johanna Assa, and we are glad if they can get the children to read and write, and learn the catechism and Scriptural answers.”29 But Br Walter Perrett, while expressing his awareness that the education for Inuit children was insufficient along the entire Moravian coast, was more generous in his assessment. In 1916 he wrote: “The Eskimo scholars were as usual taught by our chapel-servants Ambrosius and Johanna Assa. They undoubtedly do their best, but the best does not reach a very high standard; yet we feel it utterly impossible to undertake the work ourselves.”30 In 1907 Ambrose Assa was named a chapel servant, joining a group of highprofile national assistants who had been active at Hopedale for several decades. His new role was a recognition of the leadership he had long provided in this community and brought with it responsibilities both spiritual and civic: “Br. Hettasch, the station superintendent at Hopedale, informs us that, on December 26th, a new chapel servant was installed, viz. Ambrosius Assa, the well-known station organist. The office of chapel servant is regarded by everybody as one of great responsibility, particularly the privilege of speaking to the people in church on certain occasions.”31 Ambrose’s footprint is unusually vivid in the mission documents across his lifetime. We know he was intelligent, a highly skilled musician, and multilingual; that the missionaries trusted him to teach Inuit youth; and that he was

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Figure 5.2  Ambrose and Johanna Assa with two of their daughters, n.d.

respected by his peers in the community. Thanks to Eliot Curwen, we even know that he was, on occasion, a natty dresser32 and had a sense of humour. The responsibilities he fulfilled and the respect he earned are noted, and it is easy to see him as a leader both in music and in community life. That we have several formal photographs of Ambrose, Johanna, and two of their daughters is itself a mark of his status in the community. In the end, though, despite a fairly rounded portrait of the man, it is hard to see his status as a community leader other than through the filter of missionaries’ expectations. What we know is that he was an able man, met the missionaries’ expectations for a Christian Inuk, and was rewarded with a position of privilege within his community. We also know that he had at his side an able and equal partner who shared many of his community responsibilities. Joanna, Ambrose’s second wife, whom he wed in 1892, co-taught with him from 1906 to 1921 and continued teaching after Ambrose’s death. Joanna’s appearance in the historical record is a shadow of her husband’s. Although the Moravians preached the equality of men and women and women were admitted to the ranks of chapel servants just as men, gender divisions of labour – characteristic in both German and Inuit society –

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continued to be observed. Inuit women sang in the choir but were barred from playing instruments, whether in accompanying the choir or in the brass band, and they never assumed leadership roles in community music. Ambrose’s model of leadership as an expression of compliance with missionary values, as well as the aspirations for the community established by the church, are set in relief by the story of another Hopedale Inuk whose intelligence and musical aptitude might well have outshone Ambrose’s. But in this case, it was his disappointment against missionary expectations that dominates the narrative in the historical record. David (1840–1883) was the grandson of Amos, a highly respected chapel servant, Hopedale’s first national assistant, and a correspondent with the German pietist Christian Gottlob Barth.33 Like his father, Simeon, David grew up in a household that valued piety and literacy. Orphaned at the age of thirteen, David followed in his grandfather’s footsteps and wrote Barth a letter in February 1853 that spoke to his own sense of Christian piety: Dear Brother Barth! I am writing to you as follows: We have a Saviour, One, who protects us always from all sins and in all dangers. I poor human am only something to be thrown into hell. But the Saviour has bought and chosen me; this I feel always. Therefore, we want to thank Him always throughout our entire life. Our bodies and our souls are to be His own. Since he has loved us, we want to love Him also wholeheartedly. Now I want to speak of Amos, whom you have written so often. My father Simeon was the son of Amos. I still have your letters to Amos. My father has always loved to read your letters with pleasure. But my father, he went home [to the Lord] when I was 8 years old. When he was riding in his kayak, his gun went off and into his body. Yes, indeed, it was the Saviour’s will that He did this to us. He himself will now be our caretaker. This I experience and you, too. I and all my fellow students thank you for your publications that you sent us. Since we have no payment here on earth, you will thus be paid at the resurrection of the righteous. We are three siblings: I, Daniel and Ernestine. Daniel is eight years old; Ernestine six, and I thirteen. We greet you very much. Although we would love to see you, but because of the ocean we are too far from you. Since it is impossible to see you, we will pray for you. I and all the children greet you very much. David.34

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Less than a decade later, David, now twenty years old, was singled out as an exceptional musician. His missionary mentor, the long-serving Br Ferdinand Kruth,35 was only too eager to encourage him, drafting a less than subtle plea to mission supporters to provide the young musician with a decent violin. In the past year, I took considerable pains to instruct a young man, David, the grandson of the late well-known and much esteemed chapel-servant, Amos; and we were greatly pleased to find … that he was sufficiently advanced in the knowledge of our tunes, and in the art of playing the organ, to serve the congregation as organist. But, besides the organ, he plays the violin, the flute, and trombone, and he asked me to-day, whether I could not procure him a violin from England. I am sure such an instrument would be received with unfeigned gratitude, and might stimulate him to renewed exertions and increased diligence in his service in the church and school.36 In the 1861–62 annual report from Hopedale, David appears again, in this case after a successful season as Hopedale’s first Inuk schoolteacher. During that winter David was put in charge of the twenty-six children in the lower grades of the Hopedale school. The end-of-year examinations were pronounced a resounding success, much to the credit of young David: On the 9th of April [1862], we held the examination of our school-children, consisting of 15 boys and 17 girls in the senior classes, and of 13 boys and 13 girls in the infant classes, making a total of 58 children. The subjects of instruction and examination were reading, writing, ciphering, and the commitment to memory of Scripture passages and hymns. The senior scholars knew the multiplication table well, and showed considerable readiness in counting up numbers. David had prepared for them the narrative of our Saviour’s birth, in questions and answers, and examined the elder scholars on this subject. The children, then, sang in parts the air “Whoe’er would be a soldier of Christ,”37 while David played the organ. In conclusion, the children sang a Hosanna,38 while David again performed on the organ; and not only the children but the whole congregation were delighted with these musical pieces, which they had practised well.39 But disappointment followed less than a year later when David resigned suddenly from his position as schoolmaster. The missionaries were quick to blame his recently acquired wife, but on reflection had to acknowledge that it was inherent in an Inuk to live the life the land imposed on him:

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Soon after the beginning of the year our schoolmaster, David, who married a short time ago, came to tell us that he was tired of his work, and wished to return to his occupation of hunting. It appeared that his wife had incited him to this step, by deriding him, as one too weak and miserable to do anything in the hunt, for Esquimaux women have supreme contempt for the men who are not able to bring home, at times, the different animals which may be procured here in the chase. With respect to the men, too, we have in this case again found, that, though a young Esquimaux may, for a time, give up the chase, in order to take to some less active employment, he cannot resist the longing to return to what appears to be his natural, God-appointed calling; he is unhappy, and feels unjustly treated, if any obstacle is placed in the way of his return to his natural pursuits. An equivalent in money or goods for the proceeds of the hunt, would not be a substitute to him for the loss of his favourite employment.40 The conflict between the church model of leadership and the Inuk ideal of a successful hunter able to provide his family and community with all the necessities of life from an active life on the land was not easily reconciled. To their credit, the missionaries recognized this reality, even while regretting the loss of someone who held the promise of becoming a leader in the mould they hoped to establish. Indeed, the encouragement to appoint Inuit teachers in the Labrador schools had come from the Moravian Church elders in Saxony. Missionaries on the ground in Labrador had initially resisted this directive, feeling that it would be dangerous to create a hierarchy among Inuit and to remove some of them from their natural vocation as hunters. David’s defection after only a year in the classroom proved the Labrador missionaries right to a certain degree, although the subsequent work of Ambrose and Inuk teachers at other mission stations would eventually prove successful. Twenty years later, at the time of his death, David was acknowledged as an exceptionally gifted musician. The diary of the mission station at Zoar, where David died on 22 May 1883, offers this obituary, which could not resist the temptation to characterize David’s talents as misspent: “He had received from the Lord beautiful gifts and accomplished for an Eskimo something extraordinary in church music. But one cannot be silent about the fact that his gift became for him also a pitfall. Unfortunately, he thought too highly of himself, and thus the Lord had to humble him often by letting him fall.”41 The stories of Ambrose and David find their way into the Labrador Moravian chronicle because they comply with – or in the case of David, disappoint – the

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missionaries’ perception of the ideal Christian Inuk. Ambrose provided a model to be held up to others in his community, where the missionaries struggled constantly against the “backslides” of their congregation. In print, he was a success story to be retold to mission supporters in England and Germany, encouraging their continuing generosity to the missions. This, however, reflected leadership as compliance, and while Ambrose is presented in a flattering way, he remains one-dimensional on the pages of the Moravian chronicles and in history. David, by contrast, was too much the Inuk to accept the mantle of leadership as the missionaries wished to define it for him. The reality was that David’s pride was “pride” in being an Inuk first, in living the truth of the birthright that preceded his baptism. The same conflict would appear again and again among the musician leaders who followed him: each resolved the contradiction between Christian and Inuk values in his own way, and each marked a different path to leadership. Across these profiles in musical leadership, women occupy roles in the shadows at best. Johanna Assa and David’s unnamed wife are given only the briefest of mentions in the Moravian record. Johanna is portrayed as Ambrose’s adjunct, even though she was his equal in teaching responsibility and continued teaching alone after his death. David’s wife is portrayed as the spoiler for his promising career as a leader. The near invisibility of women in leadership chronicles was a product of gender dynamics that characterized both Inuit culture and Moravian social organization. In both Inuit and Moravian cultures, complementarity of gender roles was a basic tenet. While Inuit women sometimes participated in the hunt, most work was divided along gender lines, with women largely responsible for domestic labour. Inuit women had equal access to education and literacy after the missions were founded but were restricted by Moravian liturgical conventions and social structures from foreground roles in music practice. Given the separation of gender roles already in place, Inuit women had little choice but to accede to the fact that Moravian music was a man’s game, especially with regard to leadership and mentorship roles. The brass bands were exclusively men’s clubs, and while contrapuntal singing requires a balance of male and female voices, leadership roles in the choirs were exerted from the organ, a domain singularly belonging to men in Inuit congregations. Notwithstanding progressive attitudes toward equal access to education and communal responsibility, Moravian convention set limits on equality for women when it came to leadership and liturgical office. Women were never ordained, nor were they permitted to preach, and these prohibitions were extended to national assistants and chapel assistants as early as Spangenberg’s 1782 treatise

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on missionary work. Separation by gender permeated everything related to worship: there were separate entrances to the church for men and women and separate benches for male and female congregants. Roles within worship were equally restricted along gender lines. Women were prohibited from preaching or leading meetings. Because the position of organist was regarded as a liturgical role, it too was generally restricted to men. Exceptions occurred in the Labrador missions, where, in the absence of a male Inuk organist, missionary women accompanied the choirs and congregations. Across the nineteenth century and into the twentieth, accomplished musicians like Srs Berthe Elsner, Auguste Albrecht (née Geissler), Helen Perrett, and Doris Peacock all taught instrumental and choral music and took to the bench when there was no male Inuit organist. The Moravian “choir” system, which established a social separation between young men and young women, was also a factor in assigning music leadership and mentorship roles to men. Music instruction, specifically in brass and stringed instruments, was an adjunct to the young men’s gatherings; young women were taught needlework instead. To some extent, the brass bands can be seen as an outgrowth or extension of the young men’s choirs, which were transformed into community service organizations. Married as well as single men could maintain the camaraderie of the mission-engineered social group. This gender divide in the Moravian choir system was a decisive factor in the allmale make-up of the bands and string ensembles that accompanied the choirs. The Moravians continued to promulgate male-dominated leadership when they established so-called community councils in 1865. Strongly reminiscent of the pre-contact tradition of the men’s meetings,42 these were comprised entirely of men and focused on the airing and resolution of disputes over the management of trade. As late as the 1950s, Joan Stedman, a nurse with a long tenure at Nain, observed that “women take no role in community life.”43 This model of male dominance in civic leadership continued to resonate into the twenty-first century. The office of Chief Elder has never been held by a woman. And since the 1970s there has been only one woman president of the Labrador Inuit Association (Fran Williams) and one female president of Nunatsiavut (Sarah Leo). It was the missionaries who introduced the conventions that prohibited women from taking leadership roles in music; later, these same conventions were rigorously upheld by the Inuit stewards who succeeded those missionaries. As a young girl, Bertha Holeiter rapidly acquired keyboard skills by observing her father, Josua Obed, and brother, John Jararuse, both organists at Hebron. But her progress was stopped short by the edict of the Chief Elder, “and back in those early years [1950s] us girls and women were not allowed to do such things

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as play the organ or join anything like that, which was unfortunate because there were a lot of girls before me who were musically talented.”44 There were notable exceptions to prove the rule in terms of women’s leadership, both community and musical. As noted in chapter 1, the Moravian presence in Labrador would not have been possible without the remarkable Mikak, who brokered the founding of the missions in Labrador through her interventions on both sides of the Atlantic. And Inuit women occasionally did in fact assume key musical roles. At the tiny settlement of Ramah, Nicholina, a teacher, as well as the daughter of the esteemed chapel servant Gottlob, fulfilled the role of organist under challenging circumstances in the 1880s, as observed by Benjamin La Trobe: “When an organist was needed Nicholina fulfilled the office to the best of her ability by playing the melody with one finger on the very little harmonium, which still does duty at Ramah.”45 And at Makkovik, the southern outpost established by the Moravians in 1896 to serve a predominantly settler community, the women of the founding Andersen family served as organists for English-language services, beginning with Bertha Andersen (1872–1950).46 Bertha, a mistress at the boarding school, chapel servant, and community midwife, was Makkovik’s first organist, a role later assumed by her greatniece, Inga Andersen-Winters (1913–2010). Nevertheless, in the late 1950s, when an influx of organists like Levi Nochasak, Joas Onalik, and other men from the resettled Inuit communities of Okak and Hebron arrived in Makkovik, it was they who assumed leadership roles in church music in Makkovik for the Inuktitut services. Only after an absence of brass bands for almost two decades in all Nunatsiavut communities, and only after the deaths of most of the last of the Inuit organists, did the path open for women to participate in music leadership. Since 2013, Inuit women have led many of the initiatives to revive and revitalize these musical traditions. But for the remainder of the nineteenth century and through most of the twentieth, the key leadership roles in music and community life continued to be held by men.

III. Venerable Natanael Though David all but vanished from the Moravian narrative, Natanael Illiniartitsijok (1849–1928), the Nain-born teacher/musician, would achieve recognition well beyond his community during his lifetime and even into the twenty-first century. Natanael has been cited across the historic record as the first Inuk teacher in Labrador (even though he began teaching in 1869, seven years after David’s successful one-year stint at Hopedale). His long service

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merited respect and appreciation when he retired in 1922 after fifty-three years as the schoolteacher. Accolades like the following marked the occasion: “The Eskimo school would have been practically impossible had not all those who went away been willing to leave their children behind in care, mostly, of the venerable school teacher Nathaniel and his wife, who has also helped with the teaching for many years.”47 Natanael so closely identified with his profession that when Inuit were obliged to adopt surnames in the last decade of the nineteenth century,48 he decided to call himself “Illiniartitsijok,” which means “teacher.” In 1867, the missionaries at Nain inaugurated a special training class for a few capable youths, intending to advance their education “in order that the one or the other could be easily be used in holding school.”49 Subsequently, the missionaries looked for an Inuk as school assistant in 1869, choosing “the 20-yearold Nathanael, the son of our chapel servant Titus, whose married brother holds the office of a teacher in Zoar. He took over also with enthusiasm the class of the little ones and since that time we have not regretted our selection.”50 From the outset, Natanael’s work with the youngest pupils was regarded as successful. Unnamed in the Periodical Accounts, Natanael makes his first appearance in the 1869 Nain school report: “An Eskimo assistant was tried in the juvenile class, and we had no cause to regret this attempt to introduce more native agency in our work.”51 By the end of term examinations on 17 March of the same year, the missionaries could report that Natanael’s pupils had done remarkably well: “We held the examination of the school. On the whole we had reason to be satisfied with the answers of the children, and the little ones, who had been under Natanael’s instruction, did very well.”52 Annual reports continue to praise the results from Natanael’s teaching across the next twenty years. Natanael’s wife, Friedericke (ca. 1866–1940) joined him as a co-teacher sometime in the 1890s, and in years when the enrolment in the Inuit school was low, she taught the youngest pupils by herself. For nearly half a century, the two became inextricably bound up with the early education of Nain’s youth. What was taught in the school was constrained both by the brevity of the school year in the mission settlements (from the beginning of Advent to Easter) and by the narrow curriculum established by the mission. In a memoir published near the end of his long life, Nain Elder Paulus Maggo (1910–2000) offered a vivid picture of how he learned at the feet of Natanael and Friedericke in 1921: Most of the older children went to the minister’s house for classes while the younger ones went to other people’s homes. In Nain, Natan and his wife Fredricka were Inuit teachers who took care of children starting the

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Figure 5.3  Natanael and Friedericke Illiniartitsijok with their two daughters, ca. 1900.

first year of school. We were in class for about two hours a day and sometimes for three hours, but only in the afternoons. We didn’t have to attend class if we had to help our parents at home. All of the little boys were encouraged to go with their fathers when they went hunting or to collect a load of firewood. We didn’t have many subjects and learned what was called God’s words. When we began learning to read, we mostly used the Hymn Book, Book of Matthew, and other chapters found in the Bible. We had to learn one, two, or three verses by heart from the Hymn Book or the Testaments and recite them in class. Reciting wasn’t too difficult because the minister would prompt us if we forgot a word, phrase, or a line. We were all different because some of us were not able to memorize, while others could easily and some required more help than others. We didn’t learn much about numbers.53

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In the same year that Paulus started school, on 2 January 1921, Natanael and Friedericke’s house burned to the ground. Their crucial responsibilities in the community quickly prompted the missionaries to find new accommodation for them in the former English school, where they not only continued to offer instruction and board young students whose parents were away at winter camps, but also operated a kind of community gathering place: We had given the old people [Natanael and Friedericke] permission to live in the part of the school-house formerly used for the settler-school, until they were able to find a residence elsewhere. This circumstance proved to be of great advantage, not only for the school, but also for the extensive preparations which were made for the celebration of the 150th Anniversary of our Mission. In the schoolhouse, Frederike, the teacher, together with some other women, used every spare moment in making wreaths and huge garlands for the decoration of the church inside and out. It was a pleasure to see them at work, happily singing, and all eager to do their best – even the little children’s fingers being employed in picking out material and preparing the twigs.54 By this time Natanael was over seventy and in failing health. He found the loss of his home and the exertions of continuing to teach unsustainable. A major fire in August 1921 that destroyed most of the settlement of Nain focused most of the community’s energies on rebuilding basic amenities; this necessitated makeshift arrangements for education. In these times of emergency, Natanael ended his long career teaching, as the report from 1922 records. School has also been carried on in the church building: 15 boys and 14 girls were under instruction in Eskimo and the rudiments of English. The old school-teacher, Helper Nathaniel Illiniartitisijok, who is over 70 years of age, was unable to undertake his usual duties, through old age: he has been teaching for over 50 years. Br. Townley took charge, and was helped for a month by Nat’s wife, Fredrika, who has also taught for 30 years, after which, in order to earn more, Fredrika went to work in the blubber [yard]. As no one else was obtainable just then, the aforementioned Brother formed the children into one class and carried on to the end of the term.55 Friedericke continued teaching and was deeply valued (if not well remunerated) for her essential role in maintaining schooling in Nain after the disastrous fire of 1921.

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As mentioned in previous reports, there is a growing difficulty in carrying on school for the Eskimo children, on account of the parents living away from the station. This was experienced again in the past winter. Yet we carried on school for the few children who were on the station, having two classes, the juniors being instructed by our old well-tried helper Friedericke Illiniartitsijok. In spite of her age she does all that can be expected of a native, and the little ones love to go to her.56 Friedericke would continue teaching until 1929 – a career that lasted nearly as long as her husband’s – when advanced age and failing eyesight forced her retirement. She was literally irreplaceable, and her departure left a serious gap in the Nain mission’s capacity to deliver education. A half-century of native teaching came to an end, as reported in the spring of 1929. Br. Grubb was teaching the senior class, the beginners we had to leave in the hands of the old native teacher, Friedericka. She has been teaching for about forty years, and her help has been most valuable in times past, but her age and the rapid failing of her eyesight makes us anxiously look out for a successor. To find one under the present circumstances is impossible, and our only hope is that it will become possible to have at some future time a devoted girl from the homeland, not only to teach but to exercise a wholesome influence on the moral development of the children.57 Like Ambrose’s wife Joanna at Hopedale, Friedericke taught alongside her husband for decades, replacing him when his other responsibilities, illness, and eventual retirement took him away from the school. It is indicative of the position women played in the gender hierarchy of Moravian Labrador that her contributions were acknowledged, albeit underreported compared to those of her husband. Notwithstanding his long career as a teacher, it was as a musician that Natanael would receive the most attention outside the mission chronicles. The story of his composition of a four-part anthem to dedicate the new church in 1910 will be detailed in chapter 7. Beyond this singular “history-making” act, Natanael was a musician of unequalled accomplishment, as well as a confident improviser at the organ. His Sunday preludes riffed through myriad chorale tunes, Sankey hymns, and children’s songs, as well as the elaborate Rococo anthems and voluntaries he held in his mind’s ear. David Harris, the late Chief Elder at Nain and its principal organist from the 1960s to 2015, was two generations removed from Natanael. Even so, Natanael’s reputation was well-known

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to David, who described him as a truly exceptional musician. David noted that Natanael could write down anything he heard from memory. He could memorize any hymn after hearing it just once, then transcribe it with perfect accuracy. A large portion of the almost 5,000 pages of music manuscript in the Nain choir collection is written in Natanael’s hand. David Harris also stated that Natanael was an extremely accomplished organist and could play the most difficult of the anthem accompaniments with ease.58 Music and teaching were two of the fields in which Natanael stood out in his community of Nain. These services marked him as a leader in his own eyes as well as in the eyes of the missionaries and the other Inuit of Nain. He was a headstrong community leader and as such was sometimes misunderstood by the missionaries, as revealed in an anecdote recorded by Bishop Benjamin La Trobe during his 1888 inspection along the Labrador coast. This vignette offers insight into both Natanael’s pride in his position and the mission’s paternalistic attitude toward the Inuk’s sense of self: One day in 1887, Nathanael was seen shaking his fists at the mission house. What had ruffled his temper? He had been told by some fishermen that Queen Victoria, to mark her Jubilee, had sent a present of a suit of clothes to every schoolmaster in her dominions. As his had not reached him, he suspected the missionaries of withholding it. This is a characteristic instance of the credulity with which the Eskimoes accept the statements of strangers and the mistrust they are too apt to show towards those who have long proved themselves their most disinterested friends.”59 After more than a century of cohabitation and frequently espoused respect across their cultural divide, missionaries and Inuit were still capable of fundamentally misunderstanding each other’s intentions and values. Trust was a fragile entity. Occasional suspicions notwithstanding, by 1875 Natanael had been appointed a national assistant and was working alongside missionary brother Peter Petersen Dam in the training of young men as potential assistants.60 Across the next half-century, Natanael would hold a position of civic and spiritual responsibility as a national assistant, though not without periods during which he was removed from the post owing to behaviour the missionaries deemed immoral. It would be a cycle of calls and falls. Natanael’s Inuk pride, strong will, and moral weaknesses, pitted against the strictures of Christian constructs of sin, would see him in and out of the position of national assistant. But his singular value as a teacher and organist/choirmaster seemed

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immune to his falls from grace; it appears he was never removed from either of those positions. In 1906, Natanael was reinstated as a national assistant after a vacancy was created upon the death of Paul Rink, another longtime chapel servant and organist. The Periodical Accounts notes that Natanael had demonstrated a return to a moral path that made him eligible to be re-instated: “Our choice fell, firstly, on Nathaniel Illiniartitsijok, who had been a helper before, but had had to be removed from office. During the past year his spiritual life was enriched by a variety of experiences, and thus we hope that by the Grace of God he will do better than on the previous occasion.”61 A year later, the mission report elaborated on the dynamic between the younger and older (including Natanael) national assistants and the duties they discharged: As regards willingness to work, there is not much difference in them. All are at all times willing to do anything required of them. When we speak of ability we feel it is only right to give precedence to the younger ones. Joas Fox, the youngest in office, and Adam Karpik, his senior, are both fairly able men. Joas especially being very straightforward and out-spoken in his dealing with his fellow-countrymen. Adam is of a gentler nature, not so blunt, and has a way of saying unpleasant things more pleasantly. Both are a great help to the missionaries in the work of the congregation. Nathanael Illiniartitsijok (who is also choir master and first fiddle) and Matthew Lampe are also very willing and gladly take their share in the work – in fact, feel rather slighted if the younger ones are called on oftener than they – but they are not as young as they used to be, and age tells on them. During both summer and winter the chapel-servants are busy in the congregation, particularly in respect to settling disputes between man and man, not to mention the settling of quarrels between husband and wife. It also falls to their lot to hold an occasional Saturday evening prayer meeting during the winter, and to conduct service on Sundays when away from the station.62 In 1909, mission superintendent Bishop Carl Albert Martin63 was preparing to launch an initiative long encouraged by the Moravian Synod, the establishment of a seminary to train Inuit ministers. The course would be directed at potential spiritual leaders from among Inuit. At Nain, Bishop Martin was laying the groundwork by encouraging the native assistants to take more active roles in the liturgy:

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Figure 5.4  Bishop C.A. Martin’s (centre) seminary class in 1910 with Natanael Illiniartitsijok (front, 3rd from left) and Jeremias Sillitt (front, 4th from left).

Our oldest native helper, Mattaeus Lampe, has been called home. Owing to his throat infection he took no part in holding services through the winter, but the other three, Natanael Illiniartitsijok, Adam Karpik and Joas Fox, have each been induced to take a step forward in the direction required in aiming at a native ministry. Each of them, as well as Filipus Hunter, preached before the congregation during the winter. Adam Karpik, who is spending the summer at the station, has officiated once or twice since; and doubtless the others will not let opportunities slip to hold forth on Sundays at their respective hunting and fishing posts. They are, of course, all beginners, and have not yet learned to stick to the text; but no doubt practice will lead to improvement.64 Thus, in February 1910, thirteen Inuit men,65 including Natanael, now aged sixty, gathered in Nain for two weeks of foundational instruction for the ministry. Bishop Martin concluded cautiously that it was a successful first step: “The classes are much appreciated by the native helpers, and some undoubtedly profit thereby. But it will take some time before we can hope to have a staff of

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native preachers.”66 Despite the encouraging outcome of this first iteration, the seminary was not repeated. The logistics of offering the course, compounded by the hardship of taking men away from their families and the essential subsistence labour of hunting and fishing, meant that this Inuit seminary was a once-only gathering. It would indeed be a long time before the ordination of the first Labrador Inuk, Reverend Renatus Hunter, on 1 July 1980. In 1910, only a year later, Natanael was again placed under discipline, this time for the sexual abuse of his adopted daughter Hedwig:67 The truth also came to light that our oldest Eskimo chapel-servant had been leading an immoral life with this girl. When accused of the act by her – his adopted daughter – he acknowledged it and said he was thankful it had come out as he had not had the courage to make it known himself, although it was a heavy burden on his conscience. Later in the winter we heard he had not abandoned his evil ways; so the girl was taken from him and put in the care of another couple. Though at present released from church discipline, he has not been reinstated as a chapel-servant.68 Despite the seriousness of the offence against Moravian morality, Natanael continued to be organist and choirmaster; and he continued to teach. By 1917, Natanael had been fully reinstated and his value both in the community and to the missionaries was again acknowledged. The onset of what was presumed to be a final illness elicited an extended and, as it happened, premature eulogy. In their annual report the missionaries lauded Natanael’s embrace of Christian redemption as well as the critical roles he had played in the community: Our old chapel servant, Nathaniel Illiniartitzijok [sic], who was for many years a valued schoolmaster, was taken ill in the autumn of last year, and became so much worse as time wore on that not only he, but also we, thought that his end was approaching. It was most edifying to visit him in his sickness. A profound sense of sinfulness and utter unworthiness, which is not common among our Eskimoes, made it difficult for him to appropriate to himself by faith the grace of God in Christ Jesus. For a long time he had to contend with doubts, whereas, generally speaking, an Eskimo finds it remarkably easy to believe in the complete forgiveness of sins. All the more pleasing was it to observe in Nathaniel’s case how his doubts gradually disappeared and finally the peace of God transfigured his whole face. Gladly would he at this stage have gone home to his eternal

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rest, but it was not the Lord’s will that it should be so. Slowly he began to mend, and after many ups and downs he has now progressed so far that he can undertake various little jobs. We missed him sadly in his church work and in the keeping of meetings in church throughout the winter.69 Natanael would live another eleven years. Further challenges would beset the last decade of his life. As noted earlier, on 2 January 1921 his home burned to the ground. The community and the missionaries rallied quickly to provide accommodations for him and Friedericke. During the last three years of his life, he was confined to his bed. He died on 3 April 1928 at the age of seventy-nine during an epidemic of influenza that had taken Nain in its grip. Mention of his death in the Periodical Accounts is brief: While nearly all, even all patients with pneumonia recovered, one aged member of this congregation – the old school-master Nathanael – was taken home to Him in Whom he had trusted. Seventy-nine years old, for three years paralyzed in his bed, we could but be grateful for his deliverance from all timely troubles. General sympathy was shown to his faithful wife at this occasion, and much of the good that often lies hidden beneath the surface with our simple folks came into evidence.70 Friedericke would continue teaching the youngest class at the Inuit school for another year, at which time her own infirmities required her withdrawal. Friedericke Illiniartitsijok died on 27 November 1940 at the age of seventy-four in Nain. Cause of death was listed as senile decay.71 From his earliest appearance in the Moravian record as the newly appointed teacher at the age of twenty, Natanael distinguished himself as clever and independent, but also as desirous of the approval of the missionaries. His teaching of the young children was narrowly circumscribed, comprised of delivering the mission curriculum – chiefly the memorization of scripture and hymn texts – as well as the basics of reading and writing. Natanael and (later) Friedericke had to have a committed familiarity with scripture and the hymn repertoire to accomplish this, as well as an ability to manage groups of small children. Beyond his competence to deliver the mission curriculum, Natanael demonstrated that he was headstrong and proud, a committed Christian but also someone who was prone to skepticism toward the missionaries. He was capable of serious falls from grace but equally capable of heartfelt repentance. Writing as head chapel servant to the sfg about the dedication of the new Nain church in 1910,72 Natanael demonstrated that he was conversant in the ritualized speech

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and confessional writing of the Moravians. He answered the call for financial support of the mission issued in 1905 in the first edition of Aglait illunainortut, the Nain Inuktitut magazine published by Bishop Martin. The Periodical Accounts noted: At the beginning of the year mention was made in the Labrador (Eskimo) newspaper … of the large Mission Deficiency, and our members on the Coast were encouraged to do what they could to assist in liquidating the debt. It was pleasing to see how readily the matter was taken up by the people. One man, for example, a certain Nathaniel, the station schoolmaster and cooper, repeatedly brought to the missionaries at the end of the week a part of his week’s wages for the benefit of the Mission debt.”73 In many outward respects Natanael was fully assimilated, even if his instincts remained proudly Inuk. Nataniel’s position in the community required a wide range of leadership skills. The missionaries may have especially valued his ability to provide spiritual leadership, but they were wise enough to recognize that his ability to mediate disputes among Inuit was essential to the community. Preaching, especially when Inuit were away from the mission stations at hunting and fishing camps, was important. But so too was the ability to settle conflicts among Inuit, whether between two hunters or in a domestic dispute. The success of this form of leadership depended less on the missionaries’ approval and more on the inherent skills of the individual leader. In this regard, Inuk leadership based on Inuk values was paramount. As Natanael grew older, the missionaries perceived that he was beginning to resent the younger national assistants. From an Inuit perspective, the missionaries’ apparent preference for younger assistants flew in the face of the role that Elders continued to hold in Inuit society. It disregarded and disrespected a fundamental tenet of Inuit culture: the wisdom of experience. Natanael’s final fall and ultimate redemption were indicative of the struggle that waged within the Christian Inuk. Shortly after participating in the first Inuit seminary class, the missionaries uncovered what to them was an egregious moral transgression on the the part of Natanael. Only when he confronted his own mortality and the prospect of a final Christian judgment was he restored to a state of grace. By now, he was too old to take an active leadership role in the church or in the community, but the respect he had garnered over half a century in these capacities made him a worthy model for the missionaries to promote. He embodied their ideal of the repentant sinner – an archetype they

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could endorse to Inuit congregants as a model to follow and to the mission supporters in Europe as evidence of the value of their work among Inuit. The respect that Inuit accorded to those who had fully embraced Christianity and been anointed to leadership positions by the Church was one measure of the missionaries’ success and credibility. But these Inuit leaders also had to have earned the respect of their peers by displaying skills rooted in Inuit values. Without that respect they could not have been effective in the communal life that was the enduring source of their authority. In many respects, Natanael was not unlike David of Hopedale. For both, Christianity would be layered over an essence that was fundamentally Inuk: two value systems that maintained a delicate balance until they no longer could. In David’s case, the break was permanent, and though he led a nominally Christian life after he left his leadership position, his guiding life values were Inuk. In Natanael’s case, the balance was restored, if only to be repeatedly lost again. Inuk nature trumped Christian nurture in a struggle that played out across a lifetime until Christian nurture won out in the end. For David, being an Inuk leader required him to tip the balance in favour of the Inuit values of being an expert hunter and traditional provider. For Natanael, the balance eventually tipped in the other direction: he would excel in those activities that were valued by the mission as contributing to the life of the Christian community and thereby maintain the confidence of the missionaries as well as the respect of Inuit.

IV. Leading in Times of Change As the twentieth century dawned, reports about Inuit musician leaders became more fully fleshed out. Men like the Sillitts of Okak and Nain, the Nochasaks of Ramah and Hebron, and Natan Friede of Hopedale rise from the pages of the Periodical Accounts for more cause than their exemplary Christian lives and their musical service. Counterpointing the missionary records are stories of heroism and leadership documented in communal memory and oral histories. The dialogue between archival documentation and Oral Tradition develops portraits of musicians of remarkable skill who brought the liturgical and communal musical celebrations to an exceptional standard. And many of these same men are likewise seen to be thoughtful and decisive leaders at times of community crisis. Their leadership profiles might be rooted in the approbation of missionaries, but they grew in stature and substance by functioning autonomously and occasionally in conflict with the wishes of the Church.

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A striking example is Jeremias Sillitt. Born in 1862 near Okak, Jeremias was called to a leadership position in the Church in 1908, when he was only forty-six. It had been a discouraging time for the Okak missionaries, who were battling waves of adultery and bootlegging in their fragile Christian community. In this context, Jeremias Sillitt demonstrated a rare strength of commitment to Christian values. He was portrayed as a man who had acquired moral strength through adversity – a familiar Christian narrative: Encouraging for us was the case of one man, Jeremiah Sillik [sic] by name, who had been appointed a chapel servant during the previous year. He was one of those who suffered most severely from inflammation of the lungs, and he had to keep his bed for a long time. This was turned into a season of blessing for him. Already before his illness he had been a true believer in the Lord, but now God led him into a deeper consciousness of self and into a more conscious acceptance of His grace. The Spirit of God wrought within him the fixed determination that he would confess Jesus publicly before his fellow-countrymen.”74 Jeremias’s piety was no sudden response to a near-death experience. His chapel-servant parents, Ruth and Japeth, were Christians of deep and abiding spirituality. That spirituality impressed Labrador’s first medical doctor, Samuel King Hutton,75 on his arrival at Okak in 1903. Hutton was a Moravian, but his responsibilities while in Labrador were directed more at the physical than the spiritual health of Inuit. And he was a keen observer. His several published memoirs from his years at Okak offer fully drawn and sympathetic portraits of Inuit, relatively free of the missionaries’ frequent paternalism and inevitable proselytizing. His first encounter with Jeremias’s parents is an early example: The two old people sat down, and Ruth opened her hymn-book. She licked her thumb and turned the pages, and held the book to the light to see the better, and wiped her spectacles with the tail of her smock, and turned more pages. She knew what she wanted and with a “h’m” to clear her throat she thrust a share of the book into Jafet’s trembling hand and began to sing. An energetic nudge from Ruth’s elbow, and Jafet joined in with his quavering baritone; and there I sat, listening to a hymn of welcome and encouragement … Can you imagine anything more touching? I was new to Labrador; I could speak no more Eskimo than the mere words of greeting; I had, so far, met but few of the people; but there sat the old

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Figure 5.5  Jeremias Sillitt at the organ in Okak, ca. 1911.

couple, grasping each a corner of the book, bending their heads low to see the words, and singing in perfect tune. Poor old Jafet soon broke down. He just sat and sobbed, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his calico smock; but Ruth sang on, clear and true, though her eyes were wet and her old hands trembled. When the hymn was finished she said, “Nakomêk” (I am thankful), and shook my hand; then she nudged her husband and led him quietly home.76 While the missionaries valued Ruth and Japhet’s son for his moral fortitude and spiritual quest, it was his skill as a musician that attracted Hutton, whose own interests in music eventually led him to establish daily hymn-sings in the hospital receiving room and to host gramophone listening evenings in his clinic. Of Jeremias Sillitt he wrote: 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 might[y] burst of music the congregation breaks forth into singing and Jerry, with his magical touch, leads the voices steadily on, in perfect tune and stately time.77 While lauding Jeremias’s skills as a musician, elsewhere Hutton is careful to assure his readers that “Jerry” is no creation of the missionary presence, but rather a fully formed Inuk equipped with all the skills to lead a life in complete harmony with his land:

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Figure 5.6  Okak bandmaster, Jeremias Sillitt, encircled by a bombardon (a valved tuba), ca. 1908.

Our organist, who can render classical tunes from the oratories for voluntaries in church, and who can play any instrument in the band that he chooses; the schoolmaster, who can preach a sermon, and teach the youngsters the a b c, and their smattering of geography and arithmetic … with all the instincts of the Eskimo still strong within them, not a whit spoilt for the rough life that is their inheritance. They bent in a group over the quivering seal and quaffed the warm blood that welled out of it.78 In addition to being organist and choirmaster, Sillitt was Okak’s band leader. Early in the twentieth century the Okak brass band was a going concern. Hutton paints a vivid portrait of the band, which was at the centre of civic life. Once again, he draws attention to Jeremias’s skill and versatility as a musician as well as to the code of moral rectitude that musicians were expected to observe. Jerry is our bandmaster at Okak; and on winter mornings when the snow is powdering down, and the chilly air nips the fingers, he leads his little troupe of bandsmen from house to house, delighting the populace with the blare of the trumpets. He likes to encircle himself with the bombardon, to lend a solid foundation to the harmony; but if one of the men is away he is quite able to take the cornet or horn or whatever it may be, and

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leave the bass notes for Benjamin’s trombone … Winter weather does not easily daunt them or numb their fingers; and besides, to play the trumpet in the band is one of the greatest honours that an Eskimo knows. Good character comes first in choosing the bandsmen.79 That final sentence underscores that membership in the band – as in the choir – was a mark of more than musical ability. The call to join the band was issued by the other members of the band, not the missionaries. And like the “call upstairs” to join the choir, it necessitated exemplary moral standing in the community. Jeremias’s story might have been a long and inspiring one had it not been for the Spanish influenza epidemic of 1918. The death toll along the Labrador coast was the highest per capita of any region in the world. Jeremias Sillitt and his wife Sibilla were among the first to die at their fall fishing station on Cut Throat Island in November 1918. It fell to their thirteen-year-old son, Gustav (1905–1984), to bury them and care for the four other children left at the camp. Gustav’s story is one of heroism and leadership80 – he protected the remaining children against the ravaging dogs, while travelling from camp to camp to bury the dead. The oldest surviving male from Okak after the epidemic, Gustav would be relocated to Nain the following spring, where he was adopted by the Chief Elder, Martin Martin. In time, Gustav would receive his “call upstairs,” rising to the position of choirmaster in Nain. At Nain in the 1940s and 1950s, Gustav presided over its choir during a golden age. His young apprentice at the organ bench, David Harris, Sr, described Gustav as an exacting master leading a dedicated ensemble: In those days the choir was not large, but … it was very active and the members were very committed. They rehearsed a lot. Everyone in the choir was constantly pushing themselves and pushing each other to be at a very high level of performance. The choirmaster at that time was Gustav Sillitt, the father of Jerry Sillitt, and he was a great encouragement to me, but also offered me many challenges.81 David’s assessment is seconded by Brigitte Schloss, who arrived on the Labrador coast in 1950 as a schoolteacher. In a 2010 interview, Rev. Schloss, herself deeply engaged with music, reminisced not only about Gustav’s exacting musical leadership but also his beautiful tenor voice. Asked about the musical leaders at Nain when she arrived there, Brigitte zeroed in on Gustav Sillitt:

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Figure 5.7  Gustav and Christina Sillitt, 1941.

Well the main one when I went was Gustav Sillitt, and he – I mean, it had to be just – it had to be right for Gustav, and he was – Like I said he had a beautiful voice. He was soft like velvet but it carried – I don’t know what it was, but they do! And they never strained it … So Gustav was the main one. And then David [Harris] was sort of the rising star at that point.”82 Gustav did not feel compelled to conform to the minister’s expectations, the way some of his predecessors did. Returning from a furlough in England in 1949, Rev. Peacock, the Nain-based superintendent of the Labrador missions, was disheartened to find that Gustav Sillitt had voluntarily placed himself on church discipline, acknowledging that he was not prepared to repent for his transgressions: Our joy at returning was marred when we learned that one of our chapel servants, Lorenz Kojak, had been removed and placed under church discipline during our absence. We received a further jolt when our youngest and most promising chapel servant, Gustav Sillitt, wrote in

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from his fishing place to tell me that he had been living an immoral life and knew that it was necessary for him to be removed and placed under “discipline.” Gustav has also been our choirmaster for some time; he is the father of the Sillitt girls who have been such a help in our school over the past eight years. He became a chapel servant in 1947 and we had great hopes that he would become a strong tower among our Eskimos. After his “confessions,” Gustav seemed to slip further away but he is now trying to make amends by living a new life.83 However, unlike the case of David nearly a century earlier, Gustav’s fall did not disqualify him from continuing to provide leadership in the music of the Church and the community. Soon after Gustav placed himself on discipline, Rev. Peacock noted that the music in the devotional services broadcast on the recently inaugurated mission radio station relied on Gustav’s eloquent voice for the hymn-singing. “On Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays after the main transmission for the evening, a short devotional service is broadcast from the ‘studio.’ The whole Mission staff except the teacher ‘on duty’ takes part in this ‘family’ devotional service and the staff choir is augmented by an Eskimo tenor, Gustav Sillitt.”84 Thus, Gustav Sillitt exercised a role as a commanding musical leader in his community while remaining at least somewhat independent of the strict code of conduct imposed by the Church. His musical leadership was largely determined by the quality of his musicianship. Gustav is remembered to this day for his uncompromising musical standards, but it is the second Jeremias, “Jerry” Sillitt (1924–1998), who became the archetype of an Inuk leader in the second half of the twentieth century. Jerry’s leadership potential was spotted early on by the missionaries, who made note of his innate talents, deeply Christian moral compass, and strong sense of obligation to his community. Writing in 1941, when Jerry was only seventeen years old, then missionary superintendent Rev. Paul Hettasch singled him out as a potential leader, attributing his skills to the fine work being done by the mission school: Our hopes for the Eskimo are centred in our school. The lives of a number of our young people bear witness to the splendid work that is being done among the children. Five years ago Jeremiase was a pupil in boarding school, at Easter he was confirmed, and has since begun to learn to play the church organ. (His grandfather was organist at Okak for many years.) Jeremiase realizes his debt to the school and is always glad to render service in the working of the school.85

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The potential Rev. Hettasch saw was more than amply realized in the decades that followed. It manifested itself in the authority that was vested in Jerry by his community, the Church, and the state. Writing in 1969, mission superintendent F.W. Peacock attributed the respect Jerry Sillitt had earned in part to his place in a long lineage of leaders. In April, at a special ceremony conducted by Magistrate C. Goodyear, Brother Jerry Sillitt, the chief elder in Nain, was appointed Justice of the Peace; Jerry is the first Eskimo in Canada to be appointed to this position and it speaks well for the esteem with which this Eskimo is held by the Provincial Government. Jeremias (Jerry) comes from a family of outstanding men. His grandfather was the “outstanding” organist at Okaĸ, his father was the choirmaster at Nain, and also a chapel servant as was his father, the Okaĸ organist, before him. Jerry’s father, Gustav was also a cellist and violinist of no mean ability. Jerry himself has been choirmaster and organist at Nain.86 Jerry himself was certain he had received a calling. In a late-in-life memoir, he pointed to an incident that led him to accept that he had a vocation to be a leader in his community. As with so many epiphanies on the North Atlantic, Jerry’s came in the form of surviving what seemed certain death in a ferocious storm. He was thirteen years old and had just lost his beloved mother during a childbirth. His father, children in tow, had rowed to a neighbouring settlement in search of a new wife: Just as we were halfway between Nain and Rhodes Island we looked, and saw to our amazement, storm clouds coming down upon us from Mohart’s [sic] Hill to the shoreline. We tried very hard to make the shore before the storm hit us, but it came so quickly. Without even realizing it, I had been rowing very hard and broke the oar-locks off, so we had to no choice but to drift with the wind. My sisters began to sing a hymn, “Jesus Day by Day,” and my father fired two shots off from his rifle. The wind was terrible, and the big waves caused a spray like a dust storm. My father had no choice but to steer the punt downwind. More than once he made a motion with his hand at the waves, and to my amazement the huge waves didn’t reach us … We were just drifting with the wind, looking for a place to land. The only safe place for landing was on the shoreline where we had pitched our tent. Just before we reached the shore, a large wave hit us, pushing us up onto the land.

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From that experience, I knew I was not meant to perish, as God wanted to use me as a tool for helping other people. To this day two of my sisters are involved in the church and I am grateful that I am still alive, although I am elderly.87 Like his father and grandfather before him, Jerry Sillitt was an organist at Nain. He was also the choirmaster who led the Nain choir during its brief but memorable exposure to the southern world, as part of the Canadian Centennial celebrations. On 9 April 1967, on national television, the Nain Choir performed at the Anglican Cathedral in St John’s, Newfoundland. That performance under Sillitt’s leadership was a revelation to the 1,000 listeners packed into the cathedral. Ancient chorales, Moravian hymn tunes, and movements from oratorios by composers like Haydn, performed to unfamiliar Inuktitut texts, resonated throughout the cathedral in the “true,” “unaffected,” and “powerful” voices of the Inuit choir. Jerry Sillitt’s leadership of the choir was seconded by the young and very talented Inuit organist, David Harris. True to the Inuit tradition of mentorship, David would succeed Jerry as choirmaster and Chief Elder, providing community leadership at Nain from the organ bench for almost twenty years until death in 2015. Jerry Sillitt was elected to the position of Chief Elder when he was only thirty-four. He was respected in his community for his wisdom and insight and was called on to settle disputes, enforce regulations, and resolve family conflicts. He would hold the position of Chief Elder for more than thirty years, spanning a time of great change that saw the authority of Inuit leadership eroded by the introduction of governance by the newly minted Province of Newfoundland, which began to assume responsibility for justice and social services. The old forms of leadership, anointed by the missionaries but earned in the community, were being replaced by authority entirely imposed from outside. Jerry’s daughter reflected in his obituary: “‘The elders don’t have much say anymore. There’s a lack of leadership now,’ said Sillitt’s daughter, Mary Andersen. ‘He was most active when there was no social services here and family problems were worked out without jail,’ she said.”88 Carol Brice-Bennett, a sociologist who observed Labrador Inuit communities for more than two decades, saw Jerry Sillitt’s leadership at close hand, and concluded that he “represents an old era in the sense the elders managed the community in a way that was meaningful to Inuit but misunderstood or ignored by whites.”89 Even so, Jerry retained the respect of his community as a musician, a churchman, and a hunter – the unique synthesis of achievements that had characterized leadership in Labrador Inuit communities for more than a century.

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Figure 5.8  The Nain Moravian choir at the time of their St John’s concert, 9 April 1967. Front row (l to r): Regina Sillitt, Sue Maggo, Dasi Obed, Mary Dicker, Miriam Brown; middle row (l to r): Zack Maggo, Sam Brown, Elias Obed, Julius Ikkusek, Jerry Sillitt (choirmaster); back row (l to r): John Green, Abel Lidd, Rev. F.W. Peacock, David Harris (organist), Zack Obed.

Inuit leadership became all the more difficult to maintain after Newfoundland confederated with Canada in 1949.90 Up to that time, the Newfoundland government had been content to allow the Moravian Church and the Grenfell Association to provide community supports such as education, health, and social services in northern Labrador. There was little call on the justice system, since the combined authority of Elders and the Church was more than adequate to deal with the handful of disputes that arose.91 Hence the autonomy of Inuit communities and their leaders was largely upheld, if more by neglect than by deliberate choice. Newfoundland’s attitude toward Inuit on Labrador’s north coast was generally “out of sight, out of mind” – so much so that at the time Newfoundland joined Canada, its official position was that there were no Indigenous people in the new province.92 In the decade following Confederation, fortified by funds transferred from the federal government, the new province was obliged to acknowledge its responsibilities toward its Indigenous populations.

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Figure 5.9  The Hebron mission complex in 1959.

As discussed in chapter 1, it did so by introducing several of the prevailing and disastrous social engineering tools of the day. Levi Nochasak was Chief Elder at Hebron in 1959, the year the community was closed and its 247 residents forcibly relocated to other settlements on the Labrador coast. Families were broken up, hunting and fishing grounds were lost, and an entire community was rendered homeless. Across the decades that have followed, the tragedy of this act of social dislocation has been examined through many lenses. Social dysfunction, loss of language and lifeways, generational separation, abject poverty: all have been attributed to the forced removal of the Hebronimiut from their land. This tragedy is mirrored in the story of Levi Nochosak, who was not only Hebron’s Chief Elder at the time of resettlement but also its longtime organist and choirmaster. Levi Nochasak was born in 1894 at Ramah, a small inlet where the Torngat Mountains meet the Atlantic. It had been a Moravian mission station from 1871 until it proved no longer viable in 1908. Except for his exposure to the mission, Levi’s early life could have been sketched by an archaeologist. In a 1977 memoir he recounted his youth. “I’ve lived in igloos and tents … We used to have a lot

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Figure 5.10  Levi Nochasak seated at the organ in Hebron, ca. 1958.

Figure 5.11  The cover of one of Levi Nochasak’s music copy books.

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of food to eat in them days … I had my own kayak at that time and every time I went out hunting I used to fill up my kayak with seals so fast, I’d head back for home while it was still broad daylight.”93 Levi moved to Hebron sometime after the Ramah station closed. Once there, he began to play an increasingly important role in musical and community life. The vast majority of music manuscripts in the Hebron collection in an Inuk hand are the work of Levi. His youngest son, Simeon, succeeded his father as an organist for the Inuit choir after their move to Makkovik. Simeon remembered his father as a superior and exacting musician.94 Every member of the choir had to be able to read music, learned first through the reading of hymns or melodies in four parts, graduating to the complex anthems. Under Levi’s leadership the choir became a formidable ensemble, performing complex Moravian anthems in a style that brought Inuit musical values into full view. Over the years, Levi’s name appears more and more often in the official mission records, increasingly in positions of authority. His leadership was not restricted to the organ bench. By the early 1950s he was Chief Elder at Hebron, testament to the community’s confidence in his moral and civic leadership. Levi’s role came to the test in 1956, when news reached Hebron that Okak had been “resettled” and that Hebron might well be next. As Chief Elder, Levi wrote on behalf of his community to the Newfoundland government, addressing their concerns to Dr R.W. Rowe, Minister of Mines and Resources, who was responsible for the Indigenous files. Dear Dr Rowe, We people from Hebron have heard that Hebron is going to be closed down without giving us enough information about it. We would like to know if this is true or not so that we can be prepared for it. We are asking not to be removed from our community because we are used to our traditional ways of hunting and it is very excellent. Hunting seals, char, caribou and other animals is our livelihood and are plentiful … We would be very thankful if we are not moved from our community, and we would appreciate it if you could consider our interests in not moving. And also we would be very thankful if someone could let us know what is going to happen to us in the future. Sincerely, I myself have been asked to write this Chief Elder Levi Nochasak Representing men at Hebron in their decision what to do.95

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As is already known, Levi’s letter was for naught. Three years later, he was among almost 150 Hebronimiut who found themselves relocated to Makkovik, 250 kilometres to the south. Life changed forever for Levi and those other northern Inuit, who doubled the population of the tiny white settlement overnight. Despite government promises, there was no housing for the relocated northerners, nor were there any jobs. Separated by language and custom from the community that now surrounded them, separated from lifeways and food sources necessary to their subsistence way of life, they also found themselves alienated from the healthy and autonomous social structure they had built for themselves at Hebron. The Moravian Church attempted to establish at Makkovik some of the same institutions that had afforded cohesion at Hebron. Efforts were made to reconstitute the remnants of the Hebron choir and brass band. Indeed, for the first decade after relocation, both remained sources of pride among the displaced Inuit. But the two-solitudes existence at Makkovik and the humiliation of not being able to provide the basics of life for themselves rapidly led to the all too familiar signs of social dysfunction in impoverished and dispirited communities: substance abuse, domestic violence, suicide, and abject poverty.96 Levi would die in a house fire in a poorly constructed shack on the edge of town, stripped of the dignity of his former role by circumstances wholly outside his efforts. In a film made to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of the Hebron relocation, Levi’s son, Simeon, wandered through the unmarked section of the cemetery in the Makkovik Moravian churchyard, pondering what had happened to the uprooted Elders of Hebron. “Those who died here; I cannot say what caused their deaths. They didn’t all die in the same year. But later, they began to die very quickly. And they would die very closely together. Sometimes it seemed they were just following one another. I loved those people, but without names on the markers, it’s hard to identify where they are.”97

V. Christian and Inuit Leadership The authority for Inuit leadership traditionally emerged from within a community. It constituted a recognition of those individuals who embodied Inuit values. When the missionaries arrived in Labrador in the 1770s, they sought to enlist local Inuit leaders to help them guide their communities toward Christian values. The missionary-anointed leaders needed to manifest values consistent with the Christian worldview. Some Inuit leaders fulfilled their positions commendably, providing role models that could be encouraged

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upon other Inuit. They could also be touted as testaments to the missionaries’ successes for dissemination among supporters back in Europe. But many of these exemplary leaders eventually disappointed the missionaries. Natanael – venerated and valued as he was – was put under church discipline and removed as chapel servant on several occasions. The same was true of Gustav Sillitt. These disruptions were often attributable to the same reason that led David of Hopedale to remove himself from positions of leadership back in the 1860s: a clash of cultural values. There were fundamental contradictions between Christian and traditional Inuit values. It was not easy for any one individual to consistently resolve these contradictions within himself. And all too rarely were the missionaries able to admit that there were essential aspects of Inuit culture that would never be comfortable within the arbitrary strictures of Christian morality and a social order that had evolved in Europe. One such rare admission is found in the 1877 diary of Samuel Weitz, the lone missionary stationed at the remote outpost of Ramah: While the power of the Gospel on the heart and lives of converts from any heathen tribes cannot be limited, still missionaries should bear in mind that the divinely ordained peculiar relations of race and climate cannot remain without influence … [The Eskimo’s] peculiar character, transmitted from father to son, and the calling of hunter and fisherman, [to] which the Creator has appointed him, are no doubt important factors in keeping him as he is … so “the Eskimo must remain Eskimo,” and we will live in the confident hope, that by God’s grace, despite all drawbacks and imperfections, there will be many Eskimoes among the company of the redeemed around the Throne of the Lamb.98 The leadership that was meaningful to Inuit and that would endure was not wholly contained within the Christian compliancy called for by the missionaries. It had to take into account the inherent compulsion for survival as shaped by traditions and practices that had come to define their culture. This sort of leadership was born of the environment in which Inuit lived and of centuries of subsistence living and social cohesion evolved in a harsh climate with very specific resources. Gustav Sillitt heroically demonstrated this kind of leadership in the aftermath of the near-annihilation of his community. So did his son, Jerry, as an early leader in the movement toward political self-determination in the second half of the twentieth century. Levi Nochasak strove to provide the same courage of leadership for his community, but he was defeated by political forces against which he was powerless.

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The leadership manifested by all these men was directly attributable to Inuit values, and in each of these cases it was exercised, developed, and perfected from the organ bench. In Moravian choral and instrumental music, Inuit perceived a microcosm of their own social order. Sharing responsibility toward the collective challenged each participant to carry his or her weight. Making music together is a classic example of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts. Some Inuit musicians came to be acknowledged for their thorough mastery of complex choral singing and instrument playing and thereby assumed roles of leadership from within the choirs and bands. Their leadership reflected that through their musical abilities, they had won and retained the confidence of their peers. This leadership was organic and naturally bestowed, and it functioned from within the group as opposed to in front of it. Even today, Labrador Inuit choirs and bands perform without a conductor; instead, they are led from within by musicians who are tacitly acknowledged as masters of the tradition they steward. It was natural for this type of leadership to migrate from the choir loft – from “upstairs” – to the other leadership responsibilities in community life and eventually in the march toward self-determination and nationhood. These Inuit musician leaders all accepted Christianity and lived – for the most part – lives that earned the approbation of the colonizing missionaries. The missionaries, in turn, promoted them as models to be followed. Even so, their leadership was accepted within their communities not because the white missionaries sanctioned it but because they remained faithful to Inuk ways. The leadership they demonstrated mediated white expectations and Inuk values. Their positions “upstairs” – in the choir lofts of the Moravian churches – were both a metaphor and a training ground for their leadership. There too they accepted the mantle of an imposed colonial authority – the complex musical practice imported from Central Europe. But over time and with stalwart integrity to their identity, they transformed that imposed cultural product into something that reflected Inuit aesthetic and spiritual values (see chapter 7). They led that transformation, became the stewards of the newly Indigenized European music, and established a protocol for mentorship for the generations that would follow them. This music and the leadership exercised in its practice provided a vehicle for exercising Inuit agency over an imposed colonialism. The source of the original call upstairs may have been a call from the colonizer. But the answer was Inuit through and through. Change that even the strongest leadership could not mediate began to sweep Inuit Labrador in the mid-twentieth century. In the decades leading up to Newfoundland’s Confederation with Canada, new governance structures from outside began to supersede roles that had once been the domain of Inuit leaders.

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No longer were Elders the mediators of civic and domestic disputes; no longer did they preside over the communal life of the settlements; no longer could they negotiate with representatives of external agencies living within their communities. The moral authority of the Church was made obsolete, replaced by the civil law that was now enforced by distant agents of the state. As the political realities changed, the need for new forms of leadership arose – leadership that could represent Inuit in a process of mediation and negotiation with the political entities that now controlled their fate from outside. Levi Nochasak’s failure to dissuade outside governments from “resettling” Hebron in 1959 hinted at the lack of power that traditional Inuit leaders would wield when faced with these new external forces. In 1973 the Labrador Inuit Association (lia) was created with the express purpose of negotiating Indigenous Title for Labrador Inuit and, with it, sovereignty over their society. The lia relied on the same fidelity to Inuit values that had characterized Inuit leadership through preceding generations. Nain’s Chief Elder, Jerry Sillitt, participated in early stages of the lia, but as the organization made progress toward its mandate, it required skills of its leaders that were different from those that Jerry and his mentors had possessed. Jerry Sillitt was succeeded as Chief Elder by David Harris Sr – a consummate musician who led from the organ bench for more than fifty years. But David’s authority outside the church was more symbolic than operational. The skills needed to lead Labrador Inuit toward the self-determination and that would culminate in the creation of Nunatsiavut in 2006 could not be acquired on the organ bench. Leadership groomed and exercised in the practice of Moravian music developed organically, from within a community of practitioners, as a licence to guide from within the collective. It assumed the responsibility for stewarding a musical tradition, for ensuring its transmission through future generations, and for transforming it as the community of practice evolved. It relied on an acknowledgment of mastery from within the cohort; the authority for leadership was ordained through the consensus of the whole. This form of leadership served – and continues to serve – the music well because it respects traditional Inuit values of social interaction and (non)-hierarchy. In the twentyfirst century, these values remain integral to Inuit identity, even as leadership of Nunatsiavut as a self-governing territory within a province and within Canada requires additional skills. Contemporary Inuit leadership for Nunatsiavut – as for other Indigenous governments – requires a fidelity to traditional values as a foundation for the complex negotiations of nation-to-nation dialogue affecting the future sovereignty of the Labrador Inuit.

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6

Reading by Ear Memory, Literacy, Aurality, and Transmission

I. Introduction At the dawn of the twentieth century, visitors to the Labrador coast often remarked on the exceptional musicianship of Inuit they encountered there. But exactly how that musicianship was acquired was a source of confusion, conjecture, and contradiction. In 1899, for example, the Rev. Canon William Pilot, a staunch advocate for Christian education and the missionary agenda, stopped at Hopedale. There he observed: “The Esquimau is a musical race, and, taught by the missionaries, nearly every adult Esquimau is able to sing at sight any simple tune.”1 A year later, another non-Moravian churchman, Fred W. Ward, writing for the London-based Christian periodical The Sunday Strand, published a rather fanciful portrait of the mission to Labrador Inuit. Near the end of the article, having expressed disgust at some of the vestiges of pre-contact practices among Inuit (polygamy, for one), Ward closed with a “sunnier” portrait of them: “Outside in the snow are the Eskimos, who are clearing a pathway, and are singing lustily while they ply their tools, for the Eskimo, though he sings by ear alone, is the most musical of all God’s creatures, and when surrounded by his friends he beguiles his time by snatches of hymns and native songs.”2 As a source, Ward is unreliable. There is no evidence he actually visited Labrador, and he may have based his article on a romantic and less than close reading of Pilot’s widely distributed travel account from the year before. Moreover, his vignette was heavily tainted by prejudgments. The Victorian-era missionary movement had long sustained itself by propagating the image of primitive peoples being bettered by the civilizing influence of Christianity. In

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the eyes of Ward’s readers, the recently pagan natives had been redeemed by the gift of being “the most musical of all God’s creatures,” though surely not sufficiently advanced to be able to read music. These two almost simultaneous accounts may indeed be coloured by bias. That said, more reliable sources make similarly contradictory observations about Inuit musicianship. Okak’s doctor, Samuel King Hutton, a sympathetic and observant chronicler of Inuit lifeways during his time on the coast, said much the same thing in his portrait of the highly accomplished Okak organist and bandleader, Jeremias Sillitt, describing him as “playing by ear” but in the next sentence stating that “for voluntaries he plays pieces from the oratorios or tunes from the newest collections.”3 Clearly, Sillitt was capable of both modes of musicianship, aural and literate. A similar tacit acknowledgment of this hybrid of music literacy and aurality was offered by arguably the most objective observer to visit Inuit Labrador in the early twentieth century, American anthropologist Ernest W. Hawkes, who observed first-hand not only the current Moravian musical practices among Inuit but also the remnants of earlier, pre-contact Inuit music. His observations point to the coexistence of literate and oral traditions in Moravian Inuit music-making, both “singing native hymns to Bach’s old chorals [sic], in perfect harmony” and having “a good ear for music and will catch an air after it has been sung once or twice.”4 This unique hybrid of aurality and literacy has long characterized the music practice of the Moravian Inuit of Labrador as well as the transmission of that practice. What role has memory played in the acquisition of the Moravian repertoire and its transfer across generations of Inuit? Where does reading begin and memory leave off? What is actually “read” on these scores used by organists, string players, choir singers, and brass band members? What does it mean to read music? How has music reading been taught? What purpose do the tens of thousands of pages of meticulously transcribed music manuscripts serve? Interviews with tradition-bearers, observations both recent and in the historical record, and the evidence of music manuscripts themselves offer answers to these and other questions that will come to define the function of music literacy within an aural tradition of transmission.

II. Memory The Moravian missionaries were well aware of traditional Inuit modes of transmission. They understood the power of oral transmission and storytelling among Inuit. In the early nineteenth century, mere decades removed from

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being pre-literate, Inuit retained the memory skills of a culture that relied on oral transmission. The missionaries recognized the efficacy of memorization as a means to implant the tenets of the Christian faith among them. Thus their educational approach tied the development of literacy to the reinforcement of memory skills. Classes for the young in particular focused on the memorization of Bible passages and hymn verses. Thus the development of literacy tapped into skills that were long part of Inuit Oral Tradition. Add to this, memorization of the corpus of hymn texts and melodies had always been at the core of Moravian prayer culture. What was being introduced at the earliest stages in the mission schools in Labrador was the same as what was being inculcated in the schools in Moravian settlements in Germany and across Europe. In his 1905 account of the Moravians in Labrador, J.W. Davey made this point when he remarked on Inuit organists’ ability to support the congregational singing of any hymn in the appropriate key on just hearing the first few notes: For the information of those who may be unacquainted with the German Moravian methods of singing it may be observed that as the members of the Church are accustomed to learn the hymns by heart from their earliest years, they are so familiar with such as are commonly sung that a hymn-book is a rarity in most churches. Thus the minister may vary the order of the service at any moment by singing a hymn without previous announcement, and the congregation at once join in as soon as they hear him sing the opening words. As for the organist, he is not only expected to know both hymn and tune by heart, but to be able to take up the melody at once in any key that the liturgist may happen to select as best suited to the compass of his voice.5 So it is not surprising that in Labrador, memorization of hymn verses was at the core of the school curriculum from the start. The very first school report sent back to Europe by Superintendent Samuel Leibisch, dated 19 September 1781, outlined the early curriculum: “In school, they have learned pretty well all the letters, counting to 100 in German (for in Inuktitut they only have the numbers to 21[20]), many verses, some sayings, and also the first main part about the 10 Commandments from Luther’s Catechism.”6 In less than two decades the memorization of hymn verses became an established part of the curriculum and one in which the young scholars excelled over other elements of their studies, as evidenced in this report from Okak, dated 7 August 1797, “The children do not seem very capable of learning fast; some of them, however; can read pretty well, and the most have learnt texts and verses by heart, and sing well.”7

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Likewise, congregational hymn-singing began in Labrador before there were printed sources for Inuit to sing from. An early account of missionaries teaching hymn-singing comes from the diary of Sr Maria Hastings, writing about her first winter in Okak in 1800: “My first business, besides the usual domestic duties, was to copy the Hymn-book, which existed only in manuscript, and to teach the Esquimaux women the hymns and tunes. This gave me much pleasure, and greatly promoted my feeling at home among them, especially when I saw, that they felt an interest and that the Lord granted His blessing.”8 The schools at the time were still at their earliest stages. In the absence of a printed Inuktitut hymnbook to read from, the Inuit had to learn the hymns by rote, both texts and tunes. After the “Awakening” of 1804–05, Inuit literacy accelerated and Inuit Brethren themselves began copying out texts, including the scriptures and verses from the hymn-book. The first printed hymnal, Tuksiarutsit, attorekset illagêktunnut Labradoremetunnut, was published and distributed in 1809; it included texts that Inuit could use both in worship and in domestic devotions while at the mission stations and especially while away at seasonal hunting and fishing camps. This hymn-book comprised 351 texts translated into Inuktitut; what it did not contain was any musical notation. The music for this sizeable repertoire of hymns continued to be taught by rote even as the hymn texts themselves were being committed to print that Inuit could by then read. Although one can think of many pragmatic reasons for text-only editions of the early hymnals, they were possible only because Inuit were capable of memorizing the hymn tunes. In short, the missionaries took good advantage of an oral tradition’s innate capacity for aural memory. Within the schools, memorization was a foundational pedagogy. Memory training was obviously valued and cultivated, but it only reinforced the memory skills that Inuit culture already prized. The earliest reports about schooling in Labrador highlighted how quickly the children were able to memorize texts, as noted in a communication from the Hopedale House Conference to the sfg, dated 1 October 1803: “Most [of the young schoolchildren] know the small little school book by heart, as well as many know the little hymn book mainly by heart, several can read the printed Passion narrative.”9 End-of-school examinations consisted largely of demonstrations of memorized texts. The following report comes from Hopedale in 1827: “Our schools have been diligently attended, and we have observed, with pleasure, the progress made by many of our pupils, both in reading and writing, and in committing to memory passages of Scripture and hymns.”10 Similar reports are noted in Nain and Okak. These memory exercises focused at first on scriptural texts and their reflective contemplations in hymn verses. Annual reports from the stations and their

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summaries sent to the Synodal Committee in Herrnhut make clear that the schools put the learning of singing on par with learning to read and write. The singing referred to in this 1828 report was most certainly taught by rote since there was no evidence of printed or manuscript musical material that would have been used in the schools. “From Labrador we have received both by letters and by visiting Missionaries, the most agreeable accounts … In all the schools much progress is made by the Esquimaux scholars, in reading, writing, and singing.”11 The goal of encouraging Christian devotions in Inuit homes – especially during the long stretches each year when they were away from the mission stations at hunting and fishing camps – was being achieved by the 1830s. The 1835 report on the school at Nain noted continuing success in teaching hymns to the very young; this was seen as the cornerstone to building faith and Christian understanding. Being the second and third generations of Inuit learning to read and write, the children in the 1830s received reinforcement at home, where even the youngest children were encouraged to memorize hymn verses. An 1835 account from Nain confirms: “We may venture to say, that there is not a single child belonging to our congregation, who is not made early acquainted with the Holy Scriptures, and the blessed doctrines contained therein; and that the parents, with few exceptions, take a delight in teaching their children suitable hymns. Even infants of three years are often found able to repeat a number of verses.”12 By the 1840s, all four mission stations were able to confirm that their congregations had mastered the entire Moravian hymn repertoire – more than 700 hymn texts sung to more than 100 distinct melodies. At Okak, where the development of the music practice had lagged behind Nain and Hopedale, Br J.F. Martin could report in 1842 that “our congregation take great delight in psalmody, – and there are few of our hymn-tunes, even of the more difficult ones, that they do not sing with facility and correctness.”13 Memory and rote learning remained mainstays of music teaching throughout the nineteenth century. Singing continued to be among the most popular of the subjects taught in the schools. In 1850, Br Ribbach recounted his success in teaching the children to sing canons in three voices, despite a resistance to counting and keeping time: “Their favourite lessons are reading, writing and singing. During the past winter, I practised with them canons in three parts. At first they did not succeed at all, because counting and keeping time were required; but at length they understood it, and were not a little pleased with their performance.”14 Br Ribbach’s observation of his pupils’ reluctance to “count and keep time” highlights one of the perennial stumbling blocks to Inuit music literacy – grasping the temporal dimension of music notation (see chapter 3).

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Their eventual success in singing three-part canons likely rested on the security of musical memory rather than an ability to read rhythm. By mid-century, the missionaries observed that their Inuit pupils had a better memory for music than European children of the same ages. The authors of the 1856 report from Nain recorded with satisfaction how readily the children memorized hymns, noting that their parents encouraged them to do so at home. But they also noted that their pupils’ capacity for memorizing texts was not matched by an understanding of those texts: In the learning of hymns and passages of Scripture by heart, the Esquimaux children manifest greater readiness than European children of the same age. Even little children, who do not know their letters, learn from their mothers to repeat verses of hymns very nicely. It is to be wished, however, that they would reflect a little more on what they learn, as their answers to questions, however simple, too often manifest how little their thoughts are engaged.15 This last observation may well have been a source of discouragement for the missionaries; but to the good, it was clear that their Inuit students were strongly attracted to European music of increasing complexity. The American entomologist and palaeontologist Alpheus Spring Packard made note of the prodigious memories of Inuit and their near universal literacy during his second visit to the Labrador coast in the winter of 1864. His diaries focused on the “civilizing” influence of the missionaries. Packard seemed to surmise that for Inuit, reading text was the norm and remembering (i.e., not reading) music was also the norm. The Moravian missionaries “have not sought alone to Christianize them, but also to civilize them, I believe that upon the whole coast there is not an Eskimo who cannot read, write, and cipher, although singularly enough they are not, to be sure, particularly given to this last; on the other hand they have an extraordinary memory, and I believe they know well by heart the usual church tunes.”16 One of the last Moravian teachers on the coast was the Swiss missionary Brigitte Schloss, who herself had a deep appreciation of music. Brigitte, who arrived at Nain in the 1950s, spoke of teaching the children to sing from grade one in the schools and of their rapid mastery of complex songs, especially rounds. When asked if she taught them to read music, she replied: “No. It was all by rote, was by ear, and they had very keen ears. Very, very keen ears.”17 Teaching singing by rote persisted in the Moravian schools right up to the handover of the educational system to Newfoundland.18

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The persistence of communal aural memory into the late twentieth century is confirmed by Rev. F.W. Peacock, who, writing in 1976, attested not only to the skill of the Nain choir but also to the congregation’s ability to sing in four parts. Rev. Peacock wrote about the musical capabilities of the Labrador Inuit, which dated back to the early nineteenth century: The Inuit congregations also had their choirs and these choristers would, and do yet, sing anthems which would present more sophisticated singers with difficulties. The congregations too harmonize while singing the hymns of the church, visitors to the Labrador Moravian congregations are often surprised and thrilled to hear the congregations singing the “Hosanna Anthem” which was written in the 16th century [sic], and is sung in all Moravian Churches at Advent and Palm Sunday.19 Inuit themselves recognized by then that change was occurring. In 1974 the revered Chief Elder Martin Martin reflected on what had changed in Inuit society across his lifetime, including with regard to the values taught in schools since the transfer of the school system from the Moravians to the province. He regretted the end of the discipline of memorization: Our school term lasted only six months and our main subject was studying the word of God. We had to memorize Bible verses and speak them out from memory while our teachers listened. The only time we were given a new verse was when we mastered the one before. Because of this teaching we, the elderly Inuit, can still speak out by heart many verses of the Bible, at least I always could. I don’t know of my fellow elders but I’m sure they too can speak out what they memorized as children.20 Across two centuries, literacy in Inuktitut became a universal skill among Labrador Inuit, while memory work persisted as a primary tool for cultural transmission. Among Labrador Inuit, as among Moravians worldwide, literacy was developed and accepted as a complement to memory. For the Moravians, memorization was a tool for hard-wiring spiritual beliefs; for Inuit, it was the cornerstone of knowledge transmission and communication. The cultural value of storytelling remained ingrained in Labrador Inuit society through transmission practices honed by community and family. Oral transmission was reinforced by Moravian pedagogy as both a foundational tool for literacy and as an essential skill for transmitting and retaining culturally valuable expression.

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III. From Orality to Aurality While the hymn texts and tunes were being committed to the community’s collective memory, a complementary aural acuity was developing for the language of European tonal music. The vast repertoire of hymn tunes and their counter-melodies in the alto, tenor, and bass voice parts fostered an intrinsic and specific understanding of pitch, melody, counterpoint, harmony, and tonal structure. Labrador Inuit developed a communal familiarity with the musical language embedded in the hymn repertoire that they could draw reliably on as easily as on spoken language. Inuit committed hundreds of hymn texts and melodies to memory, and in doing so they acquired the grammar and musical vocabulary of Western musical language. The plain melodies of the eighteenth-century German chorale repertoire; the simple and elegant voiceleading of the counter-melodies in alto, tenor, and bass voices; and the active and functional harmonies that result from combinations of voices together serve as the cornerstone of Western music’s tonal system. Neutered of any rhythmic complexity as the hymn repertoire is – there are only short and long values – it focuses the mind’s ear on the fundamentals of melodic and harmonic structure. Even today, mastery of this very same repertoire is the cornerstone of teaching melody, counterpoint, harmony, and musicianship to university-level music students. Thus Inuit mastery of the Moravian hymn repertoire – achieved before they learned to read Western musical notation – brought with it the aural acquisition of the grammar, syntax, and vocabulary of Western music’s tonal system. In short, many of these Inuit musicians acquired their inherent ability to sing and play this music “by ear.” While this skill, as revealed in singing hymns, can be viewed as an extension of memory, its rapid transfer to instrumental accompaniment is indicative of a deeper aurality. Instruction on Western musical instruments was introduced in 1819. As noted in chapter 3, just five years later Benjamin and Anna Kohlmeister could report to the sfg from Nain that many Inuit showed “great capacity for learning to play upon any musical instrument.” Similar accomplishments were reported at Hopedale, where violinists had learned “with ease” to accompany the congregational singing of hymns.21 Music literacy was certainly being cultivated among the string players as they accompanied the choir on festive anthems. However, it must be noted that these same Inuit violinists retained the entire hymn repertoire in their ears, relying, at least in part, on their prodigious memories as they accompanied the Melodie-rich liturgies. It is also clear that more than memory was at play here. A previously cited report from Hopedale dated September 1828 made a revealing

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observation about an Inuk violinist who had mastered the entire hymn repertoire: “The first violin player has learned the verses and the tunes belonging to them so well, that if he only hears the beginning of the first line, he immediately falls into the proper tune and the key in which the singing is begun.”22 Operative here is that “he immediately falls into the proper tune and the key.” The recognition of a hymn tune by its first line may be a function of memory, but the ability to join in the proper key speaks to a completely different level of musical acuity. The Inuit violinist in question heard and could match the pitch at which the hymn was being sung. He could immediately invoke the properties of the tonality at play, transposing the entire hymn into the key in which it was being sung. It is possible that the Inuk violinist referred to here had absolute (or “perfect”) pitch, but that phenomenon is rare. Absolute pitch denotes the ability to identify or reproduce any specific pitch (musical note), pitch sequence (melody), or pitch aggregate (chord) without reference or context. It is believed to be an innate trait and its incidence in the general population is extremely rare.23 More common (and a skill capable of being acquired) is relative pitch, the capacity to identify or reproduce a pitch, melody, or entire musical texture from within an established context. Relative pitch can be acquired and is typically the result of focused or prolonged attention to a specific music language, such as the Western tonal system that characterizes the Moravian hymn repertoire. What the 1828 Hopedale Inuk violinist was able to do was to recognize not only the specific hymn tune but also the key it was being sung in and immediately join in, reproducing the tune (or presumably one of its counter-melodies) accurately in the right key or tonality. The recurrent references across two centuries to Inuit musicians “playing by ear” speak to a highly sophisticated and learned aural acuity. Samuel King Hutton and E.W. Hawkes observed that acuity in Jeremias Sillitt. And it has been the default point of departure for learning music right to the present day. The profound familiarity with the hymn repertoire that was ingrained in every churchgoing Inuk provided those who wanted to learn to play music with a foundation for acquiring music literacy. The late Chief Elder and longtime organist and choirmaster at Nain, David Harris Sr, recounted that he had started playing the harmonium at home as a child, picking out the familiar hymn tunes, first by one finger and then with accompaniment.24 Only when he was seventeen did his playing attract the attention of the missionary’s wife, Doris Peacock, who gave him once-a-month lessons for a few months. In that short span of time he learned to read music and accompany the choir, learning greatly facilitated by the fact that he could already play the entire Moravian hymn repertoire by ear. By age eighteen David had become Nain’s principal organist, a position

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Figure 6.1  Mel. 459 from Gregor’s Choral-Buch, 1784. The numbers and symbols between the staves indicate harmonies to be filled in, guiding the organists’ choices for improvising the inner voices.

he would hold for half a century. David’s younger brother Paul followed in his brother’s fingersteps at the family harmonium but never received formal instruction. He eventually taught himself to read from the Moravian hymnal and from the Sankey hymn-books, but he never learned to read rhythms, preferring to play by ear, following the rhythms of the hymn texts held in memory.25 This same pattern would be repeated across generations of organists and string players who supported the singing of hymns in church and in domestic devotions. This mastery of tonal language by ear was key to another defining practice of Inuit instrumentalists, choirs, and congregations: improvisation. A rudimentary form of improvisation lay at the heart of Moravian hymnody since the earliest published editions of Gregor’s Choral-Buch (1784). Gregor, as well as his sources, set the hymns in two voices only: soprano and bass. Inner parts (alto and tenor) were intended to be improvised by the organist, following the conventions of figured bass or continuo practice.26 The first generations of Inuit organists would have worked from these skeletal scores; the organist edition of the Moravian hymnal did not include four written voices until later in the nineteenth century. Natanael Illiniartitsijok’s autograph manuscript of the anthem he composed for the dedication of the new Nain church in 1910 is written using this improvisational shorthand, with only the soprano and bass parts notated and the inner voices to be supplied by the organist. The skill of improvising inner parts would have also been demonstrated by violinists, choir members, and even congregational singers. Eventually, the string players made copy books of their own parts (first violin, second violin, viola, cello) for the hymnal and liturgies, although many players continued to accompany the hymns by ear.

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The same phenomenon is manifest in the congregational singing of these hymns in four parts. This practice persists to the present day, even though hymnals with printed music are still not available to congregations. Writing in 1976, Rev. F.W. Peacock expanded on the exceptional quality of the singing in the Labrador Inuit churches, not only in their choirs but in the congregation as well: “The Inuit congregations also had their choirs and these choristers would, and do yet, sing anthems which would present more sophisticated singers with difficulties. The congregations too harmonize while singing the hymns of the church.”27 A personal encounter with this prodigious musical memory dates back to the early 2000s, when I began visiting the Labrador coast. One of my regular stops was the home of Uncle Jim Andersen, a noted chronicler of his community of Makkovik and an avid devotee of Moravian music. There came a point in every evening with Uncle Jim when he’d bring out his violin and suggest we play a few hymn tunes together. I’d sit at the keyboard and he’d call out a number from among the over 900 tunes in the Moravian hymn-book, and we’d start in. At the end of the first verse, he’d signal a repeat, and, on the second go through he’d play the alto part instead of the soprano. Third time around it would be the tenor, and fourth time around, the bass. The uncanny thing for me was that Uncle Jim was legally blind by then. He played all four parts of the hymn from memory – and he likely could have done so for most of the tunes in the hymnal. Choir members sang their challenging anthems from hand-copied manuscript scores, but congregational singing of hymns, with improvised harmonies, was from text alone. They had developed this skill – part memory, part aural acuity – across two centuries of collective practice. It had become akin to an instinct. These melodies and counter-melodies were, in a way, a subset of language; their texts were a genre of an oral literature. The sung rhythms of the hymns were dictated by the metred texts, mastery of which was similar to the mastery of language. Thus the body of chorales seemed to constitute a kind of collective cultural knowledge shared by the entire community. All four parts of the hymns could be recalled or improvised by members of the community – with complete assurance by choir members like Uncle Jim Andersen, and almost equally by regular members of the congregation. The fact that the melodies were rhythmically neutral removed the requirement to “read” music. For choir members, music reading was rhythmic reading. Getting the pitch right was simply a matter of “following the notes,” which everyone seemed to know in the same way one knows language, or how to gauge the condition of ice, or how to track ptarmigan. Singing hymns in four-part harmony had become culturally specific knowledge.

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Figure 6.2  The organ manuscript for Natanael Illiniartitsijok’s Ahâĸ! Ahâĸ! Gûdipta iglunga. In the first few measures of the chorale section, inner voices are pencilled in, but the remainder are meant to be improvised.

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V. Literacy Inuit transmission of any sort of knowledge has traditionally been a process of exemplification, experimentation, and mentorship. From hunting caribou to chewing sealskin for softening boot leather, life’s essential skills were transmitted from mother to daughter and father to son following these cultural practices. The Moravian presence supplemented these ways of passing on knowledge with an additional new skill: literacy. Having established missions in Greenland in 1733, the Moravians had already developed a written form of an Inuit language when they arrived in Labrador. Across four decades they had developed a writing system using Roman letters and an orthography (phonetically conditioned by ears accustomed to speaking German) and applied these to create written texts in the Greenlandic dialect of Inuktitut. Jens Haven, Christian Drachart, Johann Schneider, and Johann Ludwig Beck arrived in Labrador able to speak that language, which was quite close to the Labrador Inuktitut. They also had experience in teaching, reading, and writing in the Greenlandic dialect. The missionaries quickly adapted the Greenlandic writing system to the Labrador dialect and began teaching reading and writing at the settlements of Nain and Okak in 1780, then Hopedale in 1783. From early in the nineteenth century, literacy in Inuktitut became an identity marker of the Labrador Inuit.28 Still, knowledge transmission among Inuit never strayed from its aural/oral roots. By the late 1820s the ability to read and write in Inuktitut was well-established among the younger Inuit who wintered at the mission stations of Nain, Okak, and Hopedale. As noted earlier, an important tool in acquiring this literacy was the extensive body of hymn texts, which children memorized as part of their school curriculum and domestic devotions; those same texts were also primary written materials for the teaching of reading. With this vast sung repertoire now established as a core element of spiritual practice among Inuit, the missionaries undertook to train Inuit Brethren to provide instrumental accompaniment not only to communal hymn-singing but also to the anthems sung by the choir. Unlike the hymn repertoire, which could be mastered by memorization because of its simple, homorhythmic structure, the choral anthems and their accompaniments required an ability to read music in order to coordinate the complex rhythms and textures between voices and instruments. From 1820 to mid-century, music literacy was systematically developed among those Inuit who showed an interest in learning to play instruments or sing in the choir. Unlike learning to read and write text, learning to read music was never part of the school curriculum; rather, it was an elective skill taught by the missionaries to Inuit who sought extra-curricular instruction. In each of the stations, these

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skills were gradually and expertly acquired by a handful of men, who would eventually themselves become the stewards of the tradition. From early on, the missionaries brought Western musical instruments with them from Europe. During the eighteenth century, while Inuit were acquiring the Moravian hymn repertoire, the more complex music practices of the Moravians were reserved for missionary performances on special occasions or “family devotions” within the mission house. One such special occasion was the first use of brass instruments to greet the rising sun on Easter morning in 1776.29 There would have been other instruments among the missionaries’ possessions as well. At Nain in January 1772, Brother James Rhodes impressed Tuglavina and Seguliak by playing the violin.30 In 1780, missionaries at Nain noted in a letter to the Unity Elders’ Conference in Saxony that their “nice harpsichord” was no longer operational. In the same letter, the Nain Brethren added that they “blow once in a while a few verses with a rusty flute.”31 The condition of both the harpsichord and the flute suggests that these instruments had endured more than a few severe Labrador winters by 1780. The development of music literacy among Inuit required the presence of champions who saw the potential benefits of implanting the complex Moravian choral and instrumental traditions. Missionary couple Benjamin Gottlieb and Anne Elizabeth Kohlmeister have already been identified as among those champions. In their efforts they were joined by Br Zachary Glitsch at Nain32 and by Br Lewis Morhardt at Hopedale (see chapter 3 for details about the development of cohorts of literate Inuit musicians in each of the Labrador mission stations across the middle decades of the nineteenth century). Missionary mentors like Morhardt and Jonathan Mentzel, among others, added evening lessons in organ, string, and wind instruments to their lists of duties. Encouragement, both moral and logistical, came from the sfg secretary, Christian Ignatius La Trobe, with the result that resources for Inuit musicians expanded rapidly in the 1820s and 1830s. At La Trobe’s behest, dozens of new musical scores arrived annually on the Harmony, often accompanied by violins, wind instruments, and small organs recycled from Moravian chapels in Europe. With concerted mentorship and encouragement from abroad, music literacy progressed rapidly among Inuit. Evidence shows that by the mid-1830s, Inuit musicians had progressed from reading to writing (or at least transcribing) musical scores. Since there were no printed editions of music in Labrador at the time, the scarcity of manuscript material to perform (and to teach) from had become an issue as the choirs and instrumental ensembles expanded in each community. For many years the task of copying music had been shared by missionaries, especially the women. But in 1835 it was noted that Markus, identified

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as a master of a long list of instruments and the first Inuk organist at Nain, “had copied for himself the entire German Book of Chorales and transposed it into another key, and in the meetings, he played all melodies with skill.”33 Copying chorales was a rote skill that did not necessarily imply high music literacy; transposition was another matter altogether. Marcus would have needed a solid understanding of western tonality and its notation to undertake such a task. Within a decade, the copying out of musical scores had been added to the curriculum of the “writing school.” Writing in 1845 from Okak, Br August Miertsching requested an additional supply of anthems for the flourishing choir and orchestra there: “Our musical choir consists of ten singers and eight players: these meet every week for exercise, of which regulation we perceive the good effects, in their improved performances at church. A few additional anthems would be very acceptable to us. The copies for the writing school were particularly so, – as we had previously been without anything of the kind.”34 Br Miertsching’s request strongly suggests that the age-old technique of teaching music literacy through the copying of manuscripts was in play on the coast and that an active culture of music literacy was flourishing by mid-century. By now, more and more music manuscripts were being transcribed by Inuit themselves. The labour of copying out parts was being shared across an extended and literate musical community. Brass band members and string players were responsible for making their own parts; organists and choir members made new copies of anthems as older copies wore out. Each generation of copies deepened the Indigenous Voice as anthems moved further and further from their European roots. The work of copyists was time-consuming and thankless and was rarely publicly acknowledged. An exception is this memorial note from 1937 on the passing of Makkovik chapel servant, Benjamin Mitsuk, in which he was singled out for his role in copying music for the choir: he “spent most of his winter evenings copying out music for choir use, as the books we use are out of print.”35 There were notable differences between the situations in Labrador and Greenland but also notable similarities. Established nearly half a century before the missions in Labrador, the Moravian stations in Greenland served much larger populations in each community. There was a longer history of choral singing in Greenland, but instrumental music had been only cautiously encouraged because the missionaries there feared its potential misuse outside the context of devotions. The missions in Greenland provided some instruments; others could be purchased from Danish merchants. In his account of 1849 at the Moravian settlement of Fredericksthal in Greenland, Br Uellner expressed gratitude for the recently received clarinet and spoke about the affinity for music that many Greenland Inuit had:

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For the clarionet which you kindly sent I tender my best thanks. It has been very useful and welcome in enlivening our services, and I am happy to say, that I am cheerfully and effectively aided by several of our young Brethren … There are at present ten Brethren, who play correctly from notes, and most of them are able to perform on two or three instruments; three of them understand the trombone, clarionet, flute, violoncello, and violin.36 Two years later, in 1851, writing from the outstation of Kangek, north of New Herrnhut, Br Ulbricht reported part-singing from score as an evening entertainment among the Greenlanders there: “At night, several brethren performed a hymn-tune in four parts, with a degree of correctness which quite astonished me. They sang from written music, which Br. Kleinschmidt had given them, and which, they told me, they are in the habit of taking with them on all their expeditions.”37 Notwithstanding their considerably smaller population base and shorter history of colonization, the Labrador Inuit seem to have been more musically literate than their Greenlandic Brethren, thanks in large measure to the specific encouragements to develop musical abilities offered by Ignatius La Trobe and the sfg in the 1820s and to the systematic mentorship provided by missionary mentors across the ensuing three decades. By the second half of the nineteenth century, visitors to the Labrador coast were registering surprise at the sophistication of the Inuit musicians they encountered, albeit often coloured by admiration for the “civilizing influence” of the Moravians. Commander William Chimmo in a diary entry he made during his stopover at Hopedale in the summer of 1867 noted that the choir there was impressive and that it sang from printed music.38 Visitors’ impressions are recorded again in 1887, when the Periodical Accounts published a long report that mentioned the Inuk Thomas of Hopedale, who served as a mail boat pilot. The travellers he carried on one particular voyage considered him to be an extraordinary individual, and the missionary on board felt obliged to counter their judgment of him: “I had to tell them he was simply one of many, and that his intellectual abilities were not above the average. ‘Like the rest of his countrymen,’ I said, ‘he has learnt reading, writing, arithmetic, and a little geography; he also writes out the music he practices on the violin or the trombone, but has had no further instruction since he left school.’”39 From all this, we can assume that Inuit instrumentalists and organists could all read and write music by the last quarter of the nineteenth century. In the fall of 1872, copies of the songbook Imgerutsit nôtiggit 100 arrived on the coast and were enthusiastically received. Though intended for use in the

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Figure 6.3  “ĸôb sennianut ingitoĸ” from Imgerutsit nôtiggit 100. This collection of children’s songs translated or adapted from German was the first publication with printed music intended for use on the Labrador coast.

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schools, copies of this little volume – which contained 101 songs and canons, with texts translated or adapted from the original German into Inuktitut – were also purchased for use in homes, where they were enjoyed by young and old. This was the first Inuktitut songbook (including hymnals) for widespread use that was published with music notation, frequently in two, three, or even four parts. It presupposed that music reading was at least familiar, if not widespread. And given that it was meant to be used in the schools, it signified that the missionary teachers were prepared to add music reading to the school curriculum. Several of the station diaries noted the enthusiasm for the new resource: “At the beginning of November we commenced the school instruction with the children. Several new books, prepared by Br. Bourquin, were introduced, also a book of songs. In the latter the people showed peculiar interest.”40 The enthusiastic reception of the new books would be confirmed a year later, from Hopedale: “The new song-books which have also been introduced, have met with great acceptance amongst both young and old, and a considerable number have already been sold to the people.”41 As noted in chapter 2, in 1879, less than a decade after Imgerutsit nôtiggit 100 was introduced, a new edition of the Inuktitut hymnal was published; this one included an appendix of ten new hymns, with music. These additional hymns, which included music notation, were not traditional Moravian melodies, but rather the newly fashionable “Sankeys.” The provision of musical scores for this new hymn repertoire, which was markedly different in style from the Moravian repertoire, suggests that a sufficiently large number of Inuit could be assumed to read music.42 Further evidence of widespread music literacy among the Labrador Inuit comes from a footnote to the tragic story of Abraham Ulrikab.43 This Hebron Inuk became well-known across Europe as part of a travelling ethnographic exhibit in 1880–81. He, his entire family, and three other Inuit from northern Labrador died of smallpox within months of their arrival in Europe. Abraham was described by the missionaries, who had attempted to dissuade him from travelling to Europe, as “unusually clever” and a violinist.44 References to him in the Periodical Accounts, together with accounts from his time in Europe, indicate that he read music fluently. Soon after arriving in Germany, he asked that violin music be brought to him so that he could continue to play his instrument while travelling with the exhibit. He received a new instrument and “notes” as a Christmas present from the exhibit organizer.45 Abraham’s musical abilities were remarked upon in several contemporary newspaper accounts, offered as both a measure of his intelligence and as evidence against the exhibition of humans.46

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Figure 6.4  Manuscript for “UebungsStuecke fuer 2 Violinen” (“Etudes for 2 violins”), ca. 1880–85, from the Hebron music collection. The technical challenges posed by these exercises speak to a relatively high degree of accomplishment.

A manuscript that predates 1890 from the Hebron congregation library could well have been an exercise book used by Abraham during his apprenticeship on the violin. Titled “UebungsStuecke fuer 2 Violinen” (“Etudes for 2 violins”), this extended exercise alternates high-register figuration and sustained low notes and is evidence of advanced technical sophistication and music literacy among the Hebron violinists during Abraham’s time.47 Thus it can be seen that within little more than half a century, a secure level of music literacy had taken hold among Inuit instrumentalists and choir members in all the Moravian missions along the Labrador coast. A long tradition of oral memory enabled Inuit singers and instrumentalists to retain hundreds of melodies, and this was enhanced by a rapidly refined aural acuity that equipped instrumental players in particular with a sure sense of pitch that enabled them to play in tune and to reproduce any melody once heard. All of this facilitated choral singers and the instrumentalists who accompanied them in acquiring the ability to read complex rhythms and coordinate parts across the complex fabric of a rich musical texture.

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VI. Mentorship/Transmission The emergence of Inuit music masters as sole stewards of the tradition and as the mentors of choir and band members came about during the last two decades of the nineteenth century. By then, Inuit organists and choirmasters were securely in charge of liturgical music, so much so that missionaries with less musical background had to approach Inuit musicians for mentorship. This was the case in 1880 for the newly arrived Br Johann Ernst Ritter, whose duties included offering a school for settler children at Hopedale. Br Ritter described the curriculum for which he was responsible, noting that “as I have little music in me, I had to get our Eskimo organist to teach me, before I could make my first attempt at teaching the children.”48 From this point on, music mentorship became the domain of the Inuit organists and choirmasters. Organists and choirmasters like Ambrose Assa, the Sillitts, Natan Friede, the Nochasaks and David Harris, Sr, among others took charge of music instruction as well as music direction. They taught a particular form of music literacy that drew upon the collective Inuit aural memory, supplemented by a pragmatic and selective ability to read music from score. Under these stewards of the tradition, acquiring music fluency integrated the age-old Inuit learning processes of observation, experimentation, aural acuity, and memorization. To these inherent skills they introduced the ability to read from score what could not be retained through these traditional methods. This evolved recipe for mentorship/self-teaching was described by the Rev. F.W. Peacock in a letter dated 12 September 1950. His description of the learning process is well-nuanced: first a period of observation, then experiential learning to read music, followed by an apprenticeship. This process held true for both organists and string players in the choir loft, as well as for the members of the brass bands: Here in Nain we have an Eskimo brass band 4 pieces, we also have a string orchestra which plays in church. Our people are very musical and all our musicians are self-taught. A youngster who wants to learn the organ sits behind the organist in church and watches for a while, then learns to read music; incidentally all the notes on the church organ are marked by the organist. Soon the “standerby” begins to finger a few notes, and usually in about 6 months to a year he is able to play hymn tunes. The same procedure is followed with the stringed instruments, but one of the violinists usually shows the “learner” how to finger the strings.49

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Mentorship for choir members followed a similar pattern, as revealed by Hilda Hunter Lyall, who grew up at Nain, where she was invited to join the choir as a young girl. She was apprenticed to Christina Sillitt, choirmaster Gustav Sillitt’s wife, who taught her to read music. “The Elders that were there, they would show you every note there is what we were singing, where we were singing … Whatever your partner was, she would show you what line you were on and what note you were.”50 Bertha Holeiter confirmed the observation/mentorship process from her own experience. Unfortunately, the prohibition against women organists and instrumentalists at Nain meant that she was never able to assume a position as organist: When I was seventeen and eighteen, every time he’d [her brother, organist John Jararuse] be upstairs, I’d go upstairs with him and watch him and wanting to learn some more. And at the time, they were now teaching me notes finally, because they knew I could play. So I was upstairs a lot. There was David Harris, my brother John, Tom Uvloriak, they didn’t mind helping me and teaching me. But I was now catching on very good – into a place where I would play the organ when people were coming inside the church while the bell was ringing. But I would never [play] during the service. But I could play when the people were going out. And I was picking up the music so fast I couldn’t believe – even the hard notes, the great big old notes and then one day – I’d never miss a church service just to be near the organ – one Saturday night Jerry Sillitt himself came up to me after the service, when I was eighteen, and he said “There are no women allowed upstairs. You cannot be up there anymore. There’s no girls allowed up there – only choir.”51 For longtime choir members like Julius Ikkusek, a broad cultural memory of the Moravian repertoire made it relatively easy to learn to read music, which he mastered quickly after being invited to join the choir. When I asked him if it was difficult to learn to read music, he responded (through a translator): I learned to read notes before too long. I knew of the tunes were being sung and so that made me feel a bit … that made me learn a bit quicker than others because I knew the tunes and it didn’t take me too long to be able to read notes … I had real good people teaching me how to be a

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choir member. There was Jerry Sillitt, and organists like David Harris and Manas Fox, and that’s the main three I really depended on … When I was being taught to be a choir member, I recalls that I was one of those who didn’t need too much training to push to learn to do this. Like I said earlier, I knew a lot of tunes. And for that reason, whoever taught me what I had to learn didn’t find me too difficult to teach.52 Mary Dicker Sr, lead alto in the Nain choir for more than fifty years, recounted the same kind of experience. Her musical pedigree stemmed from the fact that she was the daughter of Gustav Sillitt and sister of Jerry Sillitt. Asked if she had difficulty learning to read music when she joined the choir as a young girl, she replied, “It’s mostly … the counting part. And the rest of the music part of it, I just followed the music of it, as long as I had to learn the counting part. This is how I learned.”53 “Following the music of it” refers to a form of communal aural memory inherited through generations of living with Moravian hymnody and anthems as a sonic homescape. In a 1967 interview with the cbc shortly after the time of the Nain Choir’s St John’s performance, Rev. Peacock expanded on his earlier explanation of how organists acquired their craft in the Labrador Moravian churches. His specific reference was to David Harris Sr, long-time Nain organist and Chief Elder. The underlying implication here is that this was a time-tested apprenticeship that leaned heavily on self-teaching. However, it did require learning to read music: If you went into the church in Nain, you would notice that there are letters on the keyboard, the notes of the scale. They go up to the eighth, and all the octaves are marked on the keyboard. A boy would go up there and sit down and start fingering them out, then someone would come along and show him a little bit. The boy will persist and, in the course of time, he will learn to play the organ. He is allowed to play the Voluntary when people go into the church and then, later on, he’ll be playing hymns. Then he is really self-taught. He has had some help from the organist, or some other interested person, but he has done most of the work himself. It’s the same way with the violins and cello. David Harris, who is the organist at Nain, gave quite an amazing performance for a man who had never seen a church organ before. He was a pupil of my wife for three months, and that’s all the training he had. David is quite an accomplished organist.54

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VII. Hybridity During the winter of 2010–11 I had the unique privilege of becoming an apprentice with the Nain choir. My acceptance into the choir was premised on the tacit understanding that I would submit to the protocol that was observed by every new recruit to the choir. Starting from the rehearsal for the first Sunday in Advent, I joined the choir’s bass section, alongside Elder Julius Ikkusek. For the next two months I learned from him and the other senior members of the choir. I became (in journalist parlance) “embedded.” Julius took his role as mentor seriously, and I found myself in the position of choir apprentices from generations long ago. I learned the same way he had learned with the expectation that after eight or ten turns through the annual liturgical cycle of anthems I would gain a mastery of the repertoire. Julius assumed that I didn’t read music, and indeed, I didn’t read music in the way that he and the other members of the choir did. At each rehearsal and each service I stood close by Julius, holding the manuscript score that both of us would sing from. With his right hand Julius fingered the notes as he sang them into my ear. With his left hand he counted the beats – every beat. I learned that music reading in the Nain choir was a hybrid affair: pitch was suggested by the contour of the line on the page but was primarily a function of aural memory. The pitches were sung into the ear. I doubt that anyone in the choir save the organist could supply a pitch name for any note they sang. The “reading” – in our sense – focused first on text (over which there were continuous debates about the orthography of the missionaries who had been responsible for the original translations into Inuktitut). However the greatest attention to the manuscript score centred on “counting,” that is, rhythm. Care was given to establish a clear understanding of which note value constituted the beat, of which notes could be ignored (grace notes), to distinguish rests of different values (“The ones with the curls are when you don’t sing”), and to how to count tacit measures. Rehearsals were really reacquaintanceships combined with mentoring of the newer choir members. For section leaders and senior members of the choir – soprano Mary Andersen, alto Mary Dicker, tenor Karrie Obed, and bass Julius Ikkusek – these pre-service run-throughs were literal trips down memory lane. With collective memories of hundreds of years of performances of these same anthems, the music manuscript in hand was almost superfluous. But to the apprentices at their sides – even to singers with a decade of experience in the choir – these rehearsals were teaching moments. Based on my own experience with them, the mentorship role in the Nain choir is taken very seriously. The choir behaviour is completely ritualized by customs that have been in place for generations.

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As observed earlier, Inuit transmission of knowledge is traditionally a process of exemplification, mentorship, and experiment. The Moravian presence supplemented this process with an additional new life skill. From early in the nineteenth century, literacy in Inuktitut became an identity marker for the Labrador Inuit. Still, knowledge transmission among Inuit never strayed from its aural/oral roots. What evolved was a unique hybrid between oral, aural and literate traditions. The hybridity of music literacy was observed as early as the 1840s by missionaries, who attempted to understand it. In a lengthy personal letter describing music in Okak in 1845, Br August Freitag underscored that most of the Inuit instrumentalists were self-taught and found expeditious ways to attain a desired level of mastery, eschewing instruction they might find unnecessary. Freitag attributed this method of self-teaching to Inuit pragmatism: “Not a few know how to play string instruments as well as clarinet and flute, likewise without much instruction, since generally the Eskimo is on the whole much more practical than the European, and what he wants to learn, he learns quickly, but for what he has no interest, he never learns.”55 From the outset, Inuit approached European musical literacy on their own terms. What got the desired result was embraced and what appeared superfluous was ignored or resisted (as the case for rhythmic notation). Anthropologist E.W. Hawkes approached the question more objectively than the missionaries, contextualizing the Inuit approach to the temporal aspect of Western music through a less restrictive lens. Hawkes gathered information on Labrador Inuit music outside the Moravian influence, some of which had roots in precontact practice. Interesting to note here is Hawkes’s conviction that they have an “evident feeling for the rhythm,” which flies in the face of the missionaries’ observations that keeping time was a great challenge for them. The conclusion to be drawn is that the reading of rhythm was a conceptual challenge, whereas keeping a beat was intuitive. This suggests a line of division between what is to be read and what resides in the ear’s memory: The Eskimo have a good ear for music and will catch an air after it has been sung once or twice to them, and repeat it with great gusto and evident feeling for the rhythm. Rhythm is the foundation of their native drum and dance songs, and it is not so remarkable that they excel in it, as it is that they are able to catch the entirely foreign time for the complicated music of civilization.56

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Hawkes had seized on the nuance that had escaped the missionaries. Inuit had an inherent understanding of the temporal basis of music, specifically the music that had been their own for centuries before the arrival of the Europeans. That foundation was so deeply rooted that the “entirely foreign” and “complicated” temporal organization of European music was counter-intuitive for them. Their eventual adaptation and mastery of the rhythmic organization that flew in the face of a natural temporal order was the remarkable accomplishment. The reading-by-ear hybrid evolved across decades of Inuit self-teaching and mentorship. This amalgam of memory, aurality, and literacy was described in an autobiographical note by Okak/Makkovik organist Joas Onalik. Joas was very clear that learning to read music was central to his education and that his principal source for learning to read was the hymn book (and Sankey). At the same time, he was largely self-taught in an ages-old formula of observation and experimentation that, even without a lot of mentorship, led eventually to mastery: We got a piano when I was about ten years old and my father used to play it, not very good, but he played. My father was the one who taught me how to read music and I learned to play myself sometimes. There was hardly anything to learn to read music notes from, only the Sankeys and the Melodies that were used in the church. It was a long time before we ever got other kinds of notes. I became organist in Nutak. We used the same books in church then as we do today.57

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7

The Inuit Voice in Moravian Music

I. Introduction On Christmas Eve 1901, Emilie Nestle, newly arrived missionary nurse at Hebron, logged a diary entry that reflected on a social dynamic in her new environment: I have to speak about Ambro, our organist. He performed the very difficult “Great Hosanna,” which Christian Gregor wrote in the eighteenth century for the Herrnhut Christmas celebrations. At a particularly difficult place, his singers got a little mixed up. Ambro helped them by stomping with his feet and directing with both arms. And, indeed, the voices once again found themselves in unison and the choral singing finished clear and pure, just as human beings sing whose heart is filled with praise for the birth of the saviour. Uplifted and joyful the congregation left the church. However, Brother [Ernst] Bohlmann had smiled a little to himself. It was after all funny to see Ambro stomping, gesticulating and keeping rhythm by counting in German. Shortly after the Christmas Eve service old Susanna knocked on the door of the Bohlmanns’ living quarters. “You have a violin?” “Yes, I have one.” “Ambro says that you should come to him with your violin.” “Me, but why? I can’t play yet.” “Never mind, come! Come and bring your violin along!” Brother Bohlmann, suspecting nothing good, relented, took his violin and went along. The entire choir was assembled together with Ambro. On a music stand to the side was Gregor, the most difficult passage in the Great Hosanna. “There,” Susanna, the mouthpiece of the assembled, said, “play this!” “That is too difficult,” Bohlmann protested, “I can’t do it.” “Never mind, we want you to play it.” No resistance was

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possible. The missionary had to play the most difficult passage on the sheet. It was a miserable performance. “Enough,” Susanna said. “A while ago we stumbled, and you laughed. Now you can’t do it, and we are permitted to laugh. And know this: one doesn’t laugh in church.” Then the Inuk woman shook his hand – for all of those present. Thus the missionary was dismissed and friendship once more restored, clear and simple.1 While this anecdote is an object lesson in respect as much as anything else, it is also a testament to the fact that, by the beginning of the twentieth century, Inuit musicians had confidently assumed stewardship for and agency over Moravian music in Labrador. To Ambro, Susanna, and the other members of the Hebron choir, the Hosiana – and indeed the entirety of the Moravian musical repertoire – was their cultural as well as spiritual expression. It spoke in their voice, “clear and simple.” They need not be subjected to criticism or paternalistic responses to their performance of it; they were entirely capable of managing its challenges. Most of all, they believed they had the right to command respect for the execution of a musical tradition that was, by now, resolutely their own. Stewardship of Moravian music in Labrador conclusively transferred from missionaries to Inuit in the last two or three decades of the nineteenth century. The Lewis Morhardts, Jonathan Mentzels, and Berthe and August Elsners fade from the pages of the Periodical Accounts, replaced by likes of Ambrose Assa, Jeremias Sillitt, and Natanael Illiniartitsijok. While there would continue to be missionary wives and teachers with musical expertise who offered occasional instruction throughout the twentieth century,2 stewardship of the tradition and musical mentorship had become the domain of organists and choirmasters, as documented in the two previous chapters. The traditions acquired and adapted were transmitted in choir lofts and during band rehearsals, not in the schools at the feet of missionaries and teachers. They were transmitted in the ways that traditional Inuit skills had always been learned, through observation and experience. By the end of the nineteenth century, the mastery of this practice under Inuit leadership and mentorship was impressive and complete. Arriving at Hopedale from England in August 1887, Sr Lily Asboe included Inuit musicians among a list of very favourable surprises in Labrador. Sunday [August] 14th. [1887] – To-day we are celebrating the memorial day of the 13th of August. This morning I was awakened by the brass band playing chorales outside our house, and well they played too. Another

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surprise in the line of Eskimo musical ability awaited me in the morning service. Six natives were seated by the organ accompanying the singing on their violins. There was a choir, too, and they rendered a difficult anthem splendidly.”3 In Labrador, Moravian music was now heard exclusively with an Inuit Voice.

II. Music at Home and Together While stewardship, mentorship, and ensuring the transmission of the tradition were clear indications that Inuit now owned the cultural practice of music, there were other telling indications as well. A key one was the degree to which Moravian music practices had infiltrated Inuit domestic life. Domestic performance of Moravian music was, of course, set in motion by the missionaries, who had been encouraging hymn-singing in Inuit homes since their arrival in Labrador. Many of the first hymns translated into Inuktitut were meant to be sung devotionally morning and evening, so as to provide a spiritual frame to the day. And, as documented in chapter 2, Inuit embraced this practice while in the mission settlements as well as at their camps. Soon after string and wind instruments were introduced on the coast and Inuit musicians began acquiring the skills to accompany hymns and anthems, Inuit were eager to obtain instruments for their own use. The Labrador missionaries controlled access to the very small number of instruments they were able to acquire from abroad, and while they were eager to lend instruments for use in church, none were made available for purchase during the first two thirds of the nineteenth century. Ever pragmatic, by the 1840s Inuit musicians had begun constructing their own versions of some of the instruments that had been introduced by the Moravians. Br August Freitag reported on several Inuk-made instruments in an 1844 letter to European friends: A Hopedale Eskimo who never played any music liked the first oboe he heard so much that he did not stop until he had made himself one from local spruce with poor tools, and had also taught himself to play it, indeed so well that he was later able to accompany the singing in church with it. Also, several people made themselves violins, strung with seal gut, and the bow stretched with women’s hair. They have, of course – as one can imagine – a poor sound, but sound nevertheless.4

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Commander Chimmo confirmed that women’s hair was the standard for violin bows in Labrador when he anchored at Hopedale in the summer of 1867 and visited a number of Inuit in their homes: On visiting some of their huts I found one man playing a fiddle (under great difficulty too) the string of the bow being made from his wife’s hair! Another the Concertina; and I was very much surprised at seeing a nice clean-looking girl hand down a guitar from the top of a bed place, and perform a plaintive air with taste and harmony; I was sorry the mosquitos would not allow me to hear the end of the tune.5 While the fiddle was likely home-made, the concertina and guitar may not have been. It is likely that both instruments had been introduced by the seasonal Newfoundland fishermen who plied the coast. Chimmo’s remark about the tasteful singing and playing of the young women indicates that the strictures around domestic music were more relaxed than in the church. Only men were allowed to play the organ and string instruments in the church; the brass band was also an exclusively male fraternity. But at home and in other purely social situations, women contributed to music-making both secular and devotional. Eliot Curwen observed as much in 1893 in his account of a celebration, complete with fireworks, that drew many Inuit from Hopedale on board the Grenfell ship on 26 August 1893: “Fireworks over, two of the native women brought their guitars out and sat down modestly in the crew’s cabin and played & sang most prettily to a big crowd consisting of their own people, our crew, & men from several schooners in harbour: ‘Twinkle, twinkle, little star’ & other hymns & German songs.”6 As it expanded beyond conventional hymnody, the performers’ repertoire betrayed the musical influence of the German Moravians. By the 1880s, trade was more flexible for European goods, and Inuit with the means were able to purchase luxuries for their homes. When Bishop Benjamin La Trobe travelled the Labrador coast in 1888 he visited the homes of Inuit congregants at each of the mission stations. Admittedly the households visited had been hand-picked by the resident missionaries, who favoured the homes of chapel servants and community leaders. Nevertheless, in an impressive number of these homes, La Trobe found that musical instruments occupied places of honour. At Hebron, the widow Sarah had a harmonium as well as a sewing machine.7 At Nain, the native helpers Jonatan and Abraham both also had harmoniums, and Abraham proudly displayed his violin.8 Even at remote Ramah, chapel servants Gottlob and Lydia had domesticated their sod hut with musical instruments: “One or two objects in her room testify to a refinement

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unusual for this station. A guitar hangs on the wall near a cage with a bird in it, and against the partition stands a piano. Fancy such an instrument in a low turf hut, even though it be but an old square piano!”9 The harmonium was by far the domestic instrument of choice. It was familiar from its presence in the churches, and many Inuit musicians were comfortable playing it. It was particularly well-suited to the mainstay of the domestic repertoire – Moravian hymnody – but it was amenable to other repertoires as well. It was durable (as long as mice didn’t chew their way into the bellows) and much more capable of maintaining its tune in Labrador’s dramatic fluctuations of temperature than the less portable pianos. By the end of the nineteenth century, harmoniums were cheap and readily available. On his retirement from Labrador service in the 1890s, Br Friedrich August Wirth commented on the presence of music in the mission communities: “On most of the six stations is a brass band, in Nain one finds no less than fifteen harmoniums, not to mention the numerous violins, guitars etc.”10 This, in a community whose Inuit population was just over 200 in 1894–95. What were the sources for the music played on these domestic instruments? Given the acute aural memories of so many Inuit, it is certain that much of the music was played by ear. Music heard, whether in church, in tents, or around fires, from schoonermen or adventurers plying the coast, could easily be replicated on violin or at the harmonium keyboard by those with a strong sense of pitch and aural memory. Handwritten copies of music, especially hymns and anthems, would be in the collections of some of these households. From as early as the 1830s, organists were making their own copies of the chorale tune books and adapting them to their own tastes and needs. Print copies of Gregor’s original chorale tune book, as well as Ignatius La Trobe’s 1811 English version of the harmonized chorale tunes, were accessible in the choral libraries of each congregation. By the last quarter of the nineteenth century, choirmasters and band members had assumed complete responsibility for the upkeep of the extensive music libraries at each station. One title on many of the music stands of those harmoniums was Imgerutsit nôtiggit 100. Soon after its publication in 1872 it could be found in a large number of Inuit households along the north coast of Labrador. Subtitled Hundert eskimoische Lieder, freie übersetzungen und nachbildungen deutscher volkgesänge,11 it contained (as it happens) 101 children’s songs, hymns, Christmas carols, and canons. As Br Theodore Bourquin noted in his “Foreward,” many of these songs were already well-known among the Labrador Inuit, having been learned in the mission day schools for several decades. Some were new, and all were newly translated. The “Foreward” also gave credit to the team of

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Figure 7.1  A harmonium being uncrated on the wharf in Nain, ca. 1914. Domestic instruments, including harmoniums, were commonplace in Inuit homes early in the twentieth century.

missionary Brethren responsible for the translations. They included August Freitag, Friedrich Erdmann, and August Elsner. Carl Kretschmer and Bourquin himself were responsible for about two thirds of the translations. The source for almost one third of the contents in Imgerutsit was a songbook for gymnasts, Lieder der Niskyer Turner nebst ihren Singweisen, published in 1862 under Bourquin’s editorship while he was teaching at Niesky. This source volume contained 236 multi-versed texts and 127 songs in solo lines or two-part harmony. Many of the songs carried over into Imgerutsit were direct translations from the German. Some had obviously been chosen because they celebrated elements common to German and Inuit life, especially the hunt. Among these are No. 35, “Imgerutit tuktusiortunut / Mit dem pfeil, dem bogen” (“With Bow and Arrow”) and No. 91 “Omajorsiorte ukalerlo / Gestern abend ging ich aus” (“Last evening I went out”), a tale of a boastful hare and a merciful hunter.12 Others completely recast the original text to something that would be relevant to a young Inuk singer. Among these was the final round in the collection “Aklarsoaĸ.” The source for “Aklarsoaĸ” was a brief German canon titled “Die Glocke zu Kapernaum,” published in 1843 in an anthology of German songs

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and catches (rounds) for domestic entertainment.13 The simple text in German summons the sound of the bells in the church at Capernaum, a town on the shores of the Sea of Galilee, home to apostles Peter, Andrew, James, and John: German Die Glocke zu Kapernaum geht bum bum bum bum bum.

English The Bells of Capernaum go boom, boom, boom.

The version in Imgerutsit switches bears for bells, rendering a wholly different and much more resonant image for an Inuk child: Inuktitut Aklarsoaĸ kallingoarpoĸ! Tattamnarmêk!

English14 The black bear roared. O what a mighty animal!

As noted in chapter 6, interest in Imgerutsit nôtiggit 100 was immediate when it was introduced into the school curriculum in November 1872. It is worth mentioning here that while the didactic religious tracts were distributed free, the new songbooks needed to be purchased; even so, a large number of them soon made their way into Inuit homes.15 The rapid distribution of this little volume encouraged music literacy among both school-age children and adults, while providing the material for domestic music-making and entertainment. Almost a century and a half later, Imgerutsit remained a beloved resource for sing-alongs and other home entertainments. Interviews conducted with a number of Elders between 2011 and 2017 inevitably turned to the “little purple song book” that contained so many of the songs they had sung as children and into their adult lives. Of the 101 songs in Imgerutsit, about twenty were spontaneously summoned to memory or sung to me by Elders. Among these were “Omajorsiorte ukalerlo” and the hunting parable and the bell-turned-bear canon “Aklarsoaĸ,” mentioned earlier. But those held most dearly in memory were songs that expressed intimate feelings tinged with nostalgia. One recalled by all interviewees was No. 42, “Nutarârsuk,” a direct translation of Friedrich Reichardt’s tender lullaby “Schlaf Kindlein schlaf!”16 It was remembered by several of the Elders as having been sung to them by their mothers, and they in turn sang it to their children. Perhaps the most consistently popular song recalled by the Elders was No. 89, “ĸôb sennianut ingitoĸ” / “An einem fluss, der rauschend schloss” (figure 6.3) This eighteenth-century narrative, written by Kaspar Friedrich Lossius and set to a wafting, anonymous folk melody, tells the story of an orphaned girl rescued by a kind protector. Found weeping at the side

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of a rushing river, the young girl tells a passing gentleman of her mother’s grave nearby, of her father falling into the river at this very spot, and of her brother drowning as he attempted to save their father. Moved by her tale, the gentleman draws the narrative to a close, saying to the girl: “Daughter do not cry! / I want you to be my child / I want to be your father. / Rest in our house, / wear our clothing. / We will feed you / Because we love you.”17 The enduring popularity of this song is confirmed not only by its place of affection in the memories of Elders but also by the existence of numerous recordings of it in the archives of the Oĸâlaĸatiget Society. Its story of loss and generosity resonated with people, many of whom had lost loved ones through natural disaster. Drownings were near annual occurrences in Labrador settlements. Orphaned children were numerous, and, until well into the twentieth century, they were always absorbed into families within the communities rather than by institutions. The narrative of “ĸôb sennianut” was a familiar one that resonated with Inuit. In a manner not dissimilar to the way in which Nain organist John Jararuse understood Alexander’s hymn of death-bed redemption “Nunamênimne akkunit / Must I go, and empty handed?” as the testimony of a young man from Hopedale, Inuit all across Labrador could relive personal experiences through “ĸôb sennianut ingitoĸ.” Domestic music-making expanded beyond immediate families to be at the centre of socialization, whether away from the view of the missionaries at camps or in the mission settlements themselves. As noted in earlier discussions, the brass bands and choirs were close-knit groups, bound together by the time spent rehearsing and performing and by their common sense of responsibility to the social as well as religious life of their communities. Music was also the central theme of that most Inuit of institutions: visiting. Whether house visits within a winter settlement or trips to see relatives and friends in other communities, music was a defining element in socializing. During the winter of 1885, for example, the missionaries at Hebron observed that music was the centrepiece in an exceptionally active year of travel between communities: “Visiting from station to station seemed to be quite the fashion amongst the Eskimoes this winter, for when our men at length returned on February 10th … they were accompanied by visitors from Hopedale, Nain and Okak. Most of our guests were musical, and their singing and playing on various instruments throughout the next few days gave great delight and a considerable impetus to our own people.”18 The music and music practice introduced for purely religious purposes by missionaries a century earlier had, by the last decades of the nineteenth century, been fully embraced by Inuit. To be sure, music continued to serve their spiritual lives as overseen by the missionaries, but it had also become their own,

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integrated across all aspects of their lives. Within a century of its introduction to Labrador, Moravian music had become, in many respects, an Inuit practice and an Inuit cultural expression.

III. Conservation and Change When missionary mentors and musicians withdrew from active leadership in music in the churches, the stewardship of Moravian music in Labrador was transferred to Inuit. In assuming ownership of this music, Inuit organists, choirmasters, and bandleaders also assumed the responsibility for preserving it, as well as overseeing any changes that might be introduced to its practice. During the last decades of the nineteenth century, around the same time that Inuit musicians assumed stewardship in Labrador, Moravian music in Europe was undergoing dramatic shifts. Moravian historian Peter Vogt traced the near complete renovation of the Moravian choral repertoire in Europe between 1865 and 1907.19 For his study, he compared three successive editions of a guidebook for Moravian music directors titled Hilfsbuch für Liturgen und Organisten, as well as the catalogue of a lending library of liturgical anthems established at Niesky. The first edition of the Hilfsbuch was published in 1865. Its intention was to make it “easier for ministers and organists of the individual congregations to select musical pieces that are beautiful and suitable to the various occasions.”20 It listed the titles of 281 musical pieces, 60 per cent of which were by Moravian composers. Of the seven composers for whom more than ten works are listed, only G.F. Handel was not a Moravian.21 Significantly, no living composers were among those included in this first edition of Hilfsbuch, and the vast majority of the anthems listed were composed between 1775 and 1825. In sum, this 1865 guidebook was a celebration of the “golden age” of Moravian music and, as Vogt observed, left the impression of a “closed canon.”22 The second edition of the Hilfsbuch appeared in 1891. The contrast between these two editions could not be more dramatic. In this new edition, 454 musical pieces were indexed, only 82 of which had been listed in the first edition 26 years earlier. Almost two thirds of the titles in the 1891 edition were by contemporary composers, and fewer than one third were by Moravian musicians. It is emblematic of the shift in orientation that the composer represented by the largest number of works was the conspicuously non-classical and non-Moravian Felix Mendelssohn. Vogt summarized the reorientation as “a deliberate effort to broaden the scope of the repertoire by including suitable pieces from the larger tradition of Protestant church music and from contemporary composers … The

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character of the 1891 edition stands in stark contrast to the first edition of 1865. There, the guiding concern was to create a codified repertoire; here, it was to break open the constrictions of what had become a calcified tradition.”23 The contrast with the Labrador choir repertoire, as reflected in the current manuscript collections of the three remaining coastal churches at Nain, Hopedale, and Makkovik, is striking. In all, there are 132 discrete titles among these three collections, and while they may not represent the entire historical repertoire performed in these three congregations, they present what is quite likely an accurate picture of the nature of the anthems that were current in the Labrador Inuit choirs during the second half of the nineteenth century, the same period covered by the two editions of Hilfsbuch für Liturgen und Organisten. Of the fifty-four securely attributed composers represented across these collections, forty died before 1840; only nine were born after 1790. Of this small number of nineteenth-century composers, only Felix Mendelssohn is represented by more than one title in the repertoire.24 Twenty-one of the fiftyfour composers were Moravians and belonged to the “golden age” generations. Among these, Christian Gregor penned the largest number of anthems (twelve), followed by J.C. Geisler (eight), C.D. Jaeschke (eight), Ignatius La Trobe (seven), and J.G. Gebhard (six). Of the Protestant composers who were on the ascendent in the 1891 edition of Hilfsbuch, the only one significantly represented in the Labrador collections is Carl Gottlieb Reissiger (1773–1829), with five titles in the anthem repertoire of all three congregations. Natanael Illiniartitsijok, the Nain organist born in 1849, is the “youngest” composer in the Labrador repertoire. In part, this conservative orientation of the Labrador choir repertoire is further confirmation that stewardship for liturgical music was being transferred from the missionaries to Inuit. The missionaries had access to new music, either when they travelled to Europe on furlough or through contacts in Germany and England who supplied them with new scores for the growing choral practice at the Labrador missions. Inuit choirmasters and organists of the later nineteenth century had no such access. The repertoire they brought to life for the liturgies around Christmas, Easter, and choir festival days was the received practice, which they now shepherded. New musical material did arrive. As noted in chapter 2, Sankey hymnody had been introduced by 1879 and was rapidly and enthusiastically adopted by Inuit congregations. The choirs and brass bands embraced this repertoire and found appropriate devotional and social functions in which to integrate its performance. However, except for Natanael Illiniartitsijok’s Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga, there are scant examples of new anthems being added to the Inuit repertoire after the 1880s.25 And while many of the Sankey hymns have

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Table 7.1  Anthems sung during Holy Week in Hebron, 1859/1890/1959 1859

1890

1959

Palm Sunday Eve

Kuvianak Bethaniab iglunga

Kuvianak Bethaniab iglunga

Kuvianak Bethaniab iglunga

Palm Sunday

Upkuaksuit angmasigik

Upkuaksuit angmasigik Saugârsuk imgervigînarpagit

Ahâĸ siornirtilaukparma

Ahâĸ, Ahâĸ upkuerutjilaukpunga

Ahâĸ, Ahâĸ upkuerutjilaukpunga

Hosiana

Hosiana

Hosiana

Nutaĸĸallo amamaĸtullo

Nutaĸĸallo amamaĸtullo

Nutaĸĸallo amamaĸtullo

Wednesday

Nâlegavut ivsornaitoksôvok

Holy Thursday

Jêsusib aunga ikkingillo

Jêsusib aunga ikkingillo

Jêsusib aunga ikkingillo

Good Friday

Piniarneĸ ussornartoĸ!

Piniarneĸ ussornartoĸ!

Piniarneĸ ussornartoĸ!

Tarniptigut tautukaptigit

Tarniptigut tautukaptigit

Tarniptigut tautukaptigit

Gethsemanenut mana

Gethsemanenut mana

Jêsuse aulik erĸitsomavagit

Jêsub kanimanivut

Jêsub kanimanivut

Jêsub kanimanivut

Jêsuse aulik erĸitsomavagit

O ĸautsivit kingorlerpânget Jêsus

Oĸautsivit kingorlerpânget Jêsus Jêsusib najorningane

Inûb ôma niaĸoa Jêsub niaĸone nêrpâ

Jêsub niaĸone nêrpâ

Jêsub niaĸone nêrpâ

Jêsusib ânianget illuvinganut

Jêsusib ânianget illuvinganut

Jêsusib ânianget illuvinganut

Ave ĸakkaktitotille

Siorniudlarnernet

Passijaksaungitutit

Nâlegaĸ inôgutaujoĸ Holy Saturday

Easter Sunday

Nâlegaĸ inôgutaujoĸ Nâlegaĸ inôgutaujoĸ

Sinnilaule mergoerserle

Merngoêrsertillutit ikkingnît

Merngoêrsertillutit ikkingnît

Merngoêrserpok mana

Nertorsiuk Salaĸartoĸ

Pingortitat tamaita

Pingortitat tamaita

Nâlegaĸ nertortaule makkiviojok Easter Monday

Nâlegaĸ nertortaule makkiviojok

Toĸĸotak Gûb

Toĸĸotak Gûb Hallelûjâ nertortaule Gûdivut. Amen

Hallelûjâ nertortaule Gûdivut. Amen Nertorsiuk Salaĸartoĸ Tattiĸartoĸ Gûdiptingnik Piulijivut Nertorsiuk Nalegapta, Jêsusib, Kristusib Takkotêgilarminiptinut

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claimed popular spots in the repertoires of the Labrador choirs over the last century, they have not attained formal positions in the liturgies, which have remain unchanged in their musical content. Besides preserving the manuscripts of choir repertoire, Inuit choirmasters conscientiously maintained records of which anthems they sang at which liturgies. Detailed choral service orders date from as early as the mid-nineteenth century, and an examination of the choral repertoire sung on specific occasions across a century and a half offers another confirmation of constancy of the “canon” of liturgical music from the time that Inuit assumed stewardship over it. Among these service orders are lists of anthems and hymns performed at Hebron at the numerous liturgies from the Eve of Palm Sunday to Easter Monday from the years 1859, 1890, and 1959. Of a total of thirty-four choral anthem titles found on these three lists separated by a century, more than half were performed in two of the three years, frequently at the same liturgical service. Several examples are particularly notable. Daniel Grimm’s Kuvianak Bethaniab iglunga / Bethany, O peaceful habitation was performed at each of these three years on the eve of Palm Sunday, a tradition that remains, to this day, a musical highlight for this liturgy at Nain and Makkovik. The pairing of Christian Gregor’s Hosiana and J.C. Geisler’s Nutaĸĸallo amamaĸtullo / From the mouths of children is the centrepiece of the afternoon services on Palm Sunday. Almost the entire anthem repertoire for Maundy Thursday has been consistent over the course of the century, comprising two popular Moravian contrafacta: J.G. Naumann’s Jêsusib aunga ikkingillo / Thou heavenly wine, and Piniarneĸ ussornartoĸ! adapted by Christian Gregor from C.P.E. Bach’s Gellert’s geistliche Oden und Lieder. Also performed on Maundy Thursday across the entire century was J.L. Freydt’s extended anthem for solo soprano and chorus, Tarniptigut tautukaptigit Jêsuse / When we in spirit view Thy passion, O Jesus! The Good Friday services included two anthems by Gregor: Jêsub niaĸone nêrpâ / Jesus bowed His head, which was very likely the first Moravian anthem to enter the Inuit repertoire, as noted in chapter 3; and his sombre quartet, Jêsub kanimanivut / Indeed, He bore our sickness. For Easter Sunday itself, the most ambitious work in the Moravian Inuit repertoire had entered the liturgy by 1890. The recitative, aria, and chorus Pingortitat tamaita is an adaptation of Allmächtiger Schauer; Thut auf die Pforten, the second and third numbers in Ernest Wilhelm Wolf’s Öster Cantate. This twelve-minute work is a showpiece for the tenor soloist and has, for more than a century, been a much anticipated musical culmination of the Passion Week cycle. Numerous recordings of it by the Nain choir’s lead tenors of their day, Ben Saimat and, until his death in 2017, Karrie Obed, are included in the audio library of the Oĸâlaĸatiget Society.

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The performance of this anthem repertoire has become a ritualized cycle, as invariable as the liturgies it complements. The all but unvarying repertoire of the Labrador choirs from the second half of the nineteenth century to the present day could, to some degree, be seen to be a result of the artistic isolation of these communities once Inuit had assumed stewardship for the Moravian music. Missionary music directors had previously collected new repertoire during their European furloughs. Others, like Br A.F. Elsner in 1852, wrote to European contacts for materials to refresh their choral libraries with new material.26 But once Inuit choirmasters and organists took charge, the trickle of new repertoire stopped, which rendered Inuit liturgical music immune to the dramatic changes in Moravian choral repertoire that were occurring in Europe. The consistency of the cycle of sung anthems became a symbol of stability and tradition, as well as a defining point of pride for the community. Tim Borlase, arts education coordinator for the Labrador East Integrated School Board, who resided in Nain in the 1970s and 1980s, reflected on the anticipation that accompanied the knowledge that a certain anthem was going to be sung: “You’d go to church on a Sunday and you’d know that some piece was going to be sung … You would know that this Sunday you were going to hear this special piece. So they would have rehearsed it. I remember thinking this was really elaborate music.”27 The association of specific choral anthems with specific liturgical festivals became integral to the web of memories among choir members and congregants as well. They came to symbolize times of communal gathering, celebration, and accomplishment. They secured a connection to the past. This conserving impulse was observed by some of the missionaries in the first half of the twentieth century, albeit with a dose of paternalistic condescension. Reflecting on the Easter morning sunrise service at the Labrador graveyards, S.K. Hutton observed: There are not many places at home, maybe, where this charming old custom of the Moravian Church is still observed; but the mission fields are slow to change and the very lonely mission field of Labrador would not easily give up some of these old customs which were brought by the missionaries of a hundred and fifty years ago, and which have made so stirring an appeal to that quiet and lovable folk, the Eskimos.28 Missionary George Sach generalized the Inuit tendency to conserve in an observation from the Nain Synod meeting of 1940: “It is well known that the natives are conservative and loth to part with old customs … Some matters

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which appear to be strict and narrow to newcomers to the Coast are, on closer investigation, found to be essential and right for the well-being of a peaceful people; especially a community which professes itself to belong to the body of Christ.”29 What seems to have eluded both Hutton and Sach was Inuit respect for received traditions, their sense that ritual repetition forges deep connections to the past and to a continuous identity. What also eluded them was that within outwardly ritualized performance, fundamental changes can occur. The apparently conservative approach taken by Inuit to the stewardship of this music masked the agency they wielded as they slowly redefined it. From the shell of this static anthem repertoire an Inuit Voice can be heard transforming the performance practice and the substance of the music itself. The repertoire of anthems sung and the catalogue of hymns played by the brass bands remained more or less static across 150 years, yet Inuit musicians were able to recast this music, turning it into a practice that grew to reflect their own spiritual and aesthetic values, which were distinct from the values embedded in the imported repertoire. Ironically, the rigid conservation of this repertoire brings into focus the subtle but fundamental transformation that Inuit stewards of the tradition effected on this music. The choral anthems, instrumental accompaniments, brass band hymns, and domestic, devotional, and social songs introduced by Moravian missionaries became the material through which Inuit musicians exercised agency over their cultural expression. All of it became a vehicle for the Inuit Voice.

IV. Inuit Agency – Composition In her seminal monograph on Inuit music at Nain, Maija Lutz broached the question of musical change and Inuit agency in the transformation of the practice of Moravian music in Labrador: The simplest approach to most music of present-day Nain would be to confirm its European origins and leave it at that. But this would not even begin to explain the reasons for practices such as the alteration of melody or rhythm in certain performances of songs printed in Imgerutsit nôtiggit 100. Does the reason revolve around simple forgetfulness or are we dealing here with something much more complex involving the processes of oral tradition or the synthesis of European and Inuit musical elements? Is there an underlying reason for a performer using shifting metres in a song which is written in two-four time? Answers to these

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and other questions may be difficult or even impossible. Nevertheless, it is important to realize that Labrador is one region where very complex acculturative processes have been taking place, resulting in the multifaceted musical fabric found there today.30 Focusing specifically on Moravian liturgical music as practised at Nain, Lutz observed that someone with background knowledge of Moravian music would be “dismayed at what he would probably consider to be a ‘deterioration’ in the performance of Moravian music.”31 She suggested that in light of the almost rapturous praise heaped on Inuit musicians by missionaries and visitors alike in nineteenth- and early twentieth-century accounts, the current practice might bring forward questions about the actual level of proficiency. Continuing, she wondered if this “deterioration” was not in fact a stylistic choice, raising the question, “Might it not reflect a deliberate trend toward changing criteria and values with respect to musical performance rather than merely a lack of polish brought about by insufficient practice or disinterest?”32 Lutz hypothesized that “what we are seeing is a transformation of Moravian music to conform more closely to ideals present in traditional Inuit music … It is possible that the Inuit are beginning to view Moravian music from a new perspective which the European can never understand. Perhaps they are combining the continuity which Moravian music represents for them with new criteria for utilizing this music based more on the values embodied in their traditional music rather than the rules imposed by Europeans on European music.”33 In short, the Moravian repertoire had provided a “continuity” of material on which to imprint traditional expressive values – that is, a vehicle for the Inuit Voice. For defining the Inuit Voice, perhaps the first, or at least most tangible, place to start is with works composed in the Moravian style by Inuit composers. To date, the one authenticated anthem written by an Inuk composer is Natanael Illiniartitsijok’s Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga. Natanael’s role as a music and community leader at Nain extended from the 1860s through the 1920s and was discussed in chapter 5. His fifteen minutes of fame outside his community are attributable to the anthem he composed for the dedication of the new Nain church in 1910. The opening of that building was of particular moment in mission news since it was announced as the first Labrador church constructed entirely by Inuit hands. The role of the brass band in the dedicatory celebrations was described in chapter 4. The first account of this event, by Br W.W. Perrett, published in March 1911 in Moravian Missions, is characterized by a great sense of occasion:

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The keys of the new church were carried on cushions by an Eskimo boy and girl. The band was stationed a short distance off, playing hymn tunes. Outside the church another verse was sung, the Bishop [Martin] spoke the words: “Enter into His gates with thanksgiving,” etc., and in the name of the Holy Trinity both doors were unlocked. While the congregation was entering the choir sang an anthem, written and composed by our oldest chapel-servant and organist, Natanael Illiniartitsijok. The dedicatory prayer was offered by Bishop Martin. The Rev. W. W. Perrett preached the sermon from the words “My house shall be called a house of prayer.”34 While Natanael is clearly identified as the composer, neither Perrett’s account, nor any of the several that repeated the description of the event, actually identified the anthem that was sung. Locating it became something of needlein-the-haystack quest. Two clues guided the search: the fact that the anthem was sung as the congregation entered the church for the first time, and Bishop Martin’s words – taken from Psalm 100 – that immediately preceded the unlocking of the doors: “Enter into His gates with thanksgiving.” These two clues had to be applied to a review of close to 140 anthems spread across approximately 20,000 manuscript pages held in the extant choir collections. These manuscript collections were first organized – if at all – by Inuktitut title, then indexed by liturgical use. A significant number of manuscripts also included the original German title of the anthem, but composer attributions were rare. The identity of a ĸallunâk composer from a distant land was of little interest to Inuit musicians for whom the music’s value was its ability to embody a spiritual lesson in song. After years of tracking down concordances, about fifteen anthems remained unattributable. Among these fifteen, there was one that had particular characteristics: Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga. There is no concordance for this anthem in any of the Moravian archives; also, Ahâĸ is one of a very small number of anthems for which only one set of parts exists, held in the collection of the Nain church. This part set is of relatively recent origin and written on paper stock that dates back to the early twentieth century. The parts are all written in a single hand, which longtime organist and Chief Elder David Harris Sr confirmed was either Natanael’s or that of his contemporary, Adam Igloliorte.35 There are no string parts for this anthem, though it is quite likely that the satb choral parts would have been doubled by strings. In the vast majority of anthems of European origin, independent string parts are included in the part set. Once the search was narrowed to Ahâĸ, a translation of the opening line of the text confirmed the attribution. “Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga upkuertauvok

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itteritse” means “Behold, Behold, the doors to God’s house are opened. Enter now!” – the very verse from Psalm 100 that Bishop Martin read out as a prelude to Natanael’s anthem. The attribution to Natanael is further substantiated by the performance history of Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga. Consistent records of sung service orders at Nain date back to 1911. After its debut on 19 October 1910, Ahâĸ first appears in performance rotation on 19 February 1914, and it has been sung annually on this date ever since. The liturgical placement on 19 February is not insignificant; 19 February is Katimmaviup Atujauvia, Church Anniversary Festival Day – a celebration unique to the Moravian Church in Labrador. On this day in 1776, missionary Johann Schneider baptized Kingminguse, who under his new name “Peter” became the first Christian Inuk in Labrador. Thus 19 February commemorates the opening of the doors of the church to Inuit – their first spiritual entry into the church. This festival continues to be celebrated at Nain with a sense of occasion equal to Christmas or Easter. The church fills up three times during the day, beginning with a sermon-based prayer service in the morning at which Kingminguse’s conversion is recounted. (Interestingly, his notable falls from grace and eventual return to life as a shaman don’t figure in the story retold.) Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga is sung at the opening of this morning prayer service. By scrupulously observed tradition, it has a unique performance practice, which I learned about first-hand when I had to stand in as organist for the morning service in 2014. Beni Ittulak, the choir’s lead soprano, informed me that the choir’s performance of Ahâĸ needed to dovetail with the second bell, the bell that signified the entry of the congregation into the church. Johannes Lampe, Chief Elder at that time, corroborated this, insisting that the choir needed to be singing the anthem as the congregants entered. More than a century after it was composed to accompany the entry into the church constructed by and for the members of the Nain congregation, Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga remained a musical symbol of entry. Composed by an Inuk to mark the physical entry of a body of Christians into a new physical church, it lives as a musical metaphor for the entry of Labrador Inuit into the Christian communion (the score and recording can be consulted online: https:// collections.mun.ca/digital/collection/calledupstair). As interesting as the story of Natanael’s composition and its performance afterlife may be, it is the work itself that offers insight into the musical language of the Inuk composer. The seventy-nine-measure-long piece is in three sections: an opening chorus (36 mm) in the style of a choral recitative that paraphrases the psalm text as an invitation to enter the kingdom of the Lord; followed by a brief unaccompanied bridge for solo soprano to the text “Here is the Lord

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Figure 7.2  Mel. 459 “Mach hoch die Thür, die Thor’ macht weit,” from Müller, Choralbuch der evangelischen Brüdergemeine, the source material for the third section of Natanael Illiniartitsijok’s Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga, mm. 41–71.

Jehovah, the one King with authority”; and a third section chorus (30mm), which is a setting of Melody 459 from Gregor’s Chorale-Buch, “Macht hoch die Thür, die Thor’ macht weit!”36 The version that Natanael integrated into his anthem is drawn from an 1893 edition of the Choral-Buch.37 An eight-measure coda, repeating the words “Amen, Halleluja” concludes the anthem.

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The whole has the feeling of a musical pastiche, not dissimilar to the effect of joining verses of different hymns together as in a Singstunde. The first chorus, solo bridge, and “Amen” coda are all written in common time; the second chorus, the 1893 setting of Melody 459, is in triple metre. This second chorus also stands apart for its significantly more varied harmonic language and written-out decorative notes – embellishments that might otherwise have been improvised by an Inuit choir. In almost all respects, the contrast between this hymn setting and the sections freely composed highlights the uniqueness of Natanael’s compositional voice. The most obvious distinguishing characteristic of Natanael’s composition is its high tessitura. The vocal ranges, especially in the soprano and tenor parts, sit decidedly higher than the comfort zone for most church choirs. This characteristic is set in relief by comparing with the tessitura of Mel. 459. The soprano line of the opening of the first choral section rises from F through the octave, circling the high F at the cadence. The tenor part for the same opening phrase quickly rises to a high A, repeating it six times before rising to B ♭ and descending to a cadence on F. Nowhere in the Mel. 459 section does either part come within a third of these high notes, let alone sustain them. While these registral extremes would be uncomfortable for most amateur singers, they are a common feature in much of the historical repertoire of the Labrador choirs, which often take the sopranos up to high B-flats and high Cs, with similar registral extremes for the tenors. The high tessitura of the soprano and tenor voices was commonly remarked by visitors to the coast; its characteristic use will be returned to in my later discussion of vocal timbre. Somewhat less obvious at first glance, but a more thoroughgoing distinction between the sections composed by Natanael and the pre-existent hymn he incorporated relates to the harmonic syntax. Throughout this anthem, the harmonic vocabulary is consistent with the harmonic language (written and improvised) of congregational four-part singing at Nain, conforming to the basic chordal vocabulary of the German chorale repertoire. But much of that vocabulary (including its use) in the sections free-composed by Natanael differs dramatically from what has been transcribed from the 1893 Choral-Buch. All aspects that define harmonic syntax in a chorale context – vocabulary, harmonic progression, harmonic rhythm, voicing, and voice-leading – reveal truly striking differences. The harmonic language in Natanael’s first choral section is marked by an exaggerated simplicity. Its vocabulary is comprised almost entirely of the three primary triads in F major, most of which are set in root position. This exact same economy of chords returns in the “Amen” coda. By contrast, the harmonies in

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Figure 7.3  The original manuscript for the tenor part to Natanael Illiniartitsijok, Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga, tenor part, mm. 1–33, showing the very high tessitura in the opening measures.

the Melody 459 section employ the entire range of diatonic harmonies, seventh chords in all inversions, a few secondary dominants, and a brief modulation to the dominant. In short, the language in this transcribed section is consistent with the vast repertoire of Protestant chorales in the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries, whereas Natanael’s free-composed sections distil that vocabulary to its primary essence. Not only is the harmonic vocabulary restrained, but so too is the harmonic rhythm, that is, the rate of harmonic change. Natanael allows the choir to “sit” on a single harmony for long stretches of time, especially at the beginnings of phrases. The almost completely homophonic texture is broken only by the unusual bass solo arpeggiations at mm. 8 and 22 that hint at a call-and-response gesture. The sustained or repeated sections in which the whole ensemble tethers itself to the tonic triad (mm. 3–4, 6–7, 10–12, 24–25, 27–29) are highly unusual in a chorale context. Only in the approach to the two principal cadence points – from m. 17 to the half-cadence at m. 22 and in the last five measures (mm. 32–36) preparing the section’s final cadence – is the typical harmonic forward drive brought into play. By comparison, the setting of Mel. 459, which follows the solo bridge, changes harmonies or chord positions with almost every beat, a much more typical process in the chorale genre.

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The effects of the harmonic stasis in Natanael’s opening section are multiple. For one, the agent of musical motion shifts from harmony to text. Typically in chorales, as generally in tonal music, the tension/release pattern created by harmonic dissonance/resolution engenders forward motion. In Natanael’s anthem that motion is almost neutralized, shifting the agent of forward motion to declamation and creating a sort of choral recitative. At the same time, the near harmonic stasis signals the presence of a more fundamental value shift in this music. Both the economical harmonic vocabulary and its relative immobility suggest a value not on harmonic progression or movement, but rather on the sonority of the harmonies themselves. The extremely slow tempo and the long stretches of harmonic repetition encourage the ear to focus on the sonority itself rather than on the progression of sonority to create movement. In a way, the harmonic writing here anticipates contemporary minimalism, a phenomenon of dwelling in the sound rather than moving through it. The ear is drawn to the essence of rich sound blocks, rather than to a progression through them. An examination of the individual parts, especially the inner alto and tenor voices, supports this hypothesis. The ideal in the chorale genre has been to create independent and interesting melody lines in each of the four parts, even though they tend to move in rhythmic unison. Traditionally this process, known as voice-leading, results in stepwise, contoured melodies in each of the three lower voices. Another result is the frequent recourse to triads in inversions so that the bass line doesn’t consistently leap from chord root to chord root. The Mel. 459 section of Ahâĸ is a model of this kind of writing. Even within the constraints of their narrow ambitus, the alto and tenor lines are marked by varied and directional movement. The bass part is interestingly contoured, alternating between triadic arpeggiations and directional stepwise motion. Even within the homorhythmic texture, each part sustains a memorable contour. In Natanael’s opening section, and again in the “amen” coda, the voices tend either to repeat the same notes or, when they move, move by leap to another chord tone. The linear aspect of each voice part is minimized, permitting the vertical – or harmonic – dimension to be the focus of the ear’s attention. Not one of the four parts creates a conventional melody line; rather, each moves, typically by leap within a triad, to revoice a continuing harmony or move to a new one. The horizontal dimension of melody – a factor that creates forward movement in most tonal music – is minimized. Thus melody, or rather its absence, reinforces the focus on the horizontal, on those rich, sonorous, and still harmonies. The Inuit predilection for extreme simplicity in sacred music noted a century earlier would seem to remain a core aesthetic value.

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While the voice-leading and harmonic progressions seem to negate conventional values regarding the directional movement in tonal music generally and in the chorale repertoire in particular, the surface rhythmic writing indicates an even more radical departure. On a first listening, the rhythmic writing in Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga appears awkward, symptomatic of the kinds of challenges that Inuit musicians historically faced when confronted with Western music’s complex architectonic organization of musical time. As discussed in chapter 3, Western constructs of time measurement run antithetical to the Inuit experience of time’s natural passage. In Natanael’s opening chorus section of Ahâĸ it takes a while for rhythm and metre to come into sync, even within this rather simple construction. The anacrusis (upbeat) gesture in the first seven measures, for example, juxtaposes uncomfortably with the downbeat gesture of measure eight and the anapestic (short-short-long) metres of measures nine and ten. Likewise, the shift of the upbeat gesture to a downbeat placement in measure fourteen speaks to a similarly a-metric approach toward temporal organization. This temporal unease vanishes immediately when the anthem moves into the Mel. 459 section with its settled triple time and co-metric rhythmic writing. While these rhythms are awkward when viewed against the norms of Bach’s chorales, there is an exceptional alignment of musical rhythm with the inflection of the Inuktitut text of Ahâĸ as it would be spoken – an alignment almost unique in the Labrador anthem repertoire. Few musical marriages were as forced as the rhythm of Moravian choral music to the structure of the Inuktitut language. A polysynthetic language, Inuktitut constructs word-sentences by adding from among a large number of suffixes to a single root morpheme. By applying a vocabulary of up to 700 suffixes that could be added to the root word, any manner of action on, to, or with the root can be shown. Most simple sentences can be expressed through a single constructed word. This highly variable syntax never combined comfortably with the rigidly symmetrical rhythmic structure of European musical declamation. In short, the Inuktitut translations rarely fit the music, however valiantly the missionaries tried to shoehorn the new words to the music. But Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga, for all the musical metric awkwardness of its opening section, fits its text comfortably – perhaps uniquely as a marriage of text and music composed to be one. Scansion of the first line of the anthem offers a clear example of the near unison created between the spoken rhythm of the text and the rhythmic setting that Natanael afforded it (s/L designates short and long syllables; q/H indicates quarter/half note values).38

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[CHOR] A - hâk A - hâk Gû – dib - ta i – glu - nga up – ku – er – tau - vok

s L s L s s s s s L s s L L L



q H q H q q q q q H q q H H H

This level of near-perfect correspondence between the scansion of the spoken text and the musical rhythm continues through the opening, free-composed section of the anthem. However, with the upbeat to the Mel. 459 section the musical rhythm settles into a conventional co-metric pattern, assembling into a larger abccaabb form that is entirely coherent by musical standards but that fails to respect the spoken rhythm of the text. Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga is a remarkable composition, less for its historic claim as being the first composed by an Inuk than for the multiple ways in which it reflects musical sensibilities that are emphatically non-European. Its extreme tessituras; its almost a-metric pulsation in a performance tempo agonizingly slow to Western ears; its conscious restriction to the most fundamental of harmonies and neutralization of harmonic progression, voiceleading, and melodic direction; and, most importantly, its complete alignment of text-as-spoken to musical contour and rhythm – something impossible to achieve in all those Moravian anthems that had been translated from German – these are what mark this as a work that is deeply Inuit in its musical values. What remains is a rich harmonic resonance, constructed from the materials of Western art music but devoid of much of its artifice – even of its most basic mechanisms – so as to serve as a conveyance for text and the meaning behind the text. Colonial history has valued Natanael by recording and repeating his act of composition – a singular kind of achievement, given that history tends so strongly to honour great men and great deeds. But Natanael’s singularity as the first Inuk composer – in a Western European sense – was enough. No chronicler ever actually recorded the title of his anthem or wrote anything about the music itself. For the missionaries, the act of composition reflected the assimilated duty of a Christian Inuk. For colonial historians, Natanael’s accomplishment was a symbol of the power of civilization in white man’s terms. It denoted the embrace of the highest accomplishments of European culture – a full conversion, as it were. Ethnologist E.W. Hawkes said as much in his 1916 observation: “Nathaniel, the choir leader at Nain, has composed an anthem in four parts, showing that the Eskimo are not incapable of constructive work in music.”39

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Labrador Inuit, for their part, have valued Natanael differently. The anthem he made history by writing has been sung continuously since it was written and has continued to resonate deeply with successive generations of choir members. Without a composer attribution, Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga is the first track on the vinyl lp the Nain choir recorded in 1966.40 In August 2021, it was the opening anthem chosen by the Nain choir to sing at the liturgical celebration of the 250th anniversary of the founding of their community. If the Nain Moravian Choir were to assemble a list of greatest hits, it would be there. Ahâĸ was valued by the missionaries and subsequent chroniclers as a mark of achievement. In the community, attributions of authorship were muted; even so, Ahâĸ was honoured by practice, by its prestigious place in the liturgy, and by elevating it to a symbolic representation of the place of Christianity at a new centre of Inuit values. This is a case of cultural values coming to perceive authorship as irrelevant, at least insofar as it is an expression of individuality. Its value lies in the degree to which it reflects a collective consciousness, an aesthetic commonality, a life of a communal spirit. For Inuit musicians and congregants of Nain, the forgotten traces of authorship are symptomatic of an Inuit way of seeing things, honouring Natanael through practice and through ritual observance both liturgically and socially. Although Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga may be the only Inuk composition in the Moravian tradition that can be authenticated, there are echoes of the Inuit Voice across the repertoire, both of hymns and of anthems. One especially persuasive example is the Passion hymn “Ernîk erligidlarpagit.” The text and music to “Ernîk” were almost certainly composed by an Inuk organist or choirmaster, likely sometime around the middle of the twentieth century. I have been unable to locate a concordance for either the music or the text anywhere in the Moravian or Protestant hymn repertoire. Listed in the Hebron service order typescript made by Gustav Tuglavina before 1959, the text of “Ernîk” was published amid the popular Sankey hymns as #9a in the 1973 hymn book, Kattangutigêt Tuksiargalautsingit, and is sung both by the choir and congregationally. By the last quarter of the twentieth century, “Ernîk” had become established as a kind of musical introduction to Holy Week at both Makkovik and Nain. The eleven-strophe text, like many of the most popular Inuktitut hymns, is strongly narrative in character. It tells the story of Christ’s passion in the form of a dialogue between Jesus and Mary, his mother. Across successive strophes, Mary asks her beloved son about his actions on each day of Holy Week. The text takes the listener from Christ’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, through his prophecies and preachings, to his institution of the sacrament of Holy Communion at the Last Supper, culminating with his crucifixion, death, and finally, his resurrection on Easter Sunday. Imploring him with “questions

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Figure 7.4  The organ part to “Ernîk erligidlarpagit,” written in the hand of Levi Nochasak.

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from deep in her heart,” Mary ritually repeats her love for Jesus, “Ernîk erligidlarpagit / My Son I cherish you so much.” Jesus’s responses offer matterof-fact statements of his responsibilities as a prophet and saviour, but in verses nine and eleven, he responds to his mother as a son: Ernîk erligidlarpagit 1. Jêsuse âniavingminutut 1. As Jesus came to his suffering days, Ailermat woĸemut hailigemut. To the week we know the best as Holy Week, Anânanga tagva kiksalerpoĸ His mother became very, very sad. Ernerminik manna aperivok : She asked her Son some questions from deep in her heart. 2. Ernîk erligidlarpagit. 2. My Son, I cherish you so much. Sontâgeme ĸanoĸ pilârlerket? What will you do with your acts on this Sunday? Sontâgeme attaniovlunga This Sunday I will enter Jerusalem Sakkerlârpunga Jerusaleme. As the King of Kings which I came to be. 3. Ernîk erligidlarpagit. 3. My Son I cherish you so much. Montâgeme ĸanoĸ pilârlerket? What will you do with your acts on this Monday? Montâgeme ingergajotut – On Monday I am like a traveller Ipunga iniksarsingitotut. With no real place to lay down my head. 4. Ernîk erligidlarpagit, 4. My Son I cherish you so much. Denestâgeme ĸanoĸ pilârlerkêt? What will you do with your acts on this Tuesday? Denestâgeme nelautaparpara On this Tuesday, I will prophecy Sillaksub nungutsomarniksanga. The end and destruction of this whole world. 5. Ernîk erligidlarpagit. 5. My Son I cherish you so much. Mitwocheme ĸanoĸ pilârlerkêt? What will you do with your acts on Wednesday? Mitwocheme akikidlarpunga On Wednesday, I am not worth very much Draesigenut pititaularama. As I will be taken by the Sanhedrin.

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6. Ernîk erligidlarpagit. 6. My Son I cherish you so much. Donerstâgeme ĸanoĸ pilârlerkêt? What will you do with your acts on Thursday? Sakkertitsivanga naglingnermik I will reveal the love the most high Komunionemik Hailigemik. Through the Sacrament of Communion. 7. Gûdib saugarsungauvlunga Toĸomut tunergutiksauvlunga

7. I will be like the Lamb of God Who is put to death as a sacrifice

Inuit ajorningit pivlugit, Toĸomut piulijauĸovlugit.

For the sins of all the people on earth To help save them all from death eternal.

8. Ernîk erligidlarpagit. 8. My Son I cherish you so much. Fraitâgeme ĸanoĸ pilârlerkêt? What will you do with your acts on Friday? Anânak Fraitag Nelujaule My mother Friday do not forget Illingnut perĸonak Golgateme. For the events that will lead to Golgatha. 9. Anânak naglingnarpotit. 9. My mother how I love you so. Uvamnik takoniarleruvit When you see me your heart will be pierced so Kikiaktortausimadlarlunga As I will be crucified on the cross Kejungme nivingadlartilunga. Hanging there with nails on my hands and feet. 10. Ernîk erligidlarpagit. 10. My Son I cherish you so much. Sonâbendime ĸanoĸ pilârlerkêt? What will you do with your acts on Saturday? Sonâbendeme karngasutitut On Saturday I am like a seed Illijaumavungale nunamut. Planted in the earth to come alive again. 11. Sontâgeme ĸuviasugit ! 11. Be joyful mother on Sunday Makilârpunga toĸungajunit. For I will rise from the dead with glory Tagvale ânanausijauvlunga You will see me being glorified Anânak takolerniaranga. For defeating death and the power of sin. Translation by Gordon Obed

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Even within the ritual language and the mantra-like repetitions, Jesus and Mary emerge as profoundly human across this narrative. Their dialogue is compelling and suffused with affection; the story told, however familiar to each of its hearers, is completely engaging. In current practice at Nain, “Ernîk erligidlarpagit” is sung after the end of the morning service on Palm Sunday. The congregation remains seated in their pews to listen to the story before filing out. It is sung with great conviction and emotion, the individual days of the story each taking on their own character. Everyone in the choir sings it “without notes”; the old-timers sing it without much reference to the words on the sheets. It is story-time – Passion-story time. Whether sung by the choir, sung congregationally, or played by the brass band, “Ernîk erligidlarpagit” is always performed in four parts. The soprano and tenor parts carry equal weight: the soprano is always performed as written, while the tenor freely shifts from the written part to doubling the soprano or alto, or improvises a new direction for the line – often characterized by filled passing tones or upper turning figures. The result displays the richness of simplicity, the rigidity of repetition offset by a spontaneity in performance – particularly in the often dominant tenor voice. Western music’s disciplined temporal and harmonic organization is acknowledged, but also freely abandoned in the spontaneous moment of performance where a natural response to the word or to the surrounding musical fabric encourages free departures. The four-part harmonization is eloquent in its simplicity, restricting its harmonic vocabulary to three primary triads, with a brief excursion to the dominant and surface chromaticism in the third phrase. The Inuit disdain for artifice is confirmed in the part-writing, which freely indulges in parallel fifths and octaves, voice crossings, “forbidden” doublings, and other transgressions against the rules of convention outlined in first-year harmony textbooks. After the first, harmonically conventional phrase that establishes the tonality, the harmonic progressions tend to a certain neutrality through weak-beat resolutions and the use of more second-inversion chords than would be typical in a short hymn. The result has the same elemental character as in Natanael’s Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga: harmony is an agent not of motion but of colour. The movement is in the telling of the story. Even though the hymn is completely strophic (i.e., setting each text strophe to exactly the same music), the text sits comfortably on the music. This is not a work that was translated from another language into Inuktitut, but one in which the music and text itself – repetitions and all – were written in the service of each other. The storytelling is further enhanced by the temporal treatment. An extremely slow performance tempo (Q = 42) combines with an unusually high

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degree of rhythmic repetition to create a hypnotic effect – an ironic suspension of time while the passion story wends its course through the week. Aside from the first, all remaining measures employ exactly the same rhythmic pattern: L L s s L, a recurrent spondee/anapest rhythm that is heard seventy-seven times across the course of the narrative. In performance, the sound is richly choral, yet strangely detached; each chord has its own attack, its own articulation – notably the bounce on the two eighth notes that fall on the third beat of each measure. This is hymnody that has been recast by the spirit of the drum.

V. Inuit Agency – Recomposition While Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga and “Ernîk erligidlarpagit” may be the only two contributions to the Moravian repertoire that we can be fairly certain were the compositions of Inuit composers, the musical values represented in them can be seen and heard elsewhere in anthem manuscripts in the congregation collections and in the performances captured on recordings. The Inuit Voice in Moravian music echoes throughout this legacy after more than century and a half of recomposition both on paper and in performance. With the single exception of La Trobe’s 1811 published collection of keyboard accompaniments41 found tucked into the organ bench in each congregation, all of the anthem repertoire sung on the Labrador coast exists exclusively in hand-copied manuscripts. The more than 20,000 sheets of music manuscript now housed in three Labrador churches represent a copy chain that travelled from the spiritual capital of the Moravian Church in a distant corner of Saxony to the isolated coast of northern Labrador. The physical distance traversed is dwarfed by the cultural distance that separates the German and British missionaries well-schooled in the complex musical language of eighteenth-century classicism from Labrador Inuit whose centuries-old music traditions were incomprehensible to the Europeans. By origin this anthem repertoire was in the high classical style of the Mozart/ Haydn period, written largely by a group of Moravian composers from around the court and opera of Dresden and the impressively resourced chapel of Leipzig. The music is relentlessly tonal, homophonic, energetic, and decorative. It is at once the most elaborate and the most malleable of the musics appropriated by Inuit. Whereas chorales sung congregationally or transposed to brass band remained largely intact after two centuries of practice, the concert anthems were considerably reimagined as they were performed by successive generations of Inuit musicians.

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From early in the nineteenth century into the 1970s, first missionaries and then Inuit organists copied and recopied the voluminous Moravian repertoire of the annual cycle of sung liturgies, congregational hymns, and elaborate anthems. Much like European musical apprentices centuries earlier, Inuit musicians learned their craft, in part, by copying out repertoire by hand from as early as the 1830s. When a new anthem arrived from Herrnhut or London, part sets with Inuktitut translations of the texts were made in Labrador. If an addition to the repertoire at Hopedale or Nain caught the ear of a visitor from Okak or Hebron, a new part set was made for the outlying station. The rough conditions of life in Labrador and the sheer wear from enthusiastic use meant that the active life cycle of any one sheet of music manuscript was about twenty years.42 Thus, there was a continuous process of making new manuscript copies of choral and instrumental parts. An inestimable number of manuscripts have been lost through fires or dispersal; however, the Moravians’ archival instincts meant that few copies were lost intentionally. When new copies were made, the older copies were preserved, filed at the back of the envelope. This resulted in a “paper trail” of parts that can span a century or more of copies. The resultant corpus of manuscript material offers a wealth of opportunity to consider the art of retelling a musical idea on paper. The act of copying almost inevitably introduces errors or distortions, but more to the point, it introduces the voice of the copyist, in this case, Inuit organists and choirmasters who had become stewards of this music. Across these copies, the original material is often recast from its previous form, carrying with it the new resonance of the copyist’s voice. To paraphrase Stravinsky in a retort to the critics of Pulcinella, to copy is to repeat in one’s own accent.43 Copying introduces the filter of the reteller’s sensibilities and judgment, which render the story retold a story new. Inuit copyists were faithful to the music text, but the text they were more faithful to was the music as performed by their choirs and musicians; less so the music as first conceived by a distant and unknown European composer. Successive generations of manuscripts point to a gradual process of Indigenization. The music begins to lose the keynotes of its European origins, becoming something altogether different. Over the course of a century it is transformed into a solemn timbral landscape, a-rhythmic but drum-pulsed, exploring stable harmonic sonorities and extremes of vocal and instrumental colour. Thus the story of Inuit agency in the reshaping the musical legacy of the Moravian missionaries to reflect Inuit values is revealed not only in those few works we know to have been composed by an Inuk, but also across the paper chain of successive copies of European-composed anthems. In 2007 I published

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an article44 that literally traced the paper trail of a single anthem through successive generations of copies. The study focused on Johann Gottlieb Naumann’s anthem Nâlegak Jêsuse piulijivut and its made-in-Labrador contrafactum, Pingortitsijoĸ ĸillangmik.45 The original anthem is unabashedly operatic in style, retaining dramatic rhythmic motives, extravagant accompaniments, and extremes of register far more suitable to operatic singers than to church choirs. At the same time, its harmonic structures are basic, the form transparent. The Labrador part sets examined ranged in date from 1836 to the mid-twentieth century, and across that span they revealed a drastic process of simplification. While the resonant choral harmonies are retained almost unaltered and the extremes of register (the sopranos sit on high Cs) remain, the form of the work is truncated, repetitive introductory material having been removed; the instrumental parts are recast to shadow the choral parts rather than to elaborate them; the crooked and propulsive rhythms are straightened; and all ornamentation is excised. On one level these drastic changes might be hypothesized as simplifications pragmatically introduced to accommodate the technical capacities of the performers. But the stronger evidence indicates that across more than a century of manuscript recopies, Nâlegak Jêsuse piulijivut was intentionally recomposed. What the copyists transcribed was the music as performed, not as originally written. And what was performed increasingly distanced the music from its European sources toward an essentiality that reflected Inuit aesthetic values. Another anthem whose manuscript and aural traces in Labrador document the freedom with which Inuit musicians adapted and recomposed the inherited repertoire is Upkuaksuit angmasigik. Composed as Macht hoch die Thür, die Thor macht weit, the anthem was the work of John Gambold Jr (1760–1795). Gambold was the son of the first British Moravian bishop, himself a hymnodist and a close colleague of Benjamin La Trobe, the father of Christian Ignatius La Trobe. The younger Gambold was sent to Germany for schooling at Niesky and Barby in 1774. On completion of his studies, he became a teacher in the Moravian schools for the remainder of his short life. Among his musical works were twenty-six anthems and six keyboard sonatas; the latter were published in Leipzig in 1788. After a lifetime of poor health, he died in Barby on 21 June 1795.46 Although there is almost no overlap in the Inuktitut texts, the German source for Upkuaksuit angmasigik is the same as Natanael Illianiartitsijok’s for Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga, that is, Georg Weissel’s hymn paraphrasing Psalm 24:7: “Lift up your heads, ye mighty Gates.” Gambold used the first two verses of Weissel’s hymn as they appeared as #39 in Christian Gregor’s 1778 Gesangbuch. Just as Natanael’s anthem became a musical symbol of entry into the church, Upkuaksuit angmasigik acquired liturgical functions associated

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with physical and spiritual union with the Christian community. It was sung on Palm Sunday at Hebron as a celebration of Christ’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem.47 At Hopedale, Hebron, and Makkovik it was also sung on the first Sunday of Advent together with Gregor’s Hosiana as a welcome to the families returning to the mission stations after their long absence at hunting and fishing camps. At Nain, the wrapper in which the parts are stored indicates it was sung on 19 February, the Church Anniversary Festival Day, the same day on which Natanael’s Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga is performed to this day. At 122 measures in length, Macht hoch die Thür, die Thor macht weit is a substantial anthem by Moravian standards, cast in a large ABA form. The return of the A section reprises the opening exactly for the voices, being indicated simply by a da capo sign. However, the orchestral parts, notably the upper strings, are written out and much more heavily ornamented in the reprise. In the Labrador parts, the instrumental accompaniment is scored for two horns (in D), two clarinets, string quartet, and organ.48 Vocally the anthem is scored for a five-voiced SSATB chorus, alternating with passages for three solo voices, notably in the B section. Close harmonies in the three women’s voice parts lend the anthem a treble-oriented and densely harmonic sound, particularly in the A section (mm. 1–48) which is largely homorhythmic and homophonic. For most of the B section (mm. 48–74), the choir is reduced to a trio of solo voices: soprano, tenor, and bass. These alternate in a dialogue of brief phrase fragments that toss material back and forth between voices and orchestra or between soprano and tenor/bass. These solo fragments gradually extend in length until near the end of the section, when the full choir rejoins (m. 68) for a tutti cadence before the (instrumentally) ornamented reprise of the A section (mm. 74–122). Structurally, the anthem respects the tonal conventions of its form. The A section is in D major with an excursion to the dominant, A major, at its midpoint (mm. 17–29). The D major return includes a brief exchange alternating between sopranos and tenor/bass (mm. 32–36) but is otherwise homophonic. The A section cadence is announced by a bold, trumpet-like arpeggiation in five-part unison (m. 36) that leads to an emphatic harmonic cadence on D. The B section begins with a direct modulation to the sub-dominant key of G (m. 48), returns to D major (m. 57), and briefly toys with b minor (m. 64) before proclaiming D major again in a cadence that strongly echoes the cadence of the A section. Texturally, the A and B sections present a strong contrast: the A sections are almost exclusively in block vertical sonorities in the choral parts, moving in largely undifferentiated quarter notes; the B section has a much lighter, more linear texture, characterized by somewhat more fluid rhythms and alternating dialogue.

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The accompanying instrumental parts supply a motoric dimension through the agitated repeated note patterns in the lower strings and the extremely active arpeggiations in the first and second violins. The (unused in Labrador) wind parts add occasional dotted rhythms on anacruses to supply a martial effect. In all its particulars, Gambold’s Macht hoch die Thür, die Thor macht weit can be seen as a classic example of what Peter Vogt described as the “golden age” of Moravian anthem repertoire. The earliest part sets in the Labrador collections faithfully replicate all the details of Gambold’s original anthem. However, across the three congregation collections of manuscripts, there are a remarkable number of variants in both the details of the instrumental and vocal parts and in the overall structure of the work itself. The differences between these variant versions suggest a free approach to the received musical text besides underscoring, once again, consistent musical preferences of Inuit musicians. Pragmatism in performance requirements and a taste for simplicity lie at the heart of many of the variants in individual instrumental parts. These are most evident in several different versions of first violin and organ parts found in the Hopedale and Nain congregation collections. First and second violin parts in the earliest Labrador part sets demand considerably more active passage work than is typically found in the Labrador manuscripts, particularly in the reprise of the A section. Quite early in the anthem’s history in Labrador, simplified versions of the first violin part appear, reducing the continuous sixteenth note triadic arpeggiations to chordal outlines in eighth notes within a more restricted range. The harmonic effect is the same, but the busy-ness of the rapid figuration is eliminated. A motoric rhythm of sorts is maintained, but in a manner that is less of a distraction from the harmonic richness of the choral parts. Obviously this manner of simplification put the violin accompaniment within the technical reach of less accomplished violinists. It was also more compatible with the typically slow performance tempo of anthems in Labrador. At the same time, the reduction in passage work sharpened the focus on the vertical orientation of the choral writing, a recurrent preference for the Labrador choirs. Comparable transformations in the organ parts support this hypothesis. Two organ parts in the Hopedale collection confirm the same impulse to reduce the activity of the accompanying parts. In this instance, it seems unlikely that the technical abilities of the organist were a consideration. The earlier organ part is essentially a transcription of the first violin and cello parts from the full, written out ABA version, including the more ornamental version of A on the return. The later version is simply a harmonic realization of the figured bass with the elimination of all figuration from the instrumental parts and a simple da capo

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Figure 7.5  The first violin part (mm. 74–94) to John Gambold, Upkuaksuit angmasigik. Consistent with European manuscripts, in (a) the writing is characterized by rapid arpeggiation and active passage work. In (b) the same section reduces the activity and figuration to a much more basic form and restricts the range, but retains the same harmonic content. [Above and facing]

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indication to designate the return/repeat of the A section. The reduced organ part provides no rhythmic animation not already present in the choral parts and spins no embellishment whatsoever. It doubles the voices, reinforcing the block harmonic movement already present. This version, in company with the reduced string parts, focuses the attention on the verticality of the choral writing, free from the ornamental distractions of the original. While there may have been pragmatic considerations in these rewrites, they are also wholly congruent with the preferred focus on the harmonic sonority of the rich choral sound. The freedom in the treatment of Gambold’s instrumental writing is also extended to the structure of the anthem as a whole. In its original form it employed a standard, symmetrical aba structure, with the return of A being identical in length and internal organization, albeit with an embellished accompaniment. But cuts indicated in the string parts in both Hopedale and Nain truncate the return of the A section, starting the recap at the instrumental transition that effects modulation to the dominant (upbeat to m. 17), resulting not only in a shorter form but also in one with less tonal stasis. Repetitive and extended sections of tonicization in D major are reduced, creating an overall structure that is tonally more dynamic. A recording of Upkuaksuit angmasigik made by a choir comprised of singers from Hebron and Okak who were resettled to Makkovik in 1956 and 1959 offers a live audio example of the freedom with which Inuit musicians approached the anthem repertoire inherited from the Moravians. Made for broadcast during the Christmas season of 1959, this recording is a performance marked by a clear intentionality not evident in most of the archival recordings that were captured during church services. The program was emceed by Rev. Siegfried Hettasch, with the performers introducing themselves one by one. The performance of

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Figure 7.6  Two versions of mm. 110–22 of the organ part from John Gambold, Upkuaksuit angmasigik. The upper system (a) is the earlier version, characterized by complex rhythms and very active figuration. The lower system (b) is a later version with reduced rhythmic complexity focusing attention on the harmonic essentials. [Above and facing]

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Upkuaksuit angmasigik is sung by treble voices only with organ accompaniment. The overall structure is recast, omitting the first sixteen measures altogether and starting with the organ’s modulation to the dominant key.49 The remainder of the A section is sung, and then, rather than proceeding to the B section, the choir starts the A section over again, this time from the upbeat to m. 9, omitting the instrumental introduction. After a second completion of the A section, the choir concludes the anthem with the B section with the final cadence on m. 72; there is no recap of the A section. Thus the structure is reduced to two different (and incomplete) statements of A, followed by a complete statement of B, that is, a' a" b rather than the original a b a'. The absence of male voices reduces the dialogues in the B section to call and answer patterns between the treble voices and the organ. Because of the emphatic return to D major at the end of the B section with its echo of the cadence to the A section, the anthem retains a sense of completeness, but the architectural symmetry of the aba structure is gone, replaced by a structure less confined by a need to balance the form. The manner

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Figure 7.7  The Moravian Inuit choir in Makkovik, ca. 1960. Front row (l to r): Joas Onalik (at the organ), Amalia Jararuse, Kitora Dan; middle row, (l to r): Magdelana Tuglavina, Sophie Semigak, Ruth Saimat, Tabea Nochasak; back row (l to r): Boas Jararuse, Martin Onalik, Ken Jararuse, Martin Semigak, Antone Nochasak, Levi Nochasak.

in which works like Upkuaksuit angmasigik were recomposed across more than a century of use consistently reinforces the musical and aesthetic values that were observed in Inuk-composed works like Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga and “Ernîk erligidlarpagit.” Inuit musicians exercised agency by transforming European musical texts into statements that reflected their own aesthetic preferences.

VI. Inuit Agency – Performance Practice It is possible to trace the fading of hallmarks of European style across 150 years of manuscript copies with individual anthems. More elusive has been the aural reality of this process of the Indigenization of the Moravian repertoire. At its essence, the Inuit Voice resides primarily in the un-notated dimension of music as it is performed. What was the actual sound of Inuit choirs? Until the arrival of recording technology in Labrador, that aural reality could only be hinted at through the undoubtedly subjective observations of those who heard the choirs.

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And the ears of those hearers surely filtered what they heard through their own assumptions and musical expectations. Prior to the first audio recordings of Inuit choirs in the mid-twentieth century, there does exist a fairly extensive body of observations about Inuit singing; these range from the earliest descriptions of the shaman’s “terrible noises” to a nineteenth-century tourist’s exclamation that “Never in my life have I heard more harmonious singing than to-day.”50 Early on, Br Benjamin Kohlmeister, even while comparing Inuit pre-contact music to the howlings of wolves, remarked that Inuit quickly learned to sing the chorales correctly, “and the voices of the women are remarkably sweet and well-tuned.”51 In his hundredyear retrospective of the Moravian presence in Labrador, Bishop L.T. Reichel described the sound of Inuit congregational singing as “sweet and hearty.”52 Bishop Benjamin La Trobe offered a slightly more precise assessment when he described the Hopedale choir of 1888 as having “voices of power and compass. Alto, tenor, and bass were fairly sustained, as well as soprano, and the whole effect was good.”53 Perhaps the most surprising source for observations on Inuit singing came from Gustav Kobbé, who at the dawn of the twentieth century was music critic for the New York Herald and the author of one of the first encyclopedias of opera. In 1906, Kobbé sailed “down the Labrador” with illustrator M.J. Burns. He later recounted his voyage to this remote corner of the continent in an article published in The Century, a popular lifestyle magazine of the day. Among his observations on the life and culture of Inuit there are numerous references to their music-making: The Eskimos have a remarkably accurate ear for music, and music forms an important feature of the worship at the Labrador missions … The choir is Eskimo, an Eskimo plays the organ, and, at the service I attended, three violins, a violoncello, and a clarinet were played by Eskimos, the entire service being conducted in the Eskimo language. There was much singing during the service both with and without accompaniment, the choir alternating with the congregation, and at times the male with the female voices. The singing was noticeably true and noticeably loud.54 Though hardly a nuanced critique, Kobbé registered surprise at the sophistication of Inuit musical practice. His assessment spoke to an assured and musically true performance style measured against his own rigorous standard for Western art music.

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This composite picture of Inuit choral singing is remarkably consistent across its first hundred years. Though neither very specific nor entirely objective, the recurrent descriptors from these and many other observations employ a common vocabulary of favoured vocal colours. Repeatedly we read that the singing is well-tuned and “noticeably true”; sweet, especially in the women’s and children’s voice qualities; simple and unaffected; powerful and “noticeably loud”; and broad in compass. The meanings of these descriptors, and much more, would become a great deal clearer once recording technologies arrived on the Labrador coast. As noted in chapter 4, the first broadcast of Labrador musicians emanated from the deck of the RMS Nascopie in July 1937. The Hebron brass band’s performances of “God Save the King” and two hymn tunes was not preserved. Nor were the broadcasts of the Nain Radio Station established by Rev. F.W. Peacock in 1950 with assistance from former US marine William Ogletree, although an extensive collection of playlists and scripts remains.55 From this documentation it is clear that Moravian music provided by Inuit choirs and bands through broadcasts of church services and evening devotions was a centrepiece of broadcasting. The Makkovik Inuit choir’s 1959 recording of Upkuaksuit angmasigik is one of the earliest we have of a Labrador Inuit choir in what was clearly conceived of as a performance. Alongside the vinyl lp of the Nain choir released in 1971,56 and several recent recordings made with Nain musicians,57 this track offers the most concrete evidence of what has been an elusive element of the Inuit Voice in Moravian music: the actual sound of Inuit voices. The very high vocal tessitura, well above the range of the typical church choir, is likely the first observation to be made in the Makkovik choir’s recording of Upkuaksuit angmasigik. Spanning an octave and a sixth, the first soprano part sits most of the time between e and a, reaching to a high b. This extreme tessitura and wide range are wholly characteristic of the Moravian Inuit repertoire, in which soprano and tenor parts often soar to high Cs in other anthems. Tessitura is, of course, a composed element, attributable to the eighteenth-century Moravian composers who often held day jobs at the Dresden opera. But the retention of the high ranges – even as concert pitch rose over the last 200 years and while German and American Moravian churches transposed the anthems down by as much as a third – signifies an aesthetic choice. Wide vocal ranges and soprano and tenor voices at the extreme heights of their vocal register are defining characteristics of the Moravian Inuit tradition. Benjamin La Trobe’s observation of “compass and power” refers, at least in part, to this preference. The dominating voice heard in this excerpt is that of Aunt Harriet Nochasak, longtime lead soprano of the Hebron choir. Still remembered today, Aunt

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Figure 7.8  Karrie Obed singing from “upstairs” in the Nain choir loft, 2014.

Harriet Nachasak’s voice was admired for its power and for a quality most consistently described simply as “high.” A current member of the Makkovik choir, Mary Ford, characterized the timbre of Aunt Harriet’s voice as “sounding like a violin”58 – a description she remembered Aunt Harriet herself instructing new singers in the choir to aspire to. Aunt Harriet Nachasak was a high soprano with a remarkably pure sound and tremendous power and presence. The purity of the sound can be variously described as child-like or instrumental. Technically, the vocal production59 can be described as entirely in the head voice. The colour is extremely bright and forward, displaying a predominant ring (singer’s formant). It can be characterized as emphasizing the “chiara” (luminosity), the first part of chiaroscura. Despite her age at the time of the recording, there is no wobble in her voice – a result of strong and constant airflow. The “presence” of the voice is a result of air flow rather than air pressure. The vocal production mechanism remains natural; there is nothing forced or pressed about the sound. At the same time, her voice displays tremendous power, evidence of great physical stamina. Aunt Harriet’s intonation is focused: pitch is completely centred and unwavering. Notable is the total absence of vibrato, a refinement cultivated in

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bel canto singing to contribute warmth and lyricism to the voice. Aunt Harriet’s diction is precise, with an evident devotion to the words and a faithfulness to the meaning of the text. The continuity of the ideal represented by Aunt Harriet’s voice is confirmed when we compare it with a performance by the late lead tenor of the Nain choir, Karrie Obed (1959–2017). Karrie’s remarkable 2011 recorded performance of the tenor solo in Piulijivut ivsornaitotojotit embodies the Inuit ideal. Like Aunt Harriet Nochasak, Karrie Obed was a natural singer with a robust, stentorian, round, warm tenor voice that is comfortable in a high tessitura. He had a solid basic core to his sound, meaning there is weight in the fundamentals of the pitch; the richness of colour is defined by the wide range of overtones his voice also carried. The powerful chest voice moved easily into full head voice. He sang with his speaking voice muscles through his entire range. Karrie’s intonation was flawless: centred and invariably accurate. Phases characteristically begin with a scoop onset. Clear timbral choices in this singing include the complete absence of vibrato and a syllabic rather than legato approach to articulation, possibly encouraged by the consonant-heavy and guttural nature of Inuktitut. He treated vowels as spoken rather than as timbral definers or vehicles as they are used in bel canto singing. Physiologically, Karrie’s vocal production, like Aunt Harriet’s, results from a high laryngeal position and a reliance on predominantly chest muscle engagement. He sang physically from a concept of a high breath mechanism rather than from a lower abdominals/diaphragmatic physical connection. The result is singing on natural exhalation gesture, a natural as opposed to cultivated approach. Resonance is held, constrained by a tight vocal tract and mouth and lips that barely move. The production is spontaneous rather than cultivated or premeditated. Nothing in Karrie’s singing suggests artifice. In this performance, the solemn tempo (La Trobe mandated a more evenpaced Andante) down-shifts the temporal unit from the measure to the beat – each beat pronounced with a deliberateness and autonomy more reminiscent of the steady progress of the drum than the convoluted temporal architecture of Western art music. When the choir joins in,60 it adds a rich harmonic texture that surrounds the tenor. Sharp dotted rhythms get rounded and softened; moving passages are given only vague attention as the choir reaches for key harmonic goals – passages where a harmonic sonority can be savoured in its full-blended colour. As in the singing of chorales, the soprano, alto, and bass parts frequently serve as a landscape on which the tenor etches the movement forward.

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VII. The Inuit Voice in Moravian Music Based on the few documented compositions by Inuit composers, on the decades of recomposition as Inuit provided stewardship for the anthem repertoire received from the European missionaries, and on a half century of archival recordings of Inuit choirs, brass bands, and congregational hymn-singing, it becomes possible to begin to describe the literal Inuit Voice in Moravian music. Supported by two centuries of descriptive literature, these written and audio records document a reconceptualizing of a European artifact to reflect Inuit spiritual and aesthetic preferences. Over the course of two centuries this music was gradually Indigenized, recomposed to focus on musical elements that resonated with historic Inuit expressive practices, and performed in a voice that was far more Inuit than European. These (re)defining Indigenous characteristics as discussed above can be summarized in five broad categories: a pure and powerful vocal timbre, a reduction of the musical object to its essence, an attraction to harmonic resonance, the creation of a kind of temporal stasis, and a foregrounding of narrative qualities in the music. Many of these qualities echo characteristics present in Inuit music before the time of contact with the Moravians. The descriptions of vocal timbre in Inuit-voiced Moravian music are consistent and are borne out in the audio record of performances over the past half century. The vocal colour of Inuit singers has been characterized as sweet, simple, and unaffected, while at the same time being broad in compass and powerful. Part of the presence in these voices is ascribable to singing that is consistently and focusedly in tune. Another part is attributable to the marked preference for high ranges, especially in the soprano and tenor parts, which often approach operatic tessituras without any of the vocal pyrotechnics that usually accompany them. The sound is “white” (very pure), bright, and predominantly in head voice – focused on the centre of the pitch and without a trace of vibrato. It is pure and elemental, and in physiological terms it is produced in an entirely natural way. The singing conforms to the natural rhythms of breath and speech. Breathing is employed not as a means of shaping a musical phrase, but rather as a natural impulse. It is extreme in its purity. This vocal quality is supported in the way the music has been written and rewritten, but the quality is an ideal established in the performance itself, consistent across the extant recorded audio history and alive in the practice of current musicians in the Nain choir. Although we have no audio record of pre-contact Inuit singing, descriptions have ranged from the sweet and gentle singing of the women to the animal-like incantations of

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the angakkuk. Common to pre-contact vocal forms (including katatjak) and Moravian Inuit music is an open acceptance of natural vocal production. The Inuit vocal ideal is the most natural possible use of the voice. Perhaps the most obvious aspect of the Indigenization of Moravian music has been the thorough elimination of all that is non-essential. Inuit organists, choirmasters, singers, and music copyists stripped away whatever obscured the essence of this music. These superfluities might consist of florid vocal ornamentation or of agitating or decorative rhythms. They might be found in the instrumental accompaniments to anthems, which often layered the vocal parts with embellishing flights of fancy, forestalled them with elaborate introductions, or grounded them with extended codas. Under Inuit stewardship, instrumental parts were recast to shadow the choral parts rather than elaborate on them. Some of this simplification of instrumental parts may have been introduced to accommodate the technical abilities of some Inuit musicians. But these distillations define what the stewards of this music understood to be its essence. While the eighteenth-century Moravian anthem repertoire hardly approached the profuse decoration of rococo fancies or the moody Sturm und Drang extravagances of its day, Inuit musicians stripped away what little artifice they found in this music, distilling it to its essential harmonic sonorities. The very prominent soprano and tenor lines notwithstanding, it was this harmonic resonance that became the focus as Inuit recast Moravian music. This focus originated in the Moravian repertoire first adopted by Inuit, the “Brethren’s ancient chorales,” the one Moravian legacy that was neither recast nor abandoned across this two-hundred-year history. From their earliest exposure, Inuit were drawn to this sonorous repertoire, and they quickly mastered it, drummed into them as it was by the missionaries, who were convinced that hymn-singing was the most immediate pathway to the heart’s understanding of Christianity. The chorales became a musical lingua franca that provided the gateway for Inuit to the other Moravian genres they adopted over time. Unaltered, the hymn tunes constituted the all but exclusive repertoire of the brass bands, their resonant four-voiced harmonizations providing a soundscape that extended outside the walls of the church. When the Moravian choirs expanded their repertoire to include anthems, the baseline sonority remained the chorale. It is probable that the first anthems mastered by Inuit choirs were essentially elaborated chorales.61 Natanael Illiniartitsijok’s Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga is completely indebted to an Inuit conception of the chorale genre. A large proportion of the anthem repertoire that has remained in the Labrador repertoire is chorale-based. With its barely memorable melodies and completely neutral rhythms, Gregor’s ChoralBuch stood as the Urtext for Christian Inuit music. The musical essence lodged

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in the ears of Inuit Moravians was a characteristic harmonic resonance, four voices in a vertical blend of rich sonority. Both as written and in performance, this stamped a fundamentally vertical orientation on the Inuit conception of church music. Resonant static harmonies draw the ear, the movement from one to the next muted by the exceedingly slow performance tempi. The listener’s attention is directed to harmonic sonority as opposed to harmonic motion. The neutralization of harmonic rhythm is implicit in compositions and recompositions, but explicit in performance, resulting in performances characterized more by the colour of a static harmony than by an urgency for one harmony to move to the next. The overall effect is as much about a dramatic recasting of the construct of musical time as it is about harmonic language. Arbitrarily or artificially measured time was a concept alien to Inuit. Their language contained no terms for the Western macro-measures of conceptualized time: days, weeks, years. Inuit temporal measures reflected natural cycles and rhythms. These had names: changes in light, in seasons, in the animals available for harvest. Thus the arbitrary micro-measurement of time represented in the European musical constructs of beats, metres, and rhythms represented an inessential foreign construct. The Europeans divided time artificially, whereas in the Inuit world time simply flowed. From the outset, missionary teachers registered that while Inuit quickly mastered the harmonies and melodies of Moravian music, they were bedevilled by its rhythmic construction.62 Western musical time presented little difficulty in the chorales, where there were but two temporal values – short and long, the longs being generally reserved for the breath points at ends of phrases. But in the anthem repertoire, both for the instrumentalists and for the singers, the Moravian rhythms were far more convoluted, erected on the architectonic structures of metre overlaid by the web of complex surface rhythms with divisions and subdivisions, dotted notes, syncopations, and so on. All of this was unnecessarily complicated in the ears of Inuit musicians, as well as antithetical to their historic connection to musical time. The drum did not measure time, it pulsed it. It did not divide time, it sounded its forward flow. It did not create structures out of time, but simply inhabited it. The Inuit stewards of Moravian music did everything they could to restore this more natural relationship between time and music. They slowed its tempo to a consistent, heart-paced, undifferentiated pulse.63 They smoothed surface rhythms, evened out dotted rhythms, and levelled the differences between note value divisions and subdivisions. They dulled the recurrent patterned groupings imposed by metre, composing, recomposing, or creating the illusion of a-metricity. The transformations that Inuit musicians brought to the temporal

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organization of Moravian music, in combination with the focus on the vertical sonorities of its close, chorale-inspired harmonies, had the ironic effect of neutralizing the passage of time. Like the hypnotic beat of the drum, the Inuit musicians’ reduction of the complex temporal organization in the Moravian anthems arrested the sense of time’s passing. The singers and instrumentalists inhabited each resonant sonority rather than exploiting tonal music’s inherent tendency to use harmony to create forward movement. The result was a kind of temporal stasis in which the acoustic space created by the rich vertical sonorities could be savoured. As a culture fortified and enriched by a deep history of storytelling, Inuit were naturally drawn to that music in which a narrative element was prominent. This is evidenced most obviously in the popularity of narrative hymns like “Ernîk erligidlarpagit” and the tale of the orphan maiden in the song “ĸôb sennianut ingitoĸ.” These tales set to music resonated more viscerally with Inuit than did the contemplative, abstract, and awkwardly translated texts of the anthems. Narrative texts – the popular Alexander hymn “Nunamênimne akkunit / Must I go, and empty handed?” offers another example – connected Inuit to pre-contact traditions of storytelling. The Inuk-composed hymn “Ernîk erligidlarpagit” perfectly exemplified how the musical ideal of hypnotic, timeless sonorities served as a backdrop for such musical storytelling. However substantive the changes wrought by the imprint of the Inuit Voice have transformed this once colonial music into an expression of Labrador Inuit identity, it was the continuity of two centuries of association with the rituals of communal life that transformed Moravian music into a Labrador Inuit music. Having recast it in their own voices, many Labrador Inuit now recognize this music as their own, and through two hundred years of spiritual observance, communal celebration, and domestic familiarity, it has grown to become a symbol of the people. Inuit identity is expressed and recognized in the associational meaning of this music. It is through this associational meaning that sentiment and emotion are unleashed. This relationship is perhaps most obvious in the case of music at funerals, which departs from orthodox Moravian traditions to embrace the redemptive, revivalist sentiments expressed in Sankey hymnody. It is equally obvious in the profound attachment to the three most popular Christmas carols: “Sorutsit / O Come little children,” “Napartole / O Christmas tree,” and “Unnuak opinak / Silent night.” These universally loved songs are meaningful when sung in Inuktitut, but they are rarely sung in English or German, even by those Labradorimiut who no longer speak Inuktitut. The associations are more subtly manifest, but no less powerful, in the key pieces of liturgical music for the choirs. Gregor’s Hosiana announced Christ’s triumphal

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entry into Jerusalem at the beginning of Passion Week. It does so in the Palm Sunday services in Labrador, but equally Hosiana welcomed families back to the winter settlements of Nain, Hopedale, Hebron, and Okak after a summer and fall away at hunting and fishing camps. Conceived in the Moravian liturgy as a joyful salutation on the cusp of the birth of the Christian community, it functions equally in Labrador as hearty greeting to the reconstituted community. The fervent congregational singing of hymns, from Zinzendorf ’s “Sivorlilaurit” / “Jesus lead on” to Dora Rappard’s “Iniksalik” / “Yet there is room,” comprises a chorus of voices in musical harmony and communal unison. Natanael Illiniartitsijok’s quintessentially Inuit anthem, Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga, is more than a compendium of elements of musical style that resonate with numerous pre-contact Inuit traditions; it has also come to symbolize the literal and figurative entry of Labrador Inuit into the Christian church. The brass band’s roles in blasting in the New Year at the Watchnight service or in summoning the resurrected community of ancestors in the cemetery at dawn on Easter Sunday are emblems of the gathering of communities – past, present, and future. The much anticipated performance of the elaborate aria and chorus Pingortitat tamaita (Allmächtiger Schauer; Thut auf die Pforten) at the 10 a.m. service on Easter Sunday positioned the tenor soloist of the day as the clarion voice of the community. The meanings these works carry for those who sing and play them, as well as to those who hear them, are connected to a Christian faith they have shared for two centuries and to spiritual, social, and familial contexts that have defined their communities for just as long. They are a direct link to a past, which has become more and more obscure as late twentieth and twentyfirst century realities from outside have increasingly redefined Inuit lives. That this music bears a strong imprint of what constitutes an Inuit conception of beauty in musical expressive forms is almost secondary. Whatever the origins of this music, its practice became, over time, an intrinsically Inuit form of expression. And that process of transformation was grafted by generations of Inuit organists, choirmasters, musicians, and singers – the application of an Inuit imagination to the music of Western Europe. Parts of this practice echo more traditional Inuit forms of expression, the drum and pre-contact singing. Parts of it reflect the imposition of Inuit conceptions of beauty on music that was foreign to them but also alluring. But there is no question that in the eyes, ears, and hearts of many Labrador Inuit, this music is their own inherent expression. Beni Ittulak is the lead soprano in the Nain choir today and the great-great-granddaughter of Jeremias Sillitt, the Okak organist and bandmaster at the turn of the twentieth century. For Beni, this music is as deeply associated as her language with her identity as an Inuk:

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It’s kind of heavy on my shoulders sometimes, because I’ve only been in the choir, like seven or eight years. People like Aunt Mary, they’ve been in the choir over fifty, like they knows every song by heart and sometimes it’s kind of nerve-wracking thinking am I going to mess this up for her? But I tries my best. Sometime I dreams about the songs, sometimes they’re nightmares; sometimes they’re good dreams. But I tries my best to do it, ‘cuz I remember my grandmother singing them and my mother singing them so, I just want to make them proud. If I don’t teach my children, then who will? Nobody will and then our traditions will die out.64

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Glossary of Musical Terms A-metric

See metre.

Anthem

An extended sacred choral composition, usually scored for soprano, alto, tenor, and bass parts (satb) with instrumental accompaniment. Anthems are generally sung in church by choirs rather than the congregation.

Aria

A composition for solo voice with instrumental accompaniment, often to a poetic or reflective text. The melodic style is florid, containing melismatic writing that often makes technical and expressive demands on the singer. Arias are typically found in operas and oratorios. They also may be stand-alone compositions and can have secular or sacred texts.

Canon

A single melody that is sung by several voices independently, each entering after the other until they create a multi-voiced texture. Also known as “rounds” or “catches,” canons create a fairly intricate composition from a simple tune. Familiar examples include “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” and “Frère Jacques.”

Cantata

A multi-movement work for solo voices and chorus with instrumental accompaniment. The texts of the movements usually tell a story or deal with a single theme across the whole work. Individual movements may be recitatives, arias, or choruses (anthems). A mini-oratorio.

Chorale

A style of hymn, originating in Germany during the Reformation, that became the musical mainstay of Protestant worship. Chorales are usually written for four voice parts (satb), which may be sung congregationally or by a choir. Hymn texts are generally set syllabically (i.e., with one note or chord to each syllable of text) and have simple rhythms alternating between short and long values.

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Chorale prelude A composition, typically for organ, that embellishes a pre-existing chorale melody with sometimes elaborate instrumental figuration. Coda

The closing section of an instrumental or choral work that announces the imminent end of the composition or movement.

Co-metric

See metre.

Contrafactum (pl. contrafacta) A pre-existing choral or solo vocal work to which a new text has been attached. Many Moravian anthems and arias were made by replacing the text of a pre-existing secular work with a sacred text. Counterpoint

(adj. contrapuntal) Counterpoint is one of several terms that describe how the elements of a musical texture fit together simultaneously. In a contrapuntal texture, multiple voices are heard independently, a texture built with two or more simultaneous melodies. In counterpoint the ear is drawn to the linear or horizontal dimension of music. Counterpoint, also known as polyphony, may be imitative, with each voice having the same or similar melodic material, or nonimitative, with the voices creating a complex texture with different melodic materials.

Homophony

(adj., homophonic) A musical texture in which individual voices are not foregrounded; rather, the texture is heard as a harmonic block; the ear is not drawn to individual voices but to the vertical texture as a whole. A texture in contradistinction to polyphony or counterpoint.

Melisma

(adj., melismatic) A melody that is highly decorated or florid, with many notes per syllable, often showy or virtuosic. The opposite of melismatic melody writing is syllabic.

Melodie

(Ger., abbrev. Mel.) The soprano line of a chorale. Moravian and other German Protestant hymn books identify the tune to which a hymn text is to be sung by its Mel. number. Not to be confused with “melody,” the generic term referring to the tune or horizontal dimension of music.

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Metre

(adj., metric; alt. sp., meter) The system of temporal organization in Western music defined by a recurrent pattern of strong and weak beats. Metres are most frequently duple (strong/weak) or triple (strong/weak/weak) or some variation/multiple of either. Once established the metre creates a predictable framework for structuring the organization of musical time against which the surface rhythm is heard. Metre is the temporal skeleton of most Western music. When music is “co-metric” the rhythms line up coherently with the metre; when music is “a-metric” it proceeds outside of or in opposition to a metre.

Metric hymn

A hymn (i.e., chorale or Melodie) that employs a consistent pattern of syllables per line across all strophes. For example, chorales in common metre (cm) have four lines per strophe, alternating lengths of 8 and 6 syllables, and are identified with the rubric 8.6.8.6.

Modes

(adj., modal) Systems of pitch organization that were in greater use prior to the eighteenth century. Major and minor are modes (see tonality), but there were many more patterns for selecting and organizing pitches that produced different melodic and harmonic colours. These were identified by names borrowed from classical Greek music theory (e.g., Dorian, Phrygian, Lydian, Mixolydian), and they characterize the tonal organization of a number of the early chorales used in the Moravian and other Protestant churches.

Obligato Counter-intuitively, obligato in music means discretionary. An instrumental part indicated as obligato is optional. Octave

An octave is a pitch that sounds similar to another but higher or lower. Pitches an octave apart share the same letter name (e.g., c, a, g) and are acoustically related by simple ratios. An octave higher than an “A” that vibrates at sound-wave frequency of 440 hertz (cycle per second) is the “A” that vibrates at the rate of 880 hertz.

Polyphony

(adj. polyphonic). See Counterpoint.

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Recitative

A piece usually for solo voice with reduced instrumental accompaniment, often to a narrative text. The melodic style is syllabic, often employing long series of repeated notes. The rhythm is declamatory, imitating speech. Recitatives frequently precede the more florid arias in operas and oratorios. Textually they advance the plot or set up the context for the more reflective text of the aria.

Rhythm

Rhythm refers to the pattern of durations that define a melody or harmony, that is, the lengths of individual melody notes or harmonies. In most Western music, rhythm is heard in relation to the underlying metre. In Western music notation, durations are indicated by proportional note value names. In this system a “whole” note typically lasts for four beats; a half-note: two; a quarter-note: one; and an eighth-note: one half beat. Fractional values may be further indicated by the addition of a dot, signifying the addition of another 50 per cent of the note’s value (e.g., a dotted quarternote equals 1.5 beats).

Strophe

(adj., strophic) A strophe is a complete textual unit in a hymn. Strophes are typically consistent in length within a single hymn, e.g., four verses (lines) to a stophe.

Timbre

(adj., timbral) Also known as tone quality, timbre is the characteristic sound of a voice or instrument. It is what makes a violin sound different from a clarinet or what makes one tenor voice sound different from another.

Tonality

(adj. tonal) The system of pitch organization in Western music in common use from the seventeenth to the twentieth centuries. In tonal music seven of the twelve possible pitches are selected and organized such that one exerts a kind of gravitational pull on the others, becoming the goal of melodic and harmonic movement. This pitch is called the tonic. If a composition is said to be in the key of C Major, it means that C is the tonic. The piece will likely begin and end on the chord of C and the other pitches will move away from or toward it. The qualifiers “major” and “minor” further

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Gl o s s a ry of M usic a l T e r m s

refine the selection and behaviour of pitches that will be in the key, generally giving it a brighter (major) or darker (minor) quality. Transposition

Transposition refers to performance or the rewriting of a composition in a different tonality or key. Transposition of an anthem or hymn to a lower key, for example, might be done to make it easier to sing.

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Tables and Figures Abbreviations asc

Archives and Special Collections, qeii Library, Memorial University of Newfoundland and Labrador, St John’s

cns

Centre for Newfoundland Studies, qeii Library, Memorial University of Newfoundland and Labrador, St John’s

mcnl Moravian Church of Newfoundland and Labrador, Hopedale tda

Them Days Archive, Happy Valley

uah

Unitätsarchiv der Evangelischen Brüder-Unität Herrnhut

Tables 2.1 Thematic organization of 1780 Labrador hymn manuscript.  64 2.2 Hymn rubrics well-represented in the 1809 Tuksiarutsit.  75 2.3 Hymn categories over- and under-represented in Labrador Inuktitut hymnals.  87 2.4 Comparison of number of published hymns by mission field.  88 3.1 Anthems in Labrador that predate 1821.  136 4.1 Distribution of most frequently occurring hymn tune parts in the J.R. Andersen Brass Band Manuscript Collection.  199 7.1 Anthems sung during Holy Week in Hebron, 1859/1890/1959.  307

Figures 1.1

Frontispiece: Nain choir, 1888. Photo by Hermann Jannasch. UAH/ASC. Bishop L.T. Reichel, map of Labrador noting the location of the Moravian mission stations, 1871. uah/asc.  4 1.2 Anonymous, Inuit frame drum, twentieth century. Courtesy of McCord Museum, me987.163.1.  8

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1.3 Maria Spilsbury, A Moravian Missionary conversing with the Eskimos at Nain, Labrador, ca. 1819. Watercolour over pencil and black ink, based on Spilsbury’s painting, ca. 1807. Library and Archives Canada.  11 1.4 Portrait of Count Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf as “teacher to the people of all nations,” by Johann Valentine Haidt, ca. 1747. uah.  25 1.5 Map of the coastline of Labrador titled “Nova Britania hive Labrador navigatum a Fratribus, 1752,” with an inset drawing of the mission house at Hoffnungs Thal (Nisbet Harbour). uah/asc.  31 1.6 John Russell, Portrait of Mikak and her son Tutauk, 1769. © Ethnographic collection of the University of Göttingen (BiKat 26). Photo by Harry Haase.  33 1.7 Drawing by Petter Ferber, after a drawing by Jens Haven, showing a perspective view of the main mission building, the bell, Inuit houses, gardens, and a ship in the harbour at Hopedale, ca. 1787. uah/asc.  36 2.1 Detail of page 1 from a manuscript of a 1780 Labrador hymn book. uah #r.15.k.a.8.2-25.  63 2.2 Page 26 (excerpt) from Benjamin Kohlmeister’s personal copy of Tuksiarutsit, attorekset illagêktunnut Labradoremetunnut, 1809. Courtesy of the British Library, digitized by the Google Books project.  81 2.3 Bishop C.A. Martin’s Gesangbücher Archiv. uah 015315.  86 2.4 “Okpertut sorsuktut sâlaĸarningat” (“Hold the Fort”) as published in the addendum to Imgerutit Attoræksat Illagêktunut Labradoremêtunut, 1879. https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=nyp.33433098250289& view=1up&seq=418.  91 2.5 Cover of Tuksiagalautsit 1905 initat. Courtesy of cns.  97 2.6 Manuscript score of “Iniksalik,” 1963, hand-copied by Siegfried Hettasch. Courtesy of the Agvituk Historical Society, Hopedale, and the mcnl.  101 2.7 Gravestone of Julius C. Lane, Hebron. Photo by Ron Fougere; by permission of descendants of the late Julius C. Lane.  103 2.8 Harry Webb’s boat with Nain Brass Band in tow going out to meet the Harmony, ca. 1910. tda, Moravian Church Collection.  104 3.1 Bass part to Peter Mortimer, Gûdivut kotsingnermetok, ca. 1817. Courtesy of the Hopedale Moravian Church and the mcnl.  112 3.2 Hebron Anthem Register, late nineteenth century, 5. Courtesy of the Makkovik Moravian Church and the mcnl.  113

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3.3 Samuel Bellin, portrait of Christian Ignatius La Trobe after Thomas Barber mezzotint, ca. 1875–94. Courtesy of the National Portrait Gallery, London.  119 3.4 Detail of Jonathan Mentzel’s floor plan for Hebron mission building showing choir platforms in chapel, 1831. uah/asc.  134 3.5 Hebron men’s choir on platform, ca. 1958. Photo by Kate Hettasch. Courtesy of the Hettasch Family/asc.  134 3.6 Short score for Johann Gottfried Gebhard, Nâlekab saimarsaininget, ca. 1814. Courtesy of the Makkovik Moravian Church and the mcnl.  137 3.7 Short score for Johann Gottfried Gebhard, Nâlekab saimarsaininget, n.d. Courtesy of the Makkovik Moravian Church and the mcnl.  137 3.8 C.I. La Trobe signatures: a) Letter to Nain missionaries, 22 April 1825, mab; b) Manuscript for Nâlegaĸ saimasaijoĸ, 1823, courtesy of the Hopedale Moravian Church and the mcnl.  141 3.9 Folder cover to John Gambold, Gûde nertortaule, from Jonathan Mentzel score collection. Courtesy of the Makkovik Moravian Church and the mcnl.  147 3.10 Ground plan of Hebron in 1861, showing the location of organist Isaac’s house, after a drawing by S. Bindschedler. uah/asc.  154 3.11 First Hopedale pipe organ, ca. 1860. Manufacturer unknown, but dating from mid-nineteenth-century Germany. Photo by Ryan Winters.  159 3.12 Lithograph of Hebron drawn by Moravian Bishop L.T. Reichel, published by Leopold Kraatz, Berlin, 1861. uah/asc.  161 3.13 1859 Hebron Holy Week service order detail: Palm Sunday Eve to Good Friday. Courtesy of the Makkovik Moravian Church and the mcnl.  163 3.14 Gustav Tuglavina’s catalogue of anthems and service orders for Hebron, ca. 1950, 3. Courtesy of Sophie Tuglavina.  163 4.1 Nain Brass Band on church roof, 1923. Photo by Paul Hettasch. uah/asc.  168 4.2 Nain Brass Band on church roof, 1966. Photo by John Penney, courtesy of the photographer.  169 4.3 Mission house, church, and store at Zoar, 1894. Courtesy of the Hettasch Family/asc.  183

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4.4 Hopedale Brass Band, 1893. Photo by Eliot Curwen. Courtesy of The Rooms Provincial Archives, iga Photo Collection/Fonds Elliott Curwen and the International Grenfell Association.  188 4.5 Nain Brass Band, ca. 1905. tda, Dorothy Smith Collection.  190 4.6 Nain Brass Band, ca. 1905. mab.  191 4.7 Nain Brass Band, 1910. Photo by Geoffrey Gathorne-Hardy, in Prichard and Gathorne-Hardy, Through Trackless Labrador (London: William Heinemann, 1911), 134.  192 4.8 Nain Brass Band on Roof, c. 1908. tda, Alice Perrault Collection.  193 4.9 Okak Brass Band on beach, ca. 1908. Photo by Samuel King Hutton. mab, Edgar Snyder Collection.  195 4.10 Hebron Brass Band, undated. Photographer unknown. mab.  196 4.11 Excerpt from Samuel Terriak’s “Primo” Tune Book 1960, 9, containing trumpet parts for melodies 83b[f] and 95. Courtesy of the Agvituk Historical Society, Hopedale, and the mcnl.  198 4.12 Nain Brass Band, ca. 1923. Photo by Paul Hettasch. uah/asc.  202 4.13 The Nain Brass Band, 1985. Photo by Brian Williams. Courtesy of the Oĸâlaĸatiget Society and Fran Williams.  206 4.14 Brass Band at Nain vigil, 20 March 2021. Photo by Jenny Oliver. Courtesy of Jenny Oliver and Nain Cares.  226 5.1 Photograph of interior of chapel at Uviluktôk, 1902. uah/asc.  235 5.2 Ambrose Assa with family, n.d. cns, Fredrick Rowe fonds.  237 5.3 Natanael and Friedericke Illiniartitsijok with their two daughters, ca. 1900. uah/asc.  245 5.4 Seminary class in 1910 with Natanael Illiniartitsijok and Jeremias Sillitt. Courtesy of Hettasch Family/asc.  250 5.5 Jeremias Sillitt at the organ in Okak, ca. 1911. Photo by S.K. Hutton. As published in mm29, nr. 11, 84. mab.  256 5.6 Jeremias Sillitt with bombardon, ca. 1908. Photo by S.K. Hutton. uah/asc.  257 5.7 Gustav and Christina Sillitt, 1941. Photo by Kate Hettasch. tda.  259 5.8 Nain Moravian choir at the time of St John’s concert, 1967. Courtesy of Sen. William Rompkey.  263 5.9 Hebron in 1959. Photo by E.S. Burch. Courtesy of the Hettasch Family/asc.  264 5.10 Levi Nochasak at Hebron organ, ca. 1958. Photo by Siegfried Hettasch. Courtesy of the Hettasch Family/asc.  265

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5.11 Levi Nochasak copy book, n.d. Courtesy of the Makkovik Moravian Church and the mcnl.  265 6.1 Mel. 459 from Gregor’s Choral-Buch, 1784, 232.  280 6.2 Natanael Illiniartitsijok, Ahâĸ! Ahâĸ! Gudipta Iglunga, organ ms. Courtesy of the Nain Moravian Church and the mcnl.  282–3 6.3 “ĸôb sennianut ingitoĸ” from Imgerutsit nôtiggit 100.  288 6.4 “UebungsStuecke fuer 2 Violinen,” ca. 1880–85. Courtesy of the Makkovik Moravian Church and the mcnl.  290 7.1 Harmonium on the wharf in Nain, ca. 1914. Courtesy of the Rooms Provincial Archives.  302 7.2 Mel. 459 “Mach hoch die Thür, die Thor’ macht weit” from Müller, Choralbuch der evangelischen Brüdergemeine (Gnadau: Verlag der Unitätsbuchhandling, 1893), 106.  314 7.3 Natanael Illiniartitsijok, Ahâĸ Ahâĸ Gûdibta iglunga, tenor part, mm. 1–33. Courtesy of the Nain Moravian Church and the mcnl.  316 7.4 “Ernîk erligidlarpagit,” organ part written in the hand of Levi Nochasak. Courtesy of the Makkovik Moravian Church and the mcnl.  321 7.5 John Gambold, Upkuaksuit angmasigik, violin I, mm. 74–94. Extracted from part sets in the Nain Moravian Church collection. Courtesy of the Nain Moravian Church and the mcnl.  330–1 7.6 John Gambold, Upkuaksuit angmasigik, two versions of organ part, mm. 110–22. Extracted from part sets in the Hopedale Moravian Church collections. Courtesy of the Hopedale Moravian Church and the mcnl.  332–3 7.7 Makkovik Inuit Choir, ca. 1960. Photo by Siegfried Hettasch. Courtesy of the Hettasch Family/asc.  334 7.8 Karrie Obed, 2014. Photo by Tom Gordon.  337

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Notes Preface 1 Karrie Obed, interview by author, Nain, Labrador, 6 December 2010. 2 Celebrated on the Feast of the Epiphany (6 January), Nalujuk’s Night involves the arrival of strangers dressed wildly as spirits or beasts. They wander through the village searching for children from whom they demand a song be sung. If the song satisfies the Nalujuk, the child gets a treat – if not, a beating. 3 Tittulautet Nunatsiavuttini was a community initiative administered between 2013 and 2016 with support from the Nunatsiavut government’s Department of Language, Culture and Tourism and funding from the International Grenfell Association. Leaders in each of Nain, Hopedale, and Makkovik worked with the instructional team of Mark Turner, Terry Howlett, and Stephen Ivany to organize annual workshops and develop an online community. 4 Nainip Tittulautingit | Nain Brass Band. 5 Gordon, Ahâĸ! Ahâĸ!; Gordon, Imgiguset | Trumpet Hymns; Gordon, Pillorikput Inuit. 6 The full title (with occasional variations) is Periodical accounts relating to the missions of the Church of the United Brethren established among the heathen (London: Brethren’s Society for the Furtherance of the Gospel among the Heathen, 1790– 1889). During its first hundred years, thirty-four volumes were published, containing 365 numbers. With its second century, a new numbering was commenced along with a title change: Periodical accounts relating to the foreign missions of the Church of the United Brethren, Second century. Retitled Viewpoint from Distant Lands, 1962–70. (London: Brethren’s Society for the Furtherance of the Gospel among the Heathen, 1890–1970). Volumes 1 to 12 were issued between 1890–1927; from 1928 volume numbers were dispensed with, listing issues only by number. The second century’s run contained 178 numbers in all. In all references in the notes the two series of the Periodical Accounts will be abbreviated respectively as pa and pa/ns. 7 Nachrichten aus der Brüder-Gemeine (Gnadau: Christoph Ernst Senft/Verlag der Unitäts-Buchhandlung, 1819–94). Abbreviated nbg. 8 Moravian Missions. (London: Moravian Mission Agency, 1903–56). 9 Labrador Moravian – Moraviamiut Labradorime (Makkovik, Labrador: Moravian Church, 1972–87). 10 The Moravians were avid photographers and considered photo documentation to be an obligation of the missions. Courses in photography were mandated for missionaries in the last decades of the nineteenth century. See Rollmann, “The Beginnings of Moravian Mission Photography in Labrador,” for more information. A significant representation of Moravian photography from Labrador is accessible via https://collections.mun.ca/digital/collection/moravian.

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11 Them Days: Stories of Early Labrador (Happy Valley-Goose Bay, 1975–). 45 vols. 12 See, for example, Younging, Elements of Indigenous Style.

Acknowledgments 1 Gordon, “Found in Translation”; Gordon, “Natanael Illiniartitsijok.”

Chapter One 1 Nunatsiavut (“Our Beautiful Land”) refers to the ancestral homeland of Labrador Inuit. Hugging the Atlantic coast of Labrador, Nunatsiavut extends from Rigolet in the south to Killinek in the north. After four decades of negotiations between the Labrador Inuit Association and the governments of Canada and Newfoundland and Labrador, the Indigenous Title of the Nunatsiavummiut was formally recognized on 1 December 2006. 2 Rollmann, “Johann Christian Erhardt,” 53-68. 3 Tuck, “Maritime Archaic Tradition.” 4 Pastore, “Paleo-Eskimo Peoples.” 5 Newfoundland and Labrador Heritage, “Pre-Contact Innu Land Use.” 6 Tanner, “Innu History.” 7 Rankin, “An Archaeological View,” 17–26. 8 George Cartwright (1739/40–1819) was a British army officer who operated trading posts on the Labrador coast between Cape Charles and Sandwich Bay from 1770 to 1786. In 1772 he brought five Labrador Inuit to England with the dual purpose of showing them off to the British public and impressing his captives with Georgian splendour. On their return voyage all but one Inuk died of smallpox; the lone survivor, Caubvick, introduced the disease to her home population with devastating results. Cartwright’s three volumes of journals from his time in Labrador, all self-published (Cartwright, A Journal of Transactions), offer insight into conditions in Labrador during the late eighteenth century, albeit from a singular perspective. 9 Rankin, “An Archaeological View,” 4–5. 10 The most comprehensive examination of the contexts for Labrador Inuit art is found in Igloliorte, “Nunatsiavut Art History.” See also Thomson and Thomson, “Prehistoric Eskimo Art in Labrador,” 12–18; and Swinton, Sculpture of the Inuit. For pre-contact stories, see Rink, Tales and Traditions; and Hawkes, The Labrador Eskimo. Both contain some stories from Labrador. Rink relied on Moravian informants, notably missionaries Carl Gottfried Albrecht and Friedrich Erdmann, for traditional stories drawn from Labrador. Some of these are stories about conflict between Tunnit (Dorset) and Thule-culture Inuit. Although Rink’s sources for the

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Labrador stories were second-hand and date from the mid-nineteenth century, some can be traced to the 1770s. 11 Whitridge, “The Sound of Contact,” 17–42. 12 Ibid, 20–1. For a good example of the use of the drum in a shamanistic séance in the 1770s, see Rollmann, “Inuit Shamanism,” 131–8. 13 Lutz, Musical Traditions, 13. 14 Ibid., 21. 15 Ibid., 21–2. 16 pl. Qariyit. English: “Kashim.” See Taylor, “The Labrador Inuit Kashim.” 17 Ibid., 51. 18 Ctd in ibid., 54. 19 In Tuksiarutsit attorekset illagêktunnut Labradoremetunnut, the first printed edition of the Labrador Inuktitut hymnal (1809), this is #322, “Kilangmullo, nunamullo,” a translation of “Herr Zebaot, Du wahrer Gott,” sung to Mel. 206. 20 Haven, extract from supplementary diary. A slightly different account of this meeting is given in Taylor, “In the Wake of the Hope,” 87–103. 21 pa 28, no. 291 (June 1871), 7. 22 There are two sources for this account: the original entry from the Nain mission station diary in German and an early Moravian translation into English, held in Muswell Hill, London. lac, Ottawa, Moravian Missions Labrador (Muswell Hill, London), cns, microfilm 512, reel 11, fol. 15r-16r (German original) and 48v-49r (early Moravian English translation). 23 The early Moravian English translation renders this as “a Loud shrill voice which made the house tremble.” 24 The early Moravian English translation renders this as “this we immagined [sic] she caused by striking a stick against a Seal skin tightly expanded on a Hoop & hung up for the purpose.” 25 Translated by and cited in Rollmann, “Inuit Shamanism,” 134–5. 26 Kohlmeister and Kmoch, Journal of a Voyage, 31. The missionaries’ incomprehension of Inuit music was the same on both sides of the Atlantic. An 1829 letter from Br J.C. Kleinschmidt in Friedericksthal, Greenland, recounts an incident wherein a recent convert confessed to singing a Greenlandic song. Kleinschmidt’s disdain for Indigenous music is in full evidence here: “A brother confessed, that he felt great uneasiness, at having allowed himself to hum a heathenish tune, accompanying improper words. They have been accustomed from their childhood to hear these tunes; otherwise it is not to be conceived, how anyone can have pleasure in such wretched bellowings, which chiefly consist in three notes, following each other up and down. When they hear a beautiful church-tune, or anthem, and we ask them, whether they do not think it more pleasing than their heathenish songs, they always exclaim, ‘Oh, it is delightful to hear it!’” (PA 11, no. 126, [1829], 233–4) 27 Davey, The Fall of Torngak, 227–32. 28 Hutton, Among the Eskimos of Labrador, 271.

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29 Hutton, By Patience and the Word, 130–1. 30 Richling, “Ernest William Hawkes,” 476–8. Publications dating from this period include Hawkes, The “Inviting-In Feast” of the Alaskan Eskimo; and Hawkes, The Dance Festivals of the Alaskan Eskimo. 31 Letter from Hawkes to Edward Sapir, head of the Anthropological Division of the Geological Survey of Canada, dated 19 November 1913, ctd in Richling, “Ernest William Hawkes,” 477. 32 Hawkes, The Labrador Eskimo, 123. 33 Ibid., 123–4. 34 Obed, “Kanajujak,” 48–50. 35 Peacock, “Communication through Speech and Art Forms,” 13. 36 Peacock, “The Inuit of Labrador and Their Music,” 1. 37 Peacock, “Sunatuinait,” 32. 38 Peacock, “Communication through Speech and Art Forms,” 5. 39 Bourquin, Imgerutsit nôtiggit 100. 40 Peacock, “Communication through Speech and Art Forms,” 5. 41 Brown, Katatjanik Utippalianinga: The Return of Throat Singing. 42 Peacock, “The Inuit of Labrador and Their Music,” 1. 43 Hawkes’s assertion that drum songs are organized in 2/4 metre, formed by a double drum beat, is difficult to parse with the information he presents. Metre may reflect word rhythm, which in turn may define a pattern of recurrence, but most contemporary Inuit drumming is a-metric. 44 “Inuit Performing Arts,” www.indigenouspeoplesatlasofcanada.ca/article/perfor mance-arts. 45 Hawkes, The Labrador Eskimo, 124. 46 Crews, “Moravian Worship,” 30. 47 Atwood, Blood, Sex, and Death, ctd in Crews, ibid., 33. 48 The most comprehensive sources for the history of the Moravian worldwide missions are the journals published in German and English from the late eighteenth century until well into the twentieth, including the Periodical Accounts (1790–1970, pa and pa/ns); Moravian Missions (1903–37, mm), and Nachrichten aus der Brüder-Gemeine (1819–94, nbg). Important synoptic histories of the Moravian Church and missions include Hamilton and Hamilton, History of the Moravian Church; Shawe, History of the Mission of the Church; and Hutton, A History of the Moravian Missions. 49 Knouse, “The Moravians and Their Music,” 7. 50 For a consideration of the Moravian mission theology, see Schattschneider, “Moravians Approach the Inuit,” 143–51. 51 Knouse, “The Moravians and Their Music,” 16. 52 Frank and Knouse, “Hymnody of the Moravian Church,” 47. 53 Ibid., 48. 54 Knouse, “The Moravians and Their Music,” 18.

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55 Gregor, Das Gesangbuch. 56 Gregor, Choral-Buch. See the facsimile edition published in 1984. 57 La Trobe, Anthems for One, Two, or More Voices, 3. 58 The trombone choir per se – that is, an ensemble composed entirely of soprano, alto, tenor, and bass trombones – was maintained as a consistent practice in some European Moravian communities and especially in the Moravian settlements in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, and Salem, North Carolina. Elsewhere the make-up of the ensemble morphed pragmatically. Although there may have been some exclusively trombone choirs in Labrador (one is noted at the dedication of the Zoar church in 1870), most of the Labrador bands were defined by the instruments at hand. Typically, these bands were anchored in brass instruments: trumpets, trombone, euphonium, and tuba. But they could include clarinets, violins, and even a saxophone. Inuit brass bands in Labrador will be discussed fully in chapter 4. For more on the make-up of these bands, see Turner, “A Short History of the Moravian Brass Bands,” 37–62. 59 Peucker, “The Role and Development of Brass Music,” 172. 60 Crews, “Moravian Worship,” 31. 61 Hamilton and Hamilton, History of the Moravian Church, 37. For more information on Singstunde, as well as examples of their construction, see Christian Gregor’s “Treatise Concerning the Singing in the Brethren Congregation” (1784) which is discussed and reproduced in a bilingual edition in Vogt, “Christian Gregor’s ‘Treatise,’” 197–206. 62 Crews, “Moravian Worship,” 34. 63 Ibid., 36. 64 Not to be confused with musical choirs of soprano, alto, tenor, and bass (satb) voices, which were established in each congregation for the performance of anthems. 65 Knouse, “The Moravians and Their Music,” 16. 66 For a detailed consideration of Moravian archival practice generally and in the Nain mission settlement in particular, see Peucker, “Labrador Records at the Unity Archives,” 152–62. 67 For more on the global communications network of the Moravians, see Mettele, Weltbürgertum oder Gottesreich? 68 Hans Rollmann, “Johann Christian Erhardt,” 53–68. James Taylor Hutton offers a highly coloured account of Erhardt’s 1752 voyage in his History of the Church Known as the Moravian Church (1900), 180–2. 69 For further information on Mikak, see Taylor, “The Two Worlds of Mikak”; and Stopp, “The Life Story of the Inuit Woman Mikak.” 70 Whiteley, “Mikak.” 71 Ibid. Whitely is mistaken about Mikak’s attire for the portrait. She is dressed in a sealskin parka with beaded jewellery and facial tattoos, all heightening her exotic appearance for European audiences.

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Rollmann, “The Labrador Land Grants,” 104–31. Whiteley, “Mikak.” Kennedy, “Northern Labrador,” 256. pa 28, no. 291 (June 1871), 3. Kennedy, “Northern Labrador,” 267. pa/ns 1, no 4 (December 1890), 181. Ibid., 183. Evans, “Transformations of Inuit Resistance and Identity,” 87. Evans further notes that Labrador was the only one of the Moravian mission posts that engaged in trade activity. 80 Ben-Dor, Makkovik, 41. Ben-Dor continues: “This policy, however, was ultimately doomed to fail. The collapse of the indigenous subsistence economy was inevitable and irreversible.” 81 Ibid., 187. 82 Bishop Levin Theodor Reichel visited the coast in 1861; two years later trade deputy Carl Linder was commissioned to report on and reorganize the Mission trade. Insurrections spread throughout the mission stations in the 1870s, frequently in response to increasingly stringent debt limits. As the conflict over trade policy deepened, Reichel was dispatched again, in 1876. A decade later, in 1887, Benjamin La Trobe, the secretary of the sfg and editor of the English Periodical Accounts, undertook yet another a visit to investigate and “reaffirm” Mission trade policies. Evans, “Transformations of Inuit Resistance and Identity,” 140. 83 Ibid., 144–5. Evans provides a summary of the trade insurrections in the late nineteenth century on pages 146–8. 84 Rollmann, “Hopedale,” 163. The ban on trading for firearms and ammunition was abandoned in 1786, largely in response to the fact that Inuit were willing to travel to southern traders to obtain guns if the mission was unwilling to offer them. 85 The appendix to Helge Kleivan’s The Eskimos of Northeast Labrador (pp. 145–95) provides a chronology that details, among other data, a history of epidemiology and famine for the mission settlements from 1771 to 1955. See also Scheffel, “The Demographic Consequences of European Contact.” 86 Kleivan, The Eskimos of Northeast Labrador, 157. 87 pa/ns 7, no. 75 (September 1908), 126. 88 pa/ns 7, no. 76 (December 1908), 196. 89 The literature on the 1918 influenza epidemic in Labrador is extensive, including several first-hand accounts that have been published in special editions of Them Days Magazine: 14, no. 2 (January 1989); 43, no. 3 (2019); 43, no. 4 (2019). The most comprehensive study of the epidemic in Labrador is Anne Budgell’s 2018 monograph We All Expected to Die. 90 For information on the Grenfell medical missions, see Connor and Side, The Grenfell Mission; Matchim, “’Symbol of the iga’”; and Mills, “‘X’ is for X-Ray.” 91 Rollmann, “The First Moravian Schools,” 8, 10–11.

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92 An authoritative text on the Moravian day and boarding schools and on the legacy of residential schools in Labrador is Procter’s A Long Journey, which privileges the voices of residential school survivors. 93 Procter hypothesizes around this concession on discipline: “In all their attempts at schooling Inuit children, the missionaries found that they needed to refine their teaching methods to adapt to Inuit expectations about how to treat children. With the introduction of the schools, differences between Inuit and European educational approaches became more apparent … Given Inuit disapproval of strict discipline, the Moravian teachers likely did not rely on the corporal punishment methods that were so common in other schools. Instead, they had to adjust their teaching methods to attract pupils to their classes.” Ibid., 51. 94 Ibid., 146. 95 See Procter, A Long Journey, 313–79. 96 Ibid., 160-1. 97 Evans, Transformations of Inuit Resistance and Identity, 212. 98 Brice-Bennett, Reconciling with Memories, 4–5. 99 Ibid., 6–8. 100 The Hebron resettlement has been the subject of numerous comprehensive studies that have analyzed in detail how the decision was made by the various agencies involved, the complete absence of any consultation with Inuit, the bungling of the relocation effort itself, and the devastating after-effects on the displaced Hebronimiut. See in particular Brice-Bennett, Dispossessed; Evans, Transformations of Inuit Resistence and Identity; Evans, “Abandoned and Ousted”; Markham, Without Consent; and Markham, Forever in Our Hearts; as well as volume 1 of the Report of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples, Looking Forward, Looking Back. 101 Evans, Transformations of Inuit Resistance and Identity, 3. 102 Looking Forward, Looking Back, 410, http://data2.archives.ca/e/e448/e011188230-01. pdf. 103 https://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/hebron-mission-national -historic-site-of-canada; Rivet, “Hebron Mission National Historic Site of Canada.” 104 Further consideration of Inuit leadership in the face of these various colonial impositions, including the removal from Hebron, is provided in chapter 5. 105 Evans, Transformations of Inuit Resistance and Identity. 106 Ibid., 20–1. 107 Ibid., 95. 108 pa 26, no. 273 (December 1866), 98–9. 109 Evans, Transformations of Inuit Resistance and Identity, 57. 110 pa 25, no. 266 (March 1865), 310. 111 pa 26, no. 273 (December 1866), 91. 112 Evans, Transformations of Inuit Resistance and Identity, 157–8. 113 Ibid., 185.

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Chapter Two 1 Spangenberg, An Account, 82-3. 2 pa 34, no. 356 (September 1887), 147–9; pa 34, no. 357 (December 1887), 207–10. 3 Bishop Benjamin La Trobe (1847–1917) was secretary of the Society for the Furtherance of the Gospel and editor of Periodical Accounts from 1884 to 1896. In 1888 he visited the Labrador coast, and from that voyage he published With the Harmony to Labrador. In 1896 he was elected a member of the Mission Department of the Unity Elders’ Conference in Herrnhut. 4 pa 34, no. 356 (September 1887), 147. 5 PA 34, no. 357 (December 1887), 208. 6 Ibid., 209. 7 Ibid., 210. 8 Commonly known as the Passion Chorale, the text of “O Haupt, voll Blut und Wunden” / “O head so full of bruises” is attributed to the twelfth-century St Bernard of Clairvaux. The hymn was translated into German by the Lutheran evangelical minister and hymnodist Paul Gerhardt (1607–76) and was included as hymn #152 in Gregor’s 1778 Gesangbuch. The English translation was made by the Moravian composer and theologian John Gambold and has remained a mainstay of Moravian passion liturgies across the centuries and in all its missions. The iconic chorale melody (No. 151a in Gregor’s Choral-Buch) was composed by Hans Leo Hassler (1564–1612) in 1601 as “Herzlich tut mich verlangen,” and has been inextricably associated with the Passion Chorale since the mid-seventeenth century. (Source: https://hymnary.org/text/o_head_so_full_of_bruises_so_full_of_pai). 9 pa 28, no. 291 (June 1871), 8; see also Shawe, History of the Mission, 13. 10 Crantz refers repeatedly to this specific hymn as being sung often and deeply moving the Greenlanders. “The Saviour’s blood and righteousness” is a translation of Zinzendorf’s 1739 hymn “Christi Blut und Gerechtigkeit,” sung to Mel. 22a (“Nun lasst uns den Leib begraben”). It was first published as Anhang VIII (1739), to Das Gesang-Buch der Gemeine in Herrn-Huth (Daselbst: Waysen-Hause, 1735). The appendix was published separately, then incorporated into the larger hymnal in 1741. It was included as Nr. 51 in the 1759 Greenland hymn book (“Kristum Aua piganguko”) and included as N. 61 in the 1780 Labrador Inuktitut hymn book ms. (“Kristum aunga peĸĸaraĸpo”) and all subsequent published editions. Hymnologist James Mearns summarized Zinzendorf ’s religious leanings as follows: “The keynote of Zinzendorf ’s hymns, and of his religious character, was a deep and earnest personal devotion to and fellowship with the crucified Saviour” (source: https://www .hymnologyarchive.com/christi-blut-und-gerechtigkeit). In her meditation on the Moravians in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, Sarah Eyerly underscores the emblematic significance of this hymn text and its vivid evocation of salvic blood. “Strangers who attended worship in the Gemeinsaal were confronted with a prominent painted border around the ceiling that displayed the words of a hymn: ‘The Savior’s

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blood and righteousness my beauty is, my glorious dress.’ This visual, painted border was thought to be especially important for communicating with visitors, and related the basic message of Moravian Christianity succinctly in a single hymn verse” (Eyerly, Moravian Soundscapes, 131). 11 Crantz, The History of Greenland, 31. 12 Ibid., 45–6. 13 Ibid. 14 The liabilities of the missionaries’ lack of scientific understanding of linguistics are examined thoroughly in Nowak, “The ‘Eskimo language’ of Labrador,” 173–97. 15 Hymn metres reflected a widely observed convention that set a fixed number of syllables for each line of a hymn’s strophe, thus permitting each strophe of the hymn to be sung to the same music. The relatively small number of possible hymn metres meant that any hymn text that shared the same metre could be sung to any of the chorale melodies that adhered to the same pattern. For example, a large body of hymns are written with alternating lines of eight and six syllables, abbreviated as 8.6.8.6, also called Common Metre (C.M.). Other frequent patterns include Long Metre (8.8.8.8 or L.M.) and Short Metre (6.6.8.6 or S.M.). The practice of systematizing the number of syllables in a line began in the sixteenth century with vernacular translations of the Psalms. By the time Christian Gregor was called upon to standardize the Moravian hymn and chorale books, metric hymnody had become universal practice in Protestant churches. This practice has been maintained to the current day. For example, in the current 2005 Inuktitut hymn book there are fifty-three different hymn texts written in L.M., which can be sung to Melody 22 (Lyall et al., Imgerutit Attoraksat Illagektunut Labradoremetunut, x). There are also fourteen different chorale melodies and harmonizations for Melody 22 in Gregor’s Choral-buch (pp. 17–24), distinguished by letter – Mel. 22a, 22b, 22c, and so on – to which these different texts can be sung. 16 Johann Beck (1706–1777) arrived in Neu Herrnhut only a year after the mission was established in 1733. He was among the earliest of the Moravians to acquire relative fluency in the language of the Greenlanders. By 1755 he had compiled a Greenlandic dictionary and grammar and was the lead translator on much of the New Testament, as well as for the two early Greenlandic hymn books. Yet even Beck, like all the other early missionary translators, lacked a scientific understanding of linguistics. As noted by linguist Elke Nowak, “Although it is amazing how much Beck accomplished, his grammatical work is altogether of limited quality. His unfamiliarity with grammatical issues is all too obvious … Most important, he failed to recognize significant phonological and grammatical features of the language.” See Nowak, “The ‘Eskimo Language’ of Labrador,” 178. 17 Illeit Tuksiautit Tuksiutillo Errinnaglit Errinnakangitsullo Attuægekset Illægeenut, Karalit Nunænnetunnut. This was the third Moravian hymn book in Greenlandic. In 1742 Beck and Friedrich Böhnisch produced a hymnal containing twenty-six verses: fourteen translated from the Brüdergesangbuch and twelve original texts

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in Greenlandic. In 1747, Beck translated and published an additional sixteen hymns from German. The hymnals are discussed in Kjaergaard, “Genesis in the Longhouse,” 133–59. 18 Crantz, The History of Greenland, 370. 19 German Nain Diary of 1772, uah, p. 175, r.15.k.b.4a, ctd in Rollmann, “Literacy and Awakening,” 132. 20 German Nain Diary of 1775, uah, p. 483, r.15.k.b.4a, ctd in Rollmann, “Literacy and Awakening,” 133. “Sei mir tausendmal gegrüßet” and “Schreibe deine blut’ge Wunden” are respectively the first and fourth strophes of Paul Gebhardt’s 1609 hymn, known in English as “Thousand times by me be greeted.” Source: https:// hymnary.org/text/thousand_times_be_greeted_jesus. 21 Sabathy-Judd, “Winning Souls for Jesus,” 138. 22 Nowak, “The ‘Eskimo language,’” 179. 23 Twenty-six hymns have only one verse. At eleven verses, the longest hymn in the collection is the “Passion Hymn” (“Niakut innerara / O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden.”) 24 Gregor, Das Gesangbuch, 836 pages, plus indices, containing 1,750 hymns. 25 uah #h.15.k.a.No.20 8.2. 26 Writing near the end of his life, Br George Kmoch, who had spent thirty-four years in Labrador, recounted his struggles learning Inuktitut at the time of his arrival in Labrador in 1797. Among the limited resources available to him was a manuscript copy of the hymnal. He wrote: “I was very desirous to become at once acquainted with the Esquimaux language. But, at that time, we possessed only a very imperfect dictionary, a not very intelligible elementary grammar, and a hymn-book comprising 150 hymns, many of which consisted of only one verse. In addition to the difficulties arising from these very imperfect means of acquiring a correct knowledge of the language, my hardness of hearing was a great hindrance to me. The result was, – especially as there is much to do in the Labrador Mission, for which a knowledge of the language is not indispensable, – that I, for a long time, made but little progress.” pa 22, no. 238 (March 1858), 383. Sr Maria Magdalen Hasting arrived in Okak in the summer of 1800, the new wife of Br John Hasting. In her Lebenslauf, she described her early duties: “My first business, besides the usual domestic duties, was to copy the Hymn-book, which existed only in manuscript, and to teach the Esquimaux women the hymns and tunes. This gave me much pleasure, and greatly promoted my feeling at home among them, especially when I saw, that they felt an interest, and that the Lord granted His blessing.” pa 22, no. 231 (June 1856), 3. 27 See notes 8 and 10 in this chapter. 28 pa 3, no. 39 (1803), 255. 29 pa 2, no. 31 (1800), 437, 439–40. 30 Rollmann, “The First Moravian Schools in Labrador,” 8, 11. See also Rollmann, “Moravian Education in Labrador,” 227–36.

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31 Samuel Liebisch, Nain Diary, 29 May 1781, uah r.15.k.b.4a, translated by and cited in Rollmann, “The First Moravian Schools,” 9. 32 Ibid. 33 See note 26 in this chapter. 34 pa 3, no. 39 (1803), 253. 35 pa 3, no. 44 (1805), 462. 36 The “Great Awakening” refers a series of religious revivals that developed in waves in North American evangelical churches between the eighteenth and twentieth centuries. Individual Christians were awakened through a deeply personal confrontation with sin and the need for redemption. More recently the movement has been characterized as “born again.” An extended account of the Labrador “Awakening” from the perspective of the Moravian Church is found in pa 17, no. 184 (September 1844), 65–77, which draws heavily from church diaries and correspondence, and in Kölbing, Die Missionen der Evangelischen Brüder in Grœnland und Labrador. 37 pa 17, no. 184 (September 1844), 69–70. 38 Ibid., 66. 39 pa 4, no. 48 (1806), 124–5. 40 Ibid., 130. 41 pa 17, no. 184 (September 1844), 69, 77. 42 Brice-Bennett, “Two Opinions: Inuit and Moravian Missionaries in Labrador,” 108–9. For a historian’s analysis of the Awakening, see also Hiller, “The Foundation and the Early Years.” 43 Rollmann, “Literacy and Awakening.” 44 “Sorrutsit kiale sapputidlarpâsê” / “Ihr Kinder, wo seyd ihr ohnfehlbar” was included as #100 in the 1780 Labrador Inuktitut hymnal manuscript and has appeared in all subsequent editions of the Labrador hymn books as a children’s hymn. The text was written by Zinzendorf ’s son-in-law, Johannes von Watteville. This hymn is considered in detail in Rollmann, “Literacy and Awakening,” 133–5. 45 pa 4, no. 48 (1806), 107. 46 uah r.15.kb.17.c, 5. 47 pa 4, no. 52 (1807), 295. 48 Nain, 14 August 1808. “It grieves us likewise, that the Esquimaux Hymn-book has not been printed. It will indeed be a great disappointment to our Esquimaux, when they hear it; for they rejoiced much in the prospect of receiving Hymn-books by the ship. We beg you therefore, if any way practicable, to forward the printing of this work.” pa 4, no. 53 (1808), 317. 49 pa 4, no. 56 (1810), 460–1. 50 Schmidtman’s Lebenslauf, “Memoir of Brother George Schmidtman, upwards of 40 years a Missionary among the Esquimaux, on the coast of Labrador, who departed this life at Nain, on the 6th of July 1824,” was published four years after his death. Following the template of these testimonial life-histories, it chronicles his

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many crises of faith and recurrent returns through forgiveness. He also offers insight into his work with Inuit on the translation of scripture and hymn texts. pa 10, no. 121 (December 1828), 468–79. Ibid., 475. Tuksiarutsit, attorekset illagêktunnut Labradoremetunnut [Hymns & Liturgies of the Brethren’s Church in Labrador Esquimaux] (Londonneme: W.McDowallib, Nenilauktangit, 1809). The title page also includes: “Printed for the Brethren’s Society for the Furtherance of the Gospel; for the Use of the Christian Eskimaux in the Brethren’s Settlements, Nain, Okkak, and Hopedale, on the Coast of Labrador.” An original edition of Gregor’s 1784 Choral-Buch was discovered in the collection of the Nain choir in 1972, indicating that it was the likely source for chorale melodies and accompaniments from the earliest days. Sandra Gwyn, “Restoration of the Bach Tradition in Northern Labrador,” unpublished paper, Private collection. A Collection of Hymns for the use of the Protestant Church of the United Brethren, London, 1789. Reference: Williams, “The Development of the Moravian Hymnal,” 255. pa 5, no. 46 (1811), 51. Ibid., 55. pa 5 (1812), 252. pa 8 (1821), 186. Johann Traugott Martin was stationed in Greenland as of 1782. In 1798, he was transferred to Labrador, where he served until 1821. Like Br Schmidtman, Br Martin had an unusually deep knowledge of the Inuit language. pa 9, no. 102 (1823), 47–8. pa 9, no. 106 (December 1824), 218. From Okak: “January 19th was a day of joy and gladness, when we celebrated the 49th anniversary of the beginning of the Mission here at Okkak, a corner of the world the most rough and stormy, but where now the Lord our Saviour has fixed His standard. In a meeting of our Esquimaux, the new edition of the HymnBook was distributed to all that can read, and we spoke to them of the love of our Brethren and Sisters in Europe towards them, in sending them such a valuable present. We could have wished you, dear Brethren, to have been present to witness the emotion of their hearts. They were so deeply affected, that when we afterwards gave out that hymn: … ‘I will sing to my Creator,’ (Hymn-Book page 50,) their voices altered with weeping, and we could hardly proceed, till we concluded with that hymn: ‘Praise God for ever,’ (Hymnal Book, page 70), which they sung with all their hearts, and afterwards begged that we would most cordially thank the Society and all their friends and benefactors. They desired that we would assure them, that they counted themselves unworthy of such benefit, for they were too mean, and did not, as they ought, render due joy and honour to our Saviour, but they would not cease to pray, that they might be made more conformed to His mind; that they could not be thankful enough that teachers had been sent to them, to make them acquainted with their Saviour, who had died on the cross to redeem them; and that they could

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not describe the difference between their present enjoyment of His love and mercy, and their miserable state as heathen.” pa 9, no. 109 (December 1825), 376–7. 63 The copy consulted is in the Lande Collection, McGill University Libraries, Montreal, qc. A digitized copy is available at https://archive.org/details/ McGillLibrary-rbsc_tuksiarutsit_lande_esk20-20153/page/n5/mode/2up. 64 pa 9, no. 109 (December 1825), 372–3. 65 Winsor, Building on a Firm Foundation, 44. Ctd in Rollmann, “Moravians in Central Labrador,” 13. 66 pa 12, no. 133 (December 1831), 59. 67 pa 13, no. 149 (December 1835), 357. 68 pa 14, no. 161 (December 1838), 426. 69 pa 16, no. 178 (March 1843), 284. 70 pa 12, no. 137 (September 1832), 257. 71 Lyall et al., Imgerutit Attoraksat Illagektunut Labradoremetunut. 72 pa 13, no. 149 (December 1835), 366. 73 Friedrich Erdmann (1810–1873) served in Labrador from 1834 to 1872 and was widely respected for his abilities as a translator. In addition to translating several books of the Old Testament, he was responsible for a widely used Inuktitut catechism, Ajokertutsit Pijarialiksuit Tellimat. His most important contribution as a lexicographer was his two-volume Eskimoisches Wörtenbuch gesammelt von den Missionaren in Labrador. For more information, see Thom, Friedrich Erdmann. 74 pa 15, no. 169 (December 1840), 320. 75 pa 15, no. 170 (March 1841), 377. 76 Imgerutit, Attorekset Illagêktunnut Labradoremetunnut, 248 pages (including hymn texts and index of verses) plus 12 pages of front material (title page, thematic index, index of melodies). 77 pa 16, no. 174 (March 1842), 96. 78 pa 16, no. 180 (September 1843), 377. 79 pa 19, no. 202 (March 1849), 75. 80 pa 21, no. 230 (December 1855), 533. 81 pa 23, no. 242 (March 1859), 83. 82 Carl Traugott August Freitag (1807–1867) served on the Labrador coast from 1831 to 1867. His first appointment was as a trade brother in Hebron. After service there and in Okak, he was named superintendent of the Labrador mission in 1850, a position he held until his retirement in 1867. He died on the return voyage to Europe and was buried in London. Freitag’s perspectives on music in Labrador are considered in Rollmann and Gordon, “Missionary August Freitag,” 259–68. 83 pa 20, no. 218 (March 1853), 394. Writing close to a century later, S.K. Hutton summarized the continuous challenges of translating hymns into Inuktitut. “It is no easy thing to translate a hymn into Eskimo; to crowd the meaning of the line or verse into strings of harsh syllables, so that they convey the same idea in the same amount of space, that is a task for gifted linguists; and it is no small tribute to the

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early missionaries that the Eskimo Hymn Book has eight hundred hymns, all sung to the tunes that belong to the originals. Much of the poetry of our English must be lost, so great is the difficulty of fitting the words to the tune; but the sense is there. “Sivorlilaurit, / Jêsuse Igvit,” The Eskimo version of “Jesus still lead on, / Till our rest be won,” Leaves the second line to the imagination, and simply says “Do thou lead on, / Jesus,” But that is enough; and the tunes remain, beloved of the people and sung with the utmost heartiness. (Hutton, A Shepherd in the Snow, 139–40.) Imgerutit Attorekset Illagêktunnut Labradoremêtunnut (Löbau: J.A. Durold, [1856?]), 340, xii. By way of comparison, the Greenlandic hymn book in 1856 contained ”about 600 hymns” as per Br Uellner’s synopsis of available print material in Greenlandic. pa 22, no. 233 [December 1856], 117. nbg 44 (1858), 386. Translation by Hans J. Rollmann. pa 22, Nr. 237 (December 1857), 320. J.H. Theodor Bourquin was born in 1833 in Livonia to Moravian parents. He was educated in Germany, first in Kleinwelka and subsequently in Niesky, to which he would return as a teacher from 1854 to 1861. He believed in physical culture as well as in cultivating the mind and the spirit, and distinguished himself in leading school sports; he even edited a songbook for gymnasts. In 1863 he received the call to missionary service in Labrador, where his superior education and a shared appointment in Hebron with Friedrich Erdmann, the compiler of the first Labrador Inuktitut dictionary, prepared him for a scholarly approach to the linguistics of the Labrador dialect. In 1867 he succeeded Carl August Freitag as superintendent of the Labrador missions. In this position he spent the remainder of his Labrador service in Nain, except for a two–year furlough (1871–73), during which he translated, edited, and published Imgerutsit nôtiggit 100, a collection of 101 children’s songs and canons translated from German into Inuktitut. Bourquin was responsible for translations of numerous spiritual and didactic texts as well as a complete retranslation of the New Testament. But his most significant linguistic accomplishment was his 1891 Labrador Inuktitut grammar, Grammatik der Eskimo-Sprache. After completing thirty-six years of missionary service in Labrador, Br Bourquin accepted the appointment as secretary to the Unity Elders’ Conference in 1890. He retired in 1907 and died seven years later in Herrnhut. For more information, see: Marcella Rollmann, “Bourquin, Johann Heinrich Theodor.” Imgerutit Attoræksat Illagêktunut Labradoremêtunut. The 1879 version of the hymn book provided the Urtext for Bishop A. Martin’s 1900 revision, which contained only a handful of new hymn texts. Only minor edits were introduced to the reissues of 1918 (under the supervision of Rev. W.W. Perrett) and 2005 (a collaboration among three Inuit editors: Hilda Lyall, Amos Onalik,

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and Sarah Townley with missionary Regula Schule). The numbering system from the 1856 edition is preserved right through to the 2005 edition. 90 La Trobe, With the Harmony to Labrador, 53. Reprinted in pa 34, no. 363 (June 1889), 492. 91 Twilingate Sun, 9 December 1880, http://collections.mun.ca/cdm/compound object/collection/mha_twill/id/8430/rec/1. 92 Letter from Theodor Bourquin to Br Reichel, dated Nain, 9 July 1878, uah r.15. kb.h.41, no. 9: 13–14. 93 The first imprint destined for Labrador to contain musical notation had been Bourquin, Imgerutsit nôtiggit 100, published seven years earlier in 1872. See chapter 7 for more information about Imgerutsit nôtiggit 100. 94 pa 29, no. 308 (September 1875), 393. 95 pa 29, no. 310 (March 1876), 519. 96 Sankey, My Life and the Story of the Gospel Hymns, 48. 97 pa 31, no. 329 (December 1880), 339. 98 pa/ns 2, no. 17 (March 1894), 245. 99 Hutton, A Shepherd in the Snow, 140–1. 100 Rompkey, Labrador Odyssey, 101. 101 Ibid. 102 Pilot, A Visit to Labrador, 9–10. 103 Essex, “A Visit to Labrador,” 40. The Paulus here referenced was Paulus Rink (1848– 1905). In his obituary, published in the Periodical Accounts, Paulus was lionized by the missionaries for his exemplary qualities. “Of the many deaths during the year that of the native helper and organist, Paul Rink, in October 1905, was particularly painful to us. He was specially gifted, mentally, among his fellows, and one who looked upon his services as organist in the church as the Lord’s service, for which he has been known at times even to forget his meals on Festival Days. Of late years particularly he had gained strength spiritually, and he loved his Saviour dearly. By his fellow-countrymen he was esteemed in his capacity of a native helper, and in the meetings which we gave him to conduct it was oftentimes observable how on special occasions he succeeded in hitting the nail on the head by what he said, and that he gave expression to thought which we were not accustomed to find in the addresses of our Eskimoes.” pa/ns 6, no. 68 (December 1906), 502. Paulus’s engagement with music was such that when Inuit were forced to adopt surnames in the last decade of the nineteenth century, he chose Rink after the composer Johann Christian Rinck (1770–1846), whose chorale tunes he particularly admired. Hans J. Rollmann, “For Them, it’s all about the Name,” The Telegram, St John’s, 18 June 2011. 104 Christian Schmitt, Vortwort to Tuksiagalautsit (Nain, 1900). In addition, translations were prepared by Br C.G. Kretschmer (all or part of ten hymns), Br Theodor Bourquin (three), Br C.A. Martin (two) and Nain’s Inuk organist and choirmaster, Natanael Ilianiartitsijok (one).

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105 The probable source for this hymn and those others translated from German is the 1875 collection of devotional hymns anthologized by Carl Heinrich and Dora Rappard, Gemeinschaftslieder. 106 amk Minutes, Nain, April 1901; mab 041273 (translation by Hans J. Rollmann). 107 amk Minutes, Nain, April 1904; mab 041290 (translation by Hans J. Rollmann). 108 Alexander and Torrey, Alexander’s Revival Hymns. 109 Sources of the new hymns contained in the 1905: Sankey (thirteen); Alexander (ten); Gemeinschaftlieder (6); other (five). 110 Browne, Where the Fishers Go, 314–15. 111 pa/ns 7, no. 76 (December 1908), 201. Elsewhere Hutton offered an extremely vivid description of the Inuit appetite for the new Sankey hymns and how they learned them before there were printed copies. S.K. Hutton, Among the Eskimos, 267–72. 112 The typeset edition of the 1905 Tuksiagalautsit sold for ten cents per copy. The typewritten 1912 editions sold for five cents. 113 Wirth and Kluge, Christfest in Hebron, 8. 114 mm 35, no. 3 (March 1937), 21. 115 Kattangutigêt Tuksiargalautsingit, 44 pp. 116 “Es ist noch Raum, mein Haus ist noch nicht voll,” Hymnary.org, https://hymnary .org/text/es_ist_noch_raum_mein_haus_ist_noch_nich. 117 Letter to all mission personnel from Rev. Siegfried Hettasch, 4 April 1963, from the collection of the Agvituk Historical Society, Hopedale. 118 Moravian Eskimo Choir, Nain, Labrador was issued in 1971 as a 33 rpm lp by Marathon Records (MS 2104). It was recorded in Nain in 1966 by cbc audio engineer Joe Goudie. Tracks from this recording have been remastered and included on the cd “Ahâĸ! Ahâĸ! Moravian Music of the Labrador Inuit” (Memorial University of Newfoundland, Back on Track Audio Publication Series, 2018). 119 Nainip Tittulautingit | Nain Brass Band (St John’s, 2016), www.facebook.com/nainbrassband. 120 Source of original text: https://hymnary.org/text/must_i_go_and_empty_handed. 121 pa/ns 7 & 8 (1908–1913), 638. 122 Patricia Kemuksigak, Truth and Reconciliation Commission Hearing, Halifax; 31 October 2011. Transcribed from cbc Radio broadcast.

Chapter Three 1 Excerpt from the letter by Christian Ignatius La Trobe to “the dear Brothers and Sisters employed at the mission of the Church of the Brethren in Nain;” dated London, 28 May 1824. mab, MissLabr 7407–08. Transcription by Thomas McCullough; translation by Tom Gordon. 2 John Gottfried Gorke (1760–1842) was a trained and accomplished musician who was forced to abandon the pursuit of a musical career early in life due to poor eye-

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sight. Gorke arrived in Greenland in 1782 in the midst of a yellow fever epidemic that would kill almost half the population of southern Greenland. He was assigned to Lichtenfels. In 1821 he became superintendent of the Greenland missions, leaving Greenland permanently four years later due to his wife’s health. Gorke was also the father of Henriette Gorke, who married John Lundberg and became a missionary herself in Labrador in 1819. 3 pa 17, no. 184 (September 1844), 49. 4 Wife of the esteemed and long-serving missionary Benjamin Kohlmeister, Anna Elizabeth Kohlmeister (1762–1838) accepted a mission posting to Labrador (and a sight-unseen betrothal to Benjamin) in 1793 and spent most of the next thirty years in active service with her husband with postings to all three Labrador stations. The Kohlmeisters retired to Herrnhut from missionary service in 1824. pa 15, no. 171 (June 1841), 401–6. 5 pa 8 (December 1821), 182–3. 6 Ibid., 183. 7 Peter Mortimer (1750–1828) was an English-born Moravian who, at the age of fifteen, was sent to Germany to complete his education at the Moravian school in Niesky. On completing theological studies at the Moravian seminary in Barby, he was appointed teacher and organist in Ebersdorf in 1774. Subsequently he held similar positions in Niesky and Neuwied am Rhein. Highly regarded as a teacher and as an “excellent, liturgical, soulful organist,” Mortimer also served the church as an editor and speechwriter. In addition to composing a number of anthems that remain in the Moravian repertoire to this day, in 1821 he published a treatise on the early church (Gregorian) modes, which he found superior to major and minor for the tonal organization of Reformation chorales. For further information, see Lier, “Mortimer, Peter,” 340–1. 8 Throughout this study I have used the watermarks on manuscript paper as a means of establishing the earliest possible date that a particular anthem might have entered the Labrador repertoire. Obviously this is not precise, although pioneering paleographer Jan Larue established the strong likelihood of music manuscripts being used within a year of the watermarked date. (Larue, “Watermarks and Musicology,” 126–8.) Scribes in Europe may have used old paper; copies will have taken time to get from Europe to Labrador, and so on. But the watermarks at least establish a “not before” date. The current location of manuscripts should not be taken as a clear indication of where they were used. Two successive fires in Nain early in the twentieth century meant that the collection had to be rebuilt with materials from other mission stations on more than one occasion. Manuscripts originally used in the church in Okak were dispersed after that station closed in 1918 (many to Nain). And the entire Hebron manuscript collection was transferred to Makkovik in 1959. Despite these vagaries, the watermarks are useful in establishing an approximate date when, whence, and, to a certain extent, how anthems entered the repertoire.

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9 pa 8 (December 1821), 183–4. 10 pa 8 (December 1822), 270. 11 pa 8 (December 1821), 184–5. 12 See chapter 1 for biographical information on Christian Gregor. 13 Hosiana Jêsus nakudlarpok / Hosiana Hosiana Nalekab attingane tikkitok Nalekab attingane / tikkimattigut illa ĸuvianarpok / Hosiana, Hosiana, Hosiana kotsekturne / Hosiana, Hosiana, Hosiana nakorijaule kotsekturne. 14 See Lenz, “How Eskimos Got Their Surnames,” 48. For a more comprehensive study, see Rollmann, “The Adoption of Christian Names and Surnames,” 145–58. 15 pa 9, no. 102 (December 1823), 43–4. 16 pa 8, (December 1821), 96. 17 Ibid., 183. 18 Excerpt from the letter by Christian Ignatius Latrobe to the “dear Brothers and Sisters employed at the mission of the Church of the Brethren in Hopedale”; dated London, 28 May 1824. mab: MissLabr 28044. Transcription by Thomas McCullough; translation by Tom Gordon. 19 During his lifetime Ignatius La Trobe variously spelled his last name as La Trobe, LaTrobe, and Latrobe. The first spelling will be maintained throughout. 20 pa 25, no. 262 (March 1864), 79–84. For a detailed genealogy, see https://www.geni .com/people/Benjamin-LaTrobe/6000000017360007269. 21 La Trobe, Letters, 30. 22 La Trobe, Letters, 34. La Trobe’s mentors here mentioned were the previously noted father of Moravian music, Christian Gregor (1723–1801); John Loretz, a member of the Unity Elders’ Conference; and organist and composer Johannes Renatus Verbeek (1748–1820). 23 Ibid., 35. 24 Ibid., 42. 25 See Mason, “Benjamin and Christian Ignatius La Trobe in the Moravian Church,” 16–27. La Trobe himself discusses his connection to the abolitionist movement in the letter addressed to his daughter Charlotte; see La Trobe, Letters, 13–25. For a comprehensive discussion of the British Moravians and the evangelical movement, including its relationship to the abolitionist cause, see Mason, The Moravian Church and the Missionary Awakening. 26 La Trobe, Letters, 51–2. 27 La Trobe’s richly observant diary from this journey, together with his very elegant watercolours of the South African landscape, was published as La Trobe, Journal of a Visit to South Africa. 28 La Trobe, Letters, vi. 29 Here John La Trobe is referring to Ignatius’s interests in mineralogy, geology, architecture, and numerous other fields that captured his attention as reflected in his correspondence with missionaries in the field and in his broad circle of acquaintances among London’s intelligentsia.

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30 Ibid., v. 31 Ibid., 35n. 32 Edward Holmes (1797–1859) was an English pianist and writer on music. Apprenticed to a bookseller, he chose to specialize in music and studied with and worked for Vincent Novello, the English choirmaster and publisher. Travels to Germany led to his first book, A Ramble among the Musicians of Germany. He quickly gained a reputation as an elegant and perceptive music critic and made regular contributions to The Atlas, The Spectator, and The Musical Times. Other publications included The Life of Mozart (1845), Life of Purcell, for Novello’s Sacred Music, and Analytical and Thematic Index of Mozart’s Piano-works (1852). In 1849 he immigrated to the United States, where he spent the last ten years of his life. For further information on Holmes as a music critic, see MacKerness, “Edward Holmes (1797–1859),” 213–27. 33 Holmes, “The Rev. Christian Ignatius Latrobe,” 250. 34 William Crotch (1775–1847) was an English composer and organist who, as a child prodigy, attracted the attention of Charles Burney and the Royal family. In 1797 he was appointed a professor of music at Oxford and in 1722 the first principal of the Royal Academy of Music. He was teacher to many of the prominent British composers of the first half of the nineteenth century. See Bergquist, “Ten Musical Portraits,” 278–9. Johann Baptist Cramer (1771–1858) and Vincent Novello (1781– 1861) were prominent musicians and music publishers in London in the first half of the nineteenth century. German-born Cramer, a protégé of Clementi, was a virtuoso pianist, renowned for his performances of the works of Haydn and Beethoven. In 1824 he co-founded a successful piano manufacturing and music publishing company. Novello was an English organist and composer who started a music publishing empire, Novello & Co. in 1811, which afforded inexpensive access to vocal and instrumental music for an amateur public. 35 Holmes, “The Rev. Christian Ignatius Latrobe,” 249. 36 Three Sonatas for the Pianoforte, composed and dedicated by permission to Mr. Haydn by C. I. Latrobe, Op. 3 (London: P. Bland, 1791). La Trobe’s friendship with Haydn is detailed in a first-person account that La Trobe sent to Vincent Novello in 1828 in which the Moravian recounts their first meeting at his home. The account is filled with the warmth of a friendship that was marked by mutual professional respect and a spiritual bond. During this first encounter La Trobe presented Haydn with a polished piece of Labradorite that the German composer had been admiring. See La Trobe, “Account of his First Introduction to Haydn,” 255–6. 37 The origin story of Selections of Sacred Music is told in the first of La Trobe’s Letters to My Children, addressed to his son Peter. In it he gives an account of a series of musical soirees with a distinguished family at Cambridge and their encouragement for him to publish these collections of sacred choral repertoire in arrangements suitable for domestic performance by skilled amateurs. The result was a six-volume publication that profoundly affected musical tastes in Britain. La Trobe, Letters, 5–12.

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38 Ibid., 36. 39 August Gottlieb Spangenberg (1704–92) was a bishop, the successor to Zinzendorf as leader of the Unitas Fratrum, and the founder of the Moravian Church in North America. A Pietist scholar, he taught theology at the University of Halle but was expelled from his position there because of his association with Zinzendorf. He went to North America to assist in the establishment of missions in Georgia and Pennsylvania, founding the community of Bethlehem there in 1740. He returned to Europe, but a decade later was once again in North America to establish the Moravian colony in North Carolina with his friend (and Ignatius La Trobe’s grandfather) Henry Antes. His An Account of the Manner […] was important in establishing the favourable opinion of the Moravian missions in England. Beyond his mission work, Spangenberg was notable for his tract Idea Fidei Fratrum (1779, published in English in 1784 as Exposition of Christian Doctrine), which became not only the widely accepted statement of beliefs for the Moravian Church but also an influential exposition of doctrine across the Protestant world. See https://www .britannica.com/biography/August-Gottlieb-Spangenberg. 40 La Trobe, Letters, 39. 41 Ibid., 40–1. This anecdote and its role in cementing La Trobe’s philosophy about organ playing resonated long beyond his lifetime. It forms the substance of an article published in Britain decades after his death. See La Trobe, “Organists and OrganPlaying,” 283–4. 42 La Trobe, Hymns. 43 Gregor, Choral-Buch. 44 La Trobe, Hymns, iv–v. The italics are La Trobe’s. La Trobe also echoes Gregor’s brief comments regarding the importance of simplicity in hymn accompaniment as stated in his 1784 “Treatise Concerning the Singing in the Brethren Congregation.” See Vogt, “Christian Gregor’s ‘Treatise,’” 208. 45 Excerpt from the letter by Christian Ignatius La Trobe to the dear Brothers and Sisters employed at the mission of the Church of the Brethren in Hopedale; dated London, 28 May 1824. mab: MissLabr 28044. Transcription by Thomas McCullough; translation by Tom Gordon. For full quote see page 118. 46 pa 9, no. 106 (March 1825), 228. 47 Zacharias Glitsch (1792–1857) was a Hessian weaver who joined the Moravian Church in 1810 at Neudietendorf, Thuringia, and came to Labrador in 1822. He later married Juliane Etzel (1798–1870), with whom he had six children, and served churches in Hopedale, Nain, Okak, and Hebron during his twenty-five-year tenure in Labrador. For his biography, see Glitsch, “Lebenslauf ”; see also pa 23, no. 243 (June 1859), 125–9. 48 pa 9, no. 106 (March 1825), 222. 49 Ibid., 235–6. 50 Ibid., 238–9. To his addendum, La Trobe added a footnote containing an anecdote to reassure his readers that there was nothing to be feared from encouraging the

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practice of music among Inuit: “It may be objected, that pride, envy, and foolish boasting may be the consequence of encouraging some Esquimaux of a musical turn thus to distinguish themselves; and what is there in human affairs, that may not become a source of mischief, if not restrained by the power and grace of God? But hitherto nothing of that kind has appeared, and the practice of harmony does not yet, and, we hope, never will, breed a spirit of discord in Labrador, as in Europe. I cannot, however, refrain from relating an anecdote told me many years ago, by a Missionary, the late Brother Michael Konigseer, who had been on an official visit in Greenland. In one of the settlements, there was a little band of performers on different musical instruments. Their services had been peculiarly good and acceptable during the Passion Week and Easter. After the last Easter holiday, the Missionary was sitting at his desk, when the Greenland brother, who had played the bass-viol, entered his room, and sat down. As he said nothing, the Missionary proceeded with his work, till, having finished the page, he inquired whether his visitor had any thing to communicate? The answer was, ‘No, nothing particular; but don’t you think I played the bass-viol very well this season?’ The Missionary replied, ‘I think you did, and I hope you are thankful that the Lord has given you that talent.’ ‘O yes,’ was the answer, ‘but do I not deserve a piece of a roll of tobacco for it?’ ‘What!’ said Brother Konigseer. ‘I am ashamed of you! Would you have pay for being so highly favoured by our Saviour, that you are enabled in a little way to serve His people? Go, and repent of your ingratitude.’ By some means, the other musicians got to hear of the demand made by the bass-player. They immediately expostulated with him on the sinfulness of such conduct, and excluded him from their little band. He was struck with sorrow, came, and confessed to the missionary with many tears, the base disposition by which he had been tempted; but it was some time before his musical brethren would again permit him to join them – (Editor.)” Friedrich Jensen Müller (1762–1848) served as a missionary in Labrador beginning in 1795 with postings to Hopedale and, later, Nain. In 1824 he succeeded Kohlmeister as Superintendent of the Labrador mission. Müller and his wife retired to the Moravian community at Christianfeld, Denmark, in 1829, where he died on 3 October 1848. Information provided by Dr Hans J. Rollmann from sources in the Moravian Registry, the Church Book of Hopedale, the Dienerblaetter in Herrnhut, and the Archive of Christiansfeld, Denmark. pa 9, no. 109 (December 1825), 372–3. The festivals referred to here are Married People’s Day, then celebrated on 26 December; and Children’s Day, then and now celebrated on 28 December. “Sowohl an diesen Chorfesten (26 December 1825: Ehechor& 28 December 1825: Kinderfest) als an Christnacht und früher am Gemeinfest wurden einige musikalische Stücke und Arien abgesungen und wir freuten uns daβ sowohl die Violinspieler als Sänger durch Fleiß die zugewandte Mühe beym Lernen derselben zur Zufriedenheit belohnten indem sowohl Gesang als Begleitung der Instrumente recht annehmlich war, und zu hoffen ist, dass durch mehrere Übung nach und nach

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etwas Ganzeres zum Vorschein kommen wird.” uah: R.15.K.b.2.c., 986, Reference and translation by Hans Rollmann. pa 10, no. 113 (December 1826), 61. Ibid., 66–7. pa 10, no. 117 (December 1827), 245. pa 10, no. 121 (December 1828), 444. Also paraphrased in Davey, The Fall of Torngak, 229. The 100-plus-year-old organ arrived with the ship in the late summer of 1828. Due to damage in transport, restoration work was undertaken by Br [Georg] Herzberg, who was able to repair and tune the instrument. It was sounded in liturgy for the first time on 7 November 1828 and, according to the Nain diary for that date, it “evoked general joy among us and our Eskimo brothers and sisters. Indeed, it was moving to hear the first organ sound here in Labrador, in that no organ has so far come to Labrador.” Nain Diary, November 1828, uah: 342–3, r.15.k.b.4d. This would be La Trobe’s own Hymns Sung in the Church of the United Brethren, published in 1795 with fully realized four-part harmonizations of the hymn tunes and La Trobe’s encouragements and advice to organists as discussed above. pa 11, no. 125 (December 1829), 162–3. Ibid., 381–2. Italics are Morhardt’s. pa 17, no. 186 (March 1845), 171. pa 20, no.218 (March 1853), 394. For a detailed consideration of the development of music literacy, see chapter 6. An organ was shipped from England to Hebron with the Harmony in 1831 while the mission was still in its temporary quarters. Jonathan Mentzel sent a letter back from Hebron in which he expressed thanks for the organ, which arrived in good condition. Summary of Letters; uah k15.kb..17.d. This subject is examined in detail in Rollmann, “Literacy and Awakening.” The text is the fourth verse of the hymn “In meines Herren Tod und Schmerz” by Zinzendorf, which appeared as hymn 175 in Das Gesangbuch, zum Gebrauch der evangelischen Brüdergemeinen (Barby, 1778). La Trobe, Anthems. The importance of this motet in the Moravian repertoire and its many contrafacta are explored in depth in Eyerly, “Mozart and the Moravians,” 161–82. Joseph & Thomas Jellyman were listed as papermakers at Downton Mill, Salisbury, Wiltshire, England, as early as 1790. Downton was a papermaking centre with active mills from 1781 until the 1860s. J & T Jellyman’s papermaking business filed for bankruptcy in April 1826, but the Jellyman family continued to operate a pasteboard mill in Downton until 1860. Joseph Jellyman was an active member of another of the dissenting churches. In addition to being found among Jane Austen’s correspondence, J & T Jellyman papers, watermark dated 1807, were used for the production of a handwritten prayer book in the collection of the Mi’kmaq commu-

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nity of Conne River, Newfoundland. The business papers of J & T Jellyman are held at the Wiltshire and Swindon Archives: https://history.wiltshire.gov.uk/archives. 72 La Trobe, Anthems, 151–3. 73 For further biographical information on Jackson, see https://rism.info/rism_a_z/ 2016/06/27/joseph-jackson-17691808.html. 74 James Simmons (1784–1868) was a master papermaker in Haslemere, Surrey. Three Gilling brothers (Robert, William, and Richard) and Robert Allford dissolved their partnership operating a papermaking mill located in Cheddar, Somerset, on 20 January 1834. Robert Gilling had been apprenticed as a papermaker in Cheddar by 1801 and was running his own paper mill there by 1816. Allford continued the operation after the dissolution, while the Gilling family members operated another paper mill, which was eventually sold to Henry Coles, a watermark name that continues to figure in music manuscripts in Labrador through the middle of the nineteenth century. See Attwood, “The bias Papermills Survey,” 11–21. 75 pa 10, no.113 (December 1826), 61. 76 pa 15, no.165 (December 1839), 116. 77 A similar circumstance exists for the several other collection catalogues that have been assembled in each congregation. The 1903 Hopedale registry numbers entries to 217, but identifies 99 part sets by title, of which two are missing from the extant collection. A similar registry for the Hebron choir collection dating from the second half of the nineteenth century also contains several lacunae. 78 Larue, “Watermarks and Musicology,” 136–7. 79 Jaeschke’s Gûd Gûd Nâlegavut (Kommt lasset uns zum Herrn fügen) and Gebhard’s Nâlegaĸ Nertoruk Jerusaleme (Preise Jerusalem den Herrn). 80 Larue, “Watermarks and Musicology,” 131. 81 The voice parts are frequently labelled Canto I, Canto II (by which was meant either tenor or a second soprano part), Alto, and Bass. Many of the anthems also had parts for two oboes (for which flutes could be substituted) and two horns. The copyist preparing these manuscripts from originals in Germany was assuring that all future performance possibilities were covered. 82 These include Johann Ludwig Freydt (1748–1807), John Gambold (1760–95), Johann Gottfried Gebhard (b.1755), Johann Christian Geisler (1729–1815), Christian Gregor (1723–1801), Christian David Jaeschke (1755–1827), Peter Mortimer (1750–1828), and Johann Heinrich Riess (1769–1831). 83 pa 10, no. 121 (December 1828), 444. 84 pa 10, no.113 (December 1826), 67. 85 pa 13, no.145 (December 1834), 166. 86 pa 16, no.174 (March 1842), 99. 87 Inuktitut speakers in Labrador currently express numbers in English, although as recently as when I first started visiting Labrador in 2003, hymn numbers in the church were called out in German.

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88 Among other sources, Rollmann, “The First Moravian Schools in Labrador,” 8–12; and Rollmann, “Moravian Education in Labrador,” 227–36. 89 pa 9, no.109 (December 1825), 373. 90 pa 12, no.133 (December 1831), 65–6. 91 Nain Diary 1835, uah: r. 15.K.b.4d,14–15. Transcription and translation by Hans J. Rollmann. 92 Nain Diary 1822, uah: r.15.k.b.4d.116–17; see also nbg 5, no. 4 (1823), 587. 93 Nain Diary 1837. uah: r.15.K.b.4d.805–6. 94 Nain Diary 1835. uah: r.15.k.b.4d.716. Transcription and translation by Hans J. Rollmann. 95 Albrecht, “Der Postkajak aus Labrador,” 6. 96 Nain Diary 1869. uah: r.15.k.b.4.f.52. 97 pa 21, no. 226 (March 1855), 300. 98 pa 24, no. 253 (December 1861), 124–5. 99 pa 14, no. 157 (December 1837), 217. 100 Rollmann and Gordon, “Missionary August Freitag,” 264. 101 Jacob was excluded from the congregation in 1846 for an “act of petty theft.” pa 18, no. 193 (December 1846), 17. 102 pa 21, no. 226 (March 1855), 301. 103 pa 24, no. 258 (March 1863), 467; pa 24, no. 259 (June 1863), 537; pa 25, no. 262 (March 1864), 92. David’s story will be considered in more detail in chapter 5. 104 nbg 1844, no. 3, 467. 105 pa 33, no. 350 (March 1886), 476. 106 pa 17, no. 186 (March 1845), 171. 107 This statement signifies that a retrenchment had taken place with the Nain choir, which under Lewis Morhardt’s instruction in the 1820s and 1830s had sung anthems in four parts. 108 pa 19, no. 207 (June 1850), 328. 109 pa 19, no. 210 (March 1851), 496. 110 pa 18, no. 198 (March 1848), 287. 111 See Hopedale station’s reports and letters from missionaries in pa 14, no. 157 (December 1837), 214; pa 14, no.161 (December 1838), 418–19; pa 21, no. 226 (March 1855), 299; and pa 21, no. 229 (December 1855), 455. 112 pa 16 no. 182 (March 1844), 525. 113 pa 20, no. 218 (March 1853), 393. 114 pa 22, no. 234 (March 1857), 168. Also ctd in Davey, The Fall of Torngak, 231. 115 Packard, The Labrador Coast, 278. Alpheus Spring Packard, Jr., ll.d. (1839–1905), was an American entomologist and paleontologist. He described more than 500 new animal species – especially butterflies and moths – and was one of the founders of The American Naturalist. 116 Willis, “Journal of Algernon Willis,” unpaginated. 117 Chimmo, “Journal,” 29.

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pa 13, no. 149 (December 1835), 359. pa 14, no. 157 (December 1837), 217. pa 17, no. 189 (December 1845), 313. pa 17, no. 190, 377. Rollmann and Gordon, “Missionary August Freitag on Music,” 264–5. pa 21, no. 203 (June 1849), 130. Okak Diary, 1847. uah, r15kb5e, unpaginated. Transcription and translation by Hans J. Rollmann. pa 14, no.153 (December 1836), 20. pa 14, no. 161 (December 1838), 425. This organ supplanted the first instrument, likely a small harmonium, which Mentzel brought with him to Hebron in 1831 (see note 66 in this chapter). pa 20, no. 218 (March 1853), 394. pa 21, no. 226 (March 1855), 301; pa 21, no. 230 (March 1856), 536. See table 7.1 for detailed comparison. Reichel, “Bericht von Bruder Levin Theodor Reichels Visitationsreise nach Labrador von Mai bis November 1861,” 25–52; pa 24, no. 255 (June 1862), 263–77. pa 24, no. 255 (June 1862), 266. Ibid., 268. Christiane Auguste Dorothea Geissler (1814–74). After the death of his first wife in 1842, Carl Gottfried Albrecht married Sr Geissler on 30 June 1843 in Nain, where she had been called to missionary service. Sr Geissler had been a teacher at Niesky from 1838–43, having previously received music training there and been a member of the choir from 1832. In her Lebenslauf she frequently expressed her great pleasure in singing hymns: “Oh, how many blessings was I granted … I felt very happy in our singing schools, for I loved the nice hymn verses and melodies very much.” The Albrechts retired to Europe in 1864, first to Niesky and then to Kleinwelka, where both died. See Archiv der Brüdergemeine Kleinwelka pa.ii r.7.14; translation by Hans J. Rollmann. PA 24, no. 255 (June 1862), 270, 271. See Rollmann, “’So that this part,’” 138–59. Ibid., 158.

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Chapter Four 1 Private communication from Evelyn Lidd, 16 March 2012, following a screening of the documentary film Till We Meet Again in Happy Valley–Goose Bay, 10 March 2012. 2 “Nun danket alle Gott,” sung to English texts “Now thank we all our God” or “Now Let us praise the Lord” among others. 3 Van den Bosch, The Origin and Development, 3. 4 Herbert, The Trombone, 229.

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5 Here a particular linguistic challenge must be noted. In German the noun “Posaune” signifies “trombone”; its plural is “Posaunen.” However, the verb posaunen means “to trumpet or broadcast,” and the same connotation can be applied figuratively to the nominative form. Thus, it is often impossible to know with certainty whether specific uses of these words – including when they have been translated for English-language Moravian publications like the Periodical Accounts – are meant to be read literally to mean trombones or generically to mean brass instruments. See Peucker, “The Role and Development of Brass Music,” 172. Peucker notes that in eighteenth-century German editions of the Bible and hymnals, the word Posaune/Posaunen is consistently taken to refer to “trombone,” while contemporary English-language texts rather exclusively use the word “trumpet” in the same contexts. Today Labrador Inuit commonly use the word “trumpet” in English to refer to any brass instrument, often qualifying it, if necessary, with “tenor” or “bass.” In current usage in Inuktitut, the borrowed word posaunen serves the same function – that is, it includes all brass instruments. 6 Ibid. 7 Ibid, 172–3. Here Peucker enumerates several Moravian hymns that exemplify each of these uses. 8 Ibid., 170. 9 Ibid. 10 Van den Bosch, The Origin and Development,” 4–7. 11 Schwab, “Stadtpfeifer,” 50. 12 Sadie, “Turmmusik,” 280. 13 Carter, “Trombone Ensembles,” 79–80. 14 Van den Bosch, The Origin and Development, 9–12. 15 Ibid., 11. 16 Ibid., 20. 17 Herbert, The Trombone, 231. 18 pa 16, no.179, 329. See also https://stjohnsource.com/2020/09/15/beyond-thegraveyard-gate-a-look-at-the-moravian-church-burial-places. 19 Minutes of the Brethren’s Society For the Furtherance of the Gospel Minutes, 3 May 1771, I:106, ctd in Hiller, The Foundation and the Early Years, 84. 20 Ibid., 202. 21 pa 17, no. 184 (September 1844), 49. Gorke was the father of Henriette Gorke, who would become a missionary herself in Labrador from 1819 to 1850 as the wife of Br John Lundberg. 22 See chapter 3, 151–2. 23 pa 15, No. 165 (December 1839), 116. 24 Ward, “Mission Life in Far Labrador,” 340–1. 25 pa 21, no. 226 (March 1855), 299–302. 26 pa, 21, no. 226 (March 1855), 299.

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27 Elsner, Geografi ubvalo nunaksûb nunangita okautigijauningit; Geographie oder Beschreibung der Länder der Erde (Stolpen: G. Winter, 1880). 28 Elsner, “Aus dem Leben,” 372. Translation by Hans J. Rollmann. 29 pa 18, no. 200 (September 1848), 379. 30 pa 20, no. 218 (March 1853), 394. 31 nbg 1853, 594. Translation by the author. 32 nbg 1855, 657–8. Translation by the author. 33 pa 22, no. 234 (March 1857), 168. 34 pa 22, no. 239 (June 1858), 441. 35 nbg 1862, 545, translation by the author; see also pa 24, no. 254 (March 1862), 204. 36 Sharp, “Narrative of the visit of Isaac Sharp to Labrador,” 285. 37 pa 24, no. 257 (December 1862), 395. 38 nbg 1862, 451. 39 nbg 1864, 126. Translation by the author. 40 pa 28, no. 298 (March 1873), 403. 41 nbg 1862, 451. 42 nbg 1868, 433–4; 435. Translation by the author. 43 nbg 1875, 201. Translation by the author. 44 nbg 1879, 568. Translation by the author. 45 pa 27, no. 282 (March 1869), 58; pa 29, no. 309 (December 1875), 424. 46 pa 28, no. 293 (December 1871), 113. See also nbg 1872, 472–3. 47 Likely either Mel. 61a or Mel. 146. 48 pa 29, no. 302 (March 1874), 57–8. See also nbg 1874, 492–5. 49 pa 29, no. 302 (March 1874), 58–9. 50 nbg 1878, 451. Translation by the author. 51 pa 31, no. 321 (December 1878), 19–22. 52 See chapter 7. 53 Bishop Benjamin La Trobe was the son of Bishop James La Trobe (1802–1897) and the grandson of James Gottlieb La Trobe (1750–1836), who was the half-brother of the Rev. Benjamin Henry Bonneval La Trobe (1728–1786), Christian Ignatius La Trobe’s father. https://www.latrobesociety.org.au/documents/LaTrobeGenealogy.pdf. 54 See chapter 2, 89–90. 55 B. La Trobe, With the Harmony, 22. The original photograph is reproduced as the frontispiece of this book. 56 Ibid., 11. 57 Rompkey, Labrador Odyssey, 103. 58 Rollmann, “The Beginnings of Moravian Mission Photography,” 154. See also Rollmann, Labrador Inuit Through Moravian Eyes. 59 Ibid. 60 Since this photograph was first published in Davey’s The Fall of Torngak (228–9), it had to have been taken prior to 1905. The same musicians captured in this image are also in a photograph of the Nain choir and musicians now held in The Rooms, Newfoundland and Labrador’s provincial archives, cat. no. va 118–155.

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61 This image was also published in black and white in Moravian Missions (mm 7, no. 1 [January 1909], 19), accompanying a transcript of the Governor’s address delivered to Nain Inuit. Wilfred Grenfell, who met up with Governor MacGregor in Nain and with whom he would travel as far north as Cape Chidley on the hospital ship, the Strathcona, had this image hand-coloured for use in Grenfell Mission slide shows (The Rooms Provincial Archives, iga Collection). 62 pa/ns 7, no. 76 (December 1908), 192. 63 This work will be considered in detail in chapter 7. 64 This epic journey is recounted in Prichard and Gathorne-Hardy, Through Trackless Labrador. 65 Hutton’s first-eye (or rather first-ear) accounts of the band are included in Among the Eskimos of Labrador. In one passage he recounts hearing Inuit musicians practising at home: “In the evenings I used to hear bandsmen practising Christmas music. Samuel, the performer on the tenor horn, lived in a little hut not ten yards from my window, and there he sat, hour after hour, making the walls rattle with the most weird and awful hootings; and just behind the cooper’s house, where Solomon, the cooper’s growing lad, was taking first lessons on the cornet, and setting all the village dogs a-howling” (S.K. Hutton, Among the Eskimos, 65). Elsewhere in the same book he gives a vivid and detailed portrait of Jeremias Sillitt as bandmaster and his trombonist sidekick, Benjamin (332–3). 66 Zoar closed in 1894 and is only scantily documented in photographs, none of which show the brass band. The largely settler station of Makkovik was opened in 1896; its first brass band was equipped with the instruments that were removed from Okak after the 1918 pandemic. The tiny settlement at Ramah never had a brass band. 67 For example, Rev. William Pilot included a photograph of “The German Band” in his 1899 A Visit to Labrador (9) made up of five Inuit musicians performing on a tuba, euphonium, tenor horn, bugle, and cello. A 1919 photograph of the Hopedale “Bläserchor” by the missionary Ernst Bohlmann includes at least one violin and a clarinet among a dozen brass instruments. uah: digital access https://collections. mun.ca/digital/collection/moravian/id/26427/rec/2. 68 Of about ten specific titles of pieces played by brass bands identified in the Periodical Accounts between 1859 and 1959, “Jêsus tessiunga” recurs six times. Only two other hymn titles are mentioned even twice. 69 mm 39, no. 3 (March 1941), 20. 70 Williamson, Nain Journal, 1959–60, qeii Archives and Special Collections, Tony Williamson Fonds, Coll 347–1.06.006. 71 Peacock, “Music of the Eskimo,” 29–30. This article was drawn from a 1967 interview with Joe Goudie for the cbc Labrador History Series. 72 Turner, “A Short History,” 42. 73 mm 39, no. 5 (May 1941), 38. 74 mm 35, no. 10 (October 1937), 73. Unfortunately, this recording has not been preserved. 75 Turner, “A Short History,” 38.

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76 Heilig ist Gott der Herr / Blessed be Jehovah, God of Israel. 77 Henry Jacques, interview by author, 23 October 2010. 78 M. Lutz, “Field Notes,” 3. 79 M. Lutz, Musical Traditions, 25. 80 Peucker, “The Role and Development of Brass Music,” 178. 81 “Brass Band Documentary.” 82 pa/ns 160 (June 1952), 40–1. 83 mm 27, no. 11 (November 1929), 82. 84 Van den Bosch, The Origin and Development, 5. 85 pa 10, no. 117 (1827), 286–7. 86 pa 21, no. 226 (March 1855), 299. 87 pa/ns 8, no. 96 (December 1913), 638. 88 pa/ns 12, no. 1 (June 1926), 10–11. 89 “Makkipok” / “Up from the Grave He Arose,” Robert Lowry. 90 Mel. 61a: “Nalegak nalengnartoĸsoaĸ” / “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty.” 91 S.K. Hutton, A Shepherd in the Snow, 121–3. 92 Ibid., 124-6. 93 M. Lutz, Musical Traditions, 21. 94 S.K. Hutton, By Eskimo Dog-sled and Kayak, 217. 95 mm 37, no. 7 (July 1939), 53. 96 Ron Lyall and Miriam (Igloliorte) Lyall, interview by the author, 3 November 2010. 97 Stedman, “Nursing in Nain,” 17. 98 mm 36, no. 12 (December 1938), 91. 99 Turner, “A Short History,” 44. 100 S.K. Hutton, Among the Eskimos, 333. 101 Rev. Dr Brigitte Schloss, interview by the author, 11 August 2010. Dr Schloss (1927– 2013) was born in Gnadau, Saxony-Anhalt, Germany, as the daughter of the Rev. Erwin Schloss, a Moravian minister of Jewish descent. Fear for the family’s lives forced them to flee Germany for Switzerland in 1935. In 1949 she spent a year in England, preparing to join the Labrador missions. From 1950 she spent thirty years on the Labrador coast, chiefly in Nain, as a teacher and spiritual adviser to the Inuit. In 1981 she relocated to St John’s and assumed responsibility for the university’s Native teacher education program, preparing Inuit teachers to return to educate the youth in their communities. After her retirement in the mid-1990s she was ordained a Moravian minister. She continued through the rest of her life to serve the Inuit population in Newfoundland and Labrador. Both as a teacher and as a minister, she was committed to the importance of music and spiritual life of her communities. 102 pa/ns 7, no. 76 (December 1908), 236. 103 Winsor, “The Kyle Was Many Things,” 53–4. This incident must have taken place at Hebron, since there was never a band at Nutak.

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104 pa/ns 11, no. 2 (1921), 90. Ironically, when the station at Okak was decommissioned because of the decimation caused by the pandemic, its collection of brass instruments was transferred to Makkovik, where they would constitute the core of that community’s stock of instruments for almost five decades. 105 pa/ns 139 (June 1931), 72. 106 “Letter to Hutton from Hettasch, January 19, 1930,” Records of the Moravian Mission in Labrador [764–1944] [Public Archives of Canada, Ottawa, 1960, 10224], cns, microfilm 511, reel 8. 107 pa/ns no. 140 (June 1932), 184. 108 Budgell, “Special Place and People,” 48. 109 The Hudson’s Bay Trading Post at Nutak served the Inuit population dispersed around Okak Bay, many of whom were descendants of Okak survivors and members of the Hebron congregation. 110 pa/ns 164 (1965), 43. 111 Williamson, “Northern Labrador Journal,” 22. 112 pa/ns no. 168 (1960), 23; pa/ns no. 169 (1961), 11. 113 Onalik, “I am from Nutak,” 24. 114 Paul Harris, interview by the author, 2 January 2011. 115 Tittulautet Nunatsiavuttini was financially supported by the Nunatsiavut Government, the Moravian Church, the International Grenfell Association, and several federal and provincial grants. Workshops and instructional resources were developed through a collaboration between Inuit musicians and community leaders and Memorial University’s School of Music, led by Dr Mark Turner, Terry Howlett, and Dr Stephen Ivany. For more information, see https://brassbandwork shop.com. 116 Karrie Obed, liner notes for Nainip Tittulautingit | Nain Brass Band, 2016. 117 Binky Andersen, “Interview” by Baily White, Labrador Morning, season 2017, episode 300304145, 8 September 2017. 118 cbc, “After a month of keen losses, Nain holds vigil to show community members they’re not alone.” cbc.ca. https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/newfoundlandlabrador/nain-deaths-community-tribute-1.5956131.

Chapter Five 1 As noted in chapter 1, there was some precedent for social organization in the form of Kagge or Kashim, structures for public assembly across the Inuit arctic. These are referenced by Rink in his 1887 study The Eskimo Tribes. See also Taylor, “The Labrador Inuit Kashim,” 51–67. 2 Children’s Festival Day was celebrated on 28 December during the Christmas season; Nulettut Uvlusiupvinga (Young Men’s Festival Day) on 25 January; Uigganet Uvlusiupvinga (Widow’s Festival Day) on 2 February; Aipparet (Married Couples

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Festival Day) on 28 February; and Uiggasuit Uvlusiupvinga (Young Women’s Festival Day) on 6 March. 3 The vitality of these festival days in the twenty-first century was described by Joan Dicker in a presentation offered at the twenty-first Biennial Inuit Studies Conference in Montreal in October 2019 in her presentation “Traditional Moravian Inuit Festival Celebrations in Nain, Nunatsiavut.” 4 Koch, “My Life in the North,” 59–60. 5 Brice-Bennett, Two Opinions, 351–8. 6 Ibid., 351–2. 7 The importance of the elected Chief Elder emerged in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, especially in Nain. Prior to this time the missionary-anointed national assistants were the primary Inuit leaders and held no hierarchical designation. I am indebted to Hans Rollmann for this clarification. 8 Rollmann, “So That in This Part,” 138–59. 9 August Gottlieb Spangenberg’s 1782 Von der Arbeit der evangelischen Brüder unter den Heiden, which appeared in English in 1788 as An Account of the Manner in which the Protestant Church of the Unitas Fratrum, or United Brethren, Preach the Gospel, and Carry on Their Missions Among the Heathen. 10 Rollmann, “So That in This Part,” 139–40. 11 pa 33, no. 350 (March 1886), 476. As noted in chapter 3, the first Inuk to perform the organ at a service was Markus in Nain in 1835. Mention of Inuit organists is sporadic across the next thirty years, with Inuit having assumed at least partial responsibility for the instrument in Okak, Hopedale, and Hebron by the 1860s. 12 When the Labrador Inuit were obliged to assume family names by the Newfoundland government in the 1890s, Ambrose took his father’s first name, Assa, as his family name. 13 Between 1869 and 1879 the Hopedale native assistant Daniel, along with Gottlob, undertook numerous evangelistic missions to Inuit living north of Hebron and in Ungava Bay. His work with the non-Christian Inuit of the far north prepared the way for the expansion of mission stations to Ramah and Killinek. For more on Daniel, see Rollmann, “Moravians in Central Labrador,” 23–4. 14 pa 30, no. 314 (1877), 145–56. 15 Ludolf was another active Inuk musician in Hopedale at the time. He had been organist at a previous service that La Trobe attended. He was the son of choir member and violin player Jacobus, the Inuk evangelist. See Rollmann, “Moravians in Central Labrador,” 24. 16 Hosiana Jêsus nakudlarpok (Gregor). 17 ĸausiut nuijotit (Julius Otto) or Seĸĸerngub nuilertub (Georg Friedrich Hellstroem). 18 This could be the anthem Nâlekamut imgerutsemik, which, though of European origin, has not yet been authoritatively identified. It does contain solo passages for alto and tenor and uses, at least in part, texts from Psalm 96. 19 La Trobe, With the Harmony to Labrador, 12–13.

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20 Rompkey, Labrador Odyssey, 137–8. 21 Ibid., 136. 22 pa/ns 4, no. 37 (March 1899), 13. In his Parks Canada study of the Hopedale mission buildings, titled “The 1782 Mission House and 1817 Parks Canada Building at Hopedale” (St John’s: 2001), Hans J. Rollmann provides a detailed account of the transfer of the old mission house to Ambrose and his fellow chapel servant, Simeon Kornelius. Since Dr Rollman’s study is unpublished, I reproduce it here, with his permission, at greater length: … a part of the old mission house [of 1782] that did not interfere with the extension had been left standing but was now also being removed … In the previous year, two Inuit, Simeon Kornelius and the organist Ambrose Assa, had lost their own houses in a fire. The Moravian [missionaries] now gave the remaining part of the old 1782 mission house to the two men on condition that they move the house from its present location but remove and leave behind the bricks from that building. Both men were pleased that they “had been rewarded so abundantly.” When they undertook the removal of the house they quickly noticed that it required much work and patience. The process of moving the house deserves telling in full in the missionary’s own language: “After the bricks had been removed from the walls, the house was cut from top to bottom into two parts, in the hope, to convey it to its [new] location without having to tear it down any more. Anyone who had legs to walk helped to pull on long ropes. With all strength, they screamed and pulled with joy. It went inch by inch. Already the house had been moved several feet from its place when it started to lean forward. Because of safety concerns also the lower floor was now cut off with axes until, gradually, the upper part sat firmly on the ground.” (Hopedale German diary, August 1897–August 1898, 8–10; uah) While the missionary observed that the remnant of the house in which Ambrose now lived was “by no means an ornament of our town,” Ambrose Assa’s attitude was quite different. He – the diarist tells us – was “now happy to call as his own a house that had been built by the first Labrador missionary Jens Haven” and for him that was “worth much because of its historical significance.” The Inuit organist seems to have had a greater appreciation of the Moravian tradition connected with the old mission house than the missionaries. 23 pa/ns 6, no 64 (December 1905), 243. 24 For further details on Uviluktôk, see Rollmann, “The Little Church on Uviluktôk.” 25 Lord Jesus Christ, We Pray Be Near, / Forgive us all our trespasses: / With joy divine our spirits cheer, / Impart to us thy pardoning grace: / As our High-priest lift up thy hand, / That hand which once the nail pierced through; / Thy mercy unto us extend, /Rich blessings upon all bestow. – Zinzendorf, 1739 (composed at sea); From Moravian Church, Liturgy and Hymns. 26 pa/ns 5, no. 56 (December 1903), 368–71.

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pa/ns 6, no.68 (December 1906), 498. pa/ns 9, no. 100 (December 1914), 188. pa/ns 9, no. 104 (December 1915), 358. pa/ns 9, no. 108 (December 1916) 537. pa/ns 6, no. 70 (June 1907), 602. Curwen’s diary entry for Sunday, 17 September 1893, includes a reference to Ambrose among a group of Inuit boarding the hospital ship “magnificent in a scarlet military uniform.” Rompkey, Labrador Odyssey, 138. Amos was among the most literate of the Hopedale Inuit in the first half of the nineteenth century. He assumed the duties of a national assistant before the designation was in use in Labrador. Later in life he engaged in a correspondence with Christian Gottlob Barth, a German writer of religious tracts and Bible stories. For additional information on Amos, see Rollmann, “So That in This Part.” On Barth’s correspondence with Amos and other Inuit, see Rollmann, “Christian Gottlob Barth,” 397-428. “Weitere Botschaft,” 10. Br Ferdinand Kruth (1804–1863) was born in Stettin, a Baltic port in present-day Poland. His parents owned a flourishing sailmaking business, and he learned the carpenter trade. After joining the Moravian Church, he entered missionary service in 1830. His initial post was to Hebron, where he assisted Br Mentzel with the construction of the mission station there. Kurth remained stationed at Hebron until 1840, when he was returned to Europe due to severe depression. In 1843 he returned to missionary service, being assigned to Lichtenau, Greenland, where he oversaw the construction of a mission house and school. In 1847 he was once again in Labrador, this time stationed at Hopedale, where his building projects included the new mission house and the second church. One of the few missionaries to work in both Labrador and Greenland, he was consulted for his knowledge of the similarities and differences between the two dialects of Inuktitut. At both of his Labrador postings, as well as in Greenland, he took an active interest in music. Br Kruth is buried in Hopedale. nbg 1865, 264–9. pa 24, no.258 (March 1863), 467. It’s not clear what hymn this might be. One possibility is “Sehr gross ist Gottes Gutigkeit” (Nr. 270 in Gregor, Gesangbuch). Likely Gregor’s Hosiana Jêsus nakudlarpok / Hosiana, gelobet sey der da kommt, which existed in a version for equal children’s voices and, by this time, had become the “go to” anthem for public gatherings. pa 24, no. 259 (June 1863), 537. pa 25, no. 262 (March 1863), 92. Diary of Zoar for 1883 (unpaginated), mab 055507, transcription and translation by Hans J. Rollmann. Evans, “Transformations of Inuit Resistence,” 159. Joan Stedman, “Nursing at Nain,” 19.

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44 Bertha Holeiter, interview by author, 3 November 2010. 45 La Trobe, With the Harmony to Labrador, 43. 46 For details on Bertha Andersen’s life see the short film in the collection “Daughters of Mikak: Celebrating Inuit Women’s Leadership in Nunatsiavut,” https://www .facebook.com/watch/?v=1751301378435603. 47 pa/ns 11, no. 2 (December 1921), 86. 48 The adoption of surnames occurred in Nain in 1896, two years after Inuit of Hopedale had acceded to the request by the Newfoundland government in order to facilitate census records. See pa/ns 3, no. 28 (December 1896), 177. See also Lenz, “How Eskimos Got Their Surnames,” 48. For a comprehensive study of Inuit Christian and surnames, see Rollmann, “The Adoption of Christian Names and Surnames.” 49 German Nain diary 1867, r.15.k.b.4f.37–8, uah; translation by Hans J. Rollmann. 50 German Nain diary 1869, r.15.k.b.4f,39, uah; translation by Hans J. Rollmann. Natanael’s father, Titus, was not only a respected chapel servant, but also the Baßspieler (bass player) who accompanied the Nain choir. His older brother, Thomas, was the schoolteacher and a musician in Zoar. See chapter 4. 51 pa 27, no. 285 (December 1869), 230. 52 pa 27, no. 286 (March 1870), 272. 53 Maggo, Remembering the Years of My Life, 67. 54 pa/ns 11, no.2 (December 1921), 86–7. 55 pa/ns 11, no. 4 (December 1922), 153. 56 pa/ns 137 (June 1929), 328. 57 pa/ns 138 (June 1930), 414. 58 Interview by the author, 29 November 2010. 59 La Trobe, With the Harmony to Labrador, 22. 60 pa 29, no. 309 (December 1875), 425. 61 pa/ns 6, no. 68 (December 1906), 502–3. 62 pa/ns 6, no.72 (December 1907), 735. 63 For information on Bishop Martin, see Rollmann, “Carl Albert Martin,” www .biographi.ca/en/bio/martin_carl_albert_16E.html. 64 pa/ns 7, no. 77 (March 1909), 249. 65 The candidates were drawn from the four predominantly Inuit communities – from Hopedale, two; Okak, three; Hebron, three; and Nain, five. 66 pa/ns 8, no. 85 (March 1911), 15. 67 Hedwig Illiniartitsijok (1893–1915) was considered to have suffered from temporary insanity at the time of the abuse. Her death was noted a few years later with an affirmation of belief in her redemption: “The good Lord, after freeing her from the fetters of sin, and from mental darkness which came over her at times, made her a disciple of His. She was only 22 years of age when she was carried off with consumption. We firmly believe she died a saved sinner.” pa/ns 9, no. 108 (December 1916), 538–9. 68 pa/ns 8, no. 88, (December 1911), 184.

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69 pa/ns 10, no. 116 (December 1918), 258–9. 70 pa/ns 137 (June 1929), 329. 71 Vital Records; Register of Deaths – Labrador District, 1938–1941, bk 13, 512. http:// ngb.chebucto.org/Vstats/death-reg-bk-13-1938-1941-lab.shtml. 72 This letter is reproduced in Perrett, “A High Day in Nain Labrador.” 73 pa/ns 6, no. 64 (Dec 1905), 215. 74 pa/ns 7, no. 76 (December 1908), 189–90. The shipping year 1907–8 had seen a very high degree of illness and mortality due to influenza along the whole of the north coast of Labrador. Though mortalities in Okak were limited in comparison with Nain, nearly everyone in the community suffered with the influenza. Budgell, We All Expected to Die, 62–3. 75 Samuel King Hutton (1877–1961) was the son of a Moravian minister. He completed medical training at Owens College (now the University of Manchester) in 1900, specializing in surgery. Hutton travelled to Labrador in 1902 to establish the hospital at the Moravian mission station at Okak, but returned the same shipping season due to an attack of appendicitis. He returned in 1903, assisted in the construction of the hospital, and opened its day and resident clinics. In 1908 he once again returned to England because of failing health but was back in Labrador in 1911, retiring permanently from the mission hospital in 1913 due to chronic health problems exacerbated by the harsh Labrador climate. Following his return to Britain he established a surgery and gynecology practice, first in Dorset and later in Kent. In 1928 he became Secretary of the sfg and editor of the publication Moravian Missions. His obituary includes a reference to his commitment to the Moravian missions and to his writings on Labrador: “Dr Hutton had great literary gifts and published a number of books on life in Labrador … The same gifts which made his writings so warm and personal made him also a most acceptable and interesting speaker, and he loved nothing better than to have some opportunity of speaking of his faith in his Lord and of the missionary work of the Moravian Church.” “S.K. Hutton, M.D., D.Obst.R.C.O.G.,” British Medical Journal (10 June 1961): 1693. 76 S.K. Hutton, An Eskimo Village, 47-8. 77 S.K. Hutton, Among the Eskimos of Labrador, 332. 78 Ibid., 210–11. 79 Ibid., 332–3. 80 Two extended reminiscences of this time have been published in the Labrador oral history periodical Them Days. The first is a memoir by one of the adult women survivors, Emelia Merkuratsuk, which recounts the early days of the epidemic and Gustav’s role (Merkuratsuk, “Spanish Influenza 1918”). The second is Gustav’s first-person narrative account (Sillett, “The Spanish Flu”). 81 David Harris, Sr, translated by Gordon Obed, Sr, interview by author, Nain, Labrador, 29 November 2010. Gustav’s son, Jerry, was named after Gustav’s father, Jeremias. 82 Rev. Dr Brigitte Schloss, interview by author, St John’s, 11 August 2010. 83 pa/ns 158 (June 1950), 49.

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84 pa/ns 159 (June 1951), 27. 85 pa/ns 150 (June 1942), 40. 86 Peacock, “Among the Eskimos,” 40-1. 87 Jerry Sillitt, “In his own words.” Italics mine. 88 Green, “Nain residents mourn.” 89 Ibid. 90 The name of the new province in 1949 was Newfoundland. It was only changed to Newfoundland and Labrador in 2001 by an amendment to the Canadian Constitution. 91 For information on the administration of justice during the Moravian period, see Rollmann, “The Murder Trial of Inuk Ephraim.” 92 Tanner, “The Aboriginal Peoples.” 93 Nochasak, “Life in Ramah.” 94 Simeon Nochasak, interview by author, Makkovik, 21 April 2011. 95 Brice-Bennett, Dispossessed, 98. This retranslation of the letter was made by Mrs Rita Andersen, clarifying issues in the original translation sent to the Newfoundland government and made by Rev. Siegfried Hettasch. 96 The aftermath of the Okak and Hebron resettlements is examined in several exhaustive studies, including Brice-Bennett, Dispossessed; Paine, The White Arctic; Ben-Dor, Makkovik; and Evans, “Abandoned and Ousted by the State.” 97 Markham, Forever in our Hearts; Memories of the Hebron Relocation, dir. Nigel Markham, written by Carol Brice-Bennett and Nigel Markham, (Nain: OKâlaKatiget Society, 2001). 98 pa 30, no. 317 (December 1877), 337.

Chapter Six 1 Pilot, A Visit to Labrador, 10. For more information on Pilot, see McCann, “William Pilot.” 2 Ward, “Mission Life,” 344. 3 Hutton, Among the Eskimos of Labrador, 332–3. 4 Hawkes, “Occasions and Events.” Reprinted from Hawkes, The Labrador Eskimo, 235. 5 Davey, The Fall of Torngak, 229–30. 6 As quoted in Rollmann, “The First Moravian Schools,” 9. 7 pa 2, no. 2 (1798), 123. 8 pa 22, no. 231 (June 1886), 3. 9 “Das kl[eine] Schul-Büchlein können sie meistens auswendig, sowie auch viele das Gesangbüchlein meist auswendig können, in der gedruckte Leidensgeschichte können verschiedene fertig lesen.” Hopedale House Conference to sfg, 1 October 1803, 030006, mab. Translation by Hans J. Rollmann. 10 pa 10, no. 117 (1826), 245.

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11 pa 11, no. 122 (December 1829), 48. 12 pa 13, no. 149 (December 1835), 357. 13 pa 16, no. 178 (March 1843), 284. 14 pa 19, No. 210 (March 1851), 496. 15 pa 22, no. 233 (December 1856), 105. 16 Packard, The Labrador Coast, 277. 17 Rev. Dr Brigitte Schloss, interview by author, St John’s, 11 August 2010. 18 On 31 March 1949 at five minutes before midnight (to avoid being construed as an April Fool’s joke), the Dominion of Newfoundland became the tenth province of Canada, bringing Labrador with it into Confederation. As part of this change of status, the new province assumed responsibility for all schools in Newfoundland and Labrador, moving toward a standardized curriculum. The language of instruction in the schools was changed from Inuktitut to English, and over the next decade and a half, many of the traditional Moravian pedagogies, including a preferential place for music in the curriculum, as well as a heavy reliance on memorization and rote learning, fell by the wayside. 19 Peacock, “The Moravian Church in Labrador,” 13. 20 Martin, “We, the Inuit,” 57. 21 pa 9, no. 106 (December 1824), 238; pa 8 (December 1821), 185. 22 pa 10, no. 121 (1826), 444. 23 Although absolute pitch can be acquired in some cases, the natural occurrence of absolute pitch in the Western populations is estimated to be about 1 in 10,000 individuals. Deutsch, “Absolute Pitch,” 142. 24 David Harris, Sr, interview by author, translated by Gordon Obed, Sr, 18 November 2010 25 Paul Harris, interview by author, 2 January 2011. 26 Figured bass was a kind of musical shorthand in common use from the seventeenth to the late eighteenth centuries that employed numbers and other symbols to imply or indicate the pitches that would fill in the harmony between the two outer voices. How those pitches were voiced, what counter-melodies were created, and what embellishments might be added were left to the performers. The practice relied on a knowledge of the conventions of the musical language and a keen musical acuity for its success. 27 Peacock, “The Moravian Church in Labrador,” 12–13. 28 Rollmann, “The First Moravian Schools.” See also Rollmann, “Moravian Education in Labrador.” 29 Jens Haven, “Nain Diary entry for April 7th, 1776,” qtd in Hiller, The Foundation and the Early Years, 202. 30 Hans J. Rollmann, communication of 28 November 2019. 31 Letter to the Unity Elders’ Conference, dated Nain, 14 September 1780. uah 15 kb.17. a282,2. Translation and identification by Hans J. Rollmann.

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No t e s t o page s 285– 9 6

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32 In a letter from Nain, Br Glitsch was described as both “indefatigueable and very successful” in instructing Inuit in music. pa 9, no. 106 (1823), 222. 33 Albrecht, “Der Postkajak aus Labrador,” 6. 34 pa 17, no. 190 (March 1846), 377. 35 pa/ns no. 146 (June 1938), 92. 36 PA 19, no. 206 (March 1850), 288. 37 pa 20, no. 215 (June 1852), 235. 38 Chimmo, “A Visit to the North-East Coast of Labrador,” 275. 39 pa 34, no. 354 (March 1887), 18. 40 pa 29, no. 301 (December 1873), 3. 41 pa 29, no. 302 (March 1874), 53. 42 pa 34, no. 357 (December 1887), 208–10. 43 There are several published primary sources and interpretations of this story. The most authoritative is Thode-Arora, “Abraham’s Diary.” 44 pa 31, no. 329 (December 1880), 348–9. 45 From Abraham’s diary in the fall of 1880: “Mr Hagenbeck has done much good to us: he gave us beds and a violin and music to me.” H. Lutz, The Diary of Abraham Ulrikab, 6. Also in a letter published in the Missionsblatt der Brüdergemeinde 12 (December 1880). 46 “Abraham is also very skilled in drawing figures. Among others he did his selfportrait in watercolors, an achievement that, clumsy as it may seem, would nonetheless satisfy higher expectations in regard of likeness. Abraham also plays the violin, writes, and reads the language of his country.” Neue Preussische Zeitung, 23 October 1880; ctd in Lutz, The Diary of Abraham Ulrikab, 36. 47 The fingering added to the manuscript reflects technical preferences of the nineteenth century, consistently avoiding use of 2nd and 4th positions in preference to remaining in 1st and 3rd positions. I am indebted to Dr Nancy Dahn for analyzing this manuscript. 48 pa 31, no. 329 (December 1880), 342. The Inuit organist who assisted Br Ritter was most likely Ambrose Assa. 49 Susan Felsberg from hvgb Church files; letter dated above. 50 Hilda Hunter Lyall, interview by author, 3 November 2010. 51 Bertha Holeiter, interview by author, 3 November 2010. 52 Julius Ikkusek, interview by author, translated by Gordon Obed, Sr, 25 November 2010. 53 Mary Dicker, interview by author, translated by Gordon Obed, Sr, 24 November 2010. 54 Peacock, “Music of the Eskimo,” 28–9. 55 Rollmann and Gordon, “Missionary August Freitag,” 264. 56 Hawkes, “Occasions and Events,” 53. 57 Onalik, “I am from Nutak,” 23.

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Chapter Seven 1 Rollmann, “Christmas Lessons at Hebron.” 2 Among these must be counted Ellen Ridgeway Perrett, Doris Peacock, Ingeborg Lenz, Ellen and Kate Hettasch; and teachers Miss Potter (in Makkovik, formerly an organist in Belfast), Regula Schule, and Rev. Dr Brigitte Schloss. 3 pa 34, no. 358 (March 1888), 228. 4 Rollmann and Gordon, “Missionary August Freitag,” 264. 5 Chimmo, “Journal,” 28–9. 6 Rompkey, Labrador Odyssey, 103. 7 pa 34, no. 362 (June 1889), 486. 8 Ibid., 435. 9 Ibid., 478. 10 Wirth and Kluge, Christfest in Hebron, 8. Translation by Hans J. Rollmann. 11 “One Hundred Inuit Songs, freely translated or reproduced from German Folk Songs.” 12 Peacock, “Music of Nain Inuit,” 58. 13 Fink, Musikalischer Hausschauss der Deutschen, 192. 14 Translation by Beatrice Watts, published in McKellar, Tutsiagalausiit Inuktitut. 15 pa 39, no. 302 (March 1874), 53. 16 Fink, Musikalischer Hausschauss der Deutschen, 32. 17 “ĸôb sennianut ingitoĸ,” verses 9 and 10. Translation from Inuktitut by Angus Andersen. 18 pa 33, no. 350 (March 1886), 475. 19 Vogt, “The Moravian Music Tradition in Germany.” 20 Ibid., 91. 21 These composers were all familiar in the Labrador repertoire and included Christian David Jaeschke (29 pieces); Johann Gottfried Gebhard (28); Christian Gregor (22); Christian Ignatius La Trobe (16); Johann Christian Geisler (13); and Johann Ludwig Freydt (10). Ibid., 94. 22 Ibid. 23 Ibid., 96. 24 Two choruses by Mendelssohn are in Labrador collections: Kaittitse Nâlekab Sangane / Kommt, lasst uns anbeten und knien and Kuvianadlaput ullapirsaumik oĸalajut / Wie lieblich sind die Boten from the oratorio St Paul. Both are held in the Nain and Hopedale collections. 25 The most likely candidates for late entry in the Labrador repertoire are C.W. Fliegel’s (1806–1894) Saimartigut, Jêsuse! / Abendfeier: Wie ist der Abend so traulich, which likely entered the Nain choir repertoire after 1888, and Georg Friedrich Hellström’s (1825–1912) Seĸĸerngub nuilertub / Morning star in darkest night, which was in the repertoire of the Hopedale choir no later than 1903. 26 pa 20, no. 218 (March 1853), 394. 27 Tim Borlase, interview by Mark David Turner, 5 October 2019.

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No t e s t o page s 30 9 –35

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28 S.K. Hutton, A Shepherd in the Snow, 126–7. 29 mm 38, no. 10 (October 1940), 77. 30 M. Lutz, Musical Traditions, 48. 31 Ibid., 25. 32 Ibid. 33 Ibid., 26–7. 34 mm 9, no. 3 (March 1911), 47. 35 David Harris, Sr, interview by author, Nain, 19 February 2013. 36 The original German text was written by Georg Weissel (1590–1635) and was set by Johann Anastasius Freylinghausen and published in his Geistreiches Gesang-Buch, den Kern alter und neuer Lieder in 1704. The most frequent English version of this hymn is titled “Lift up your heads, ye mighty gates,” a translation by Catherine Winkworth (1827–1878). The current Moravian Book of Worship includes the chorale as #272 to the text “Fling wide the door, unbar the gate.” 37 No. 172 in Müller, Choralbuch, 106. 38 This text analysis, as well as the translation of the anthem text, was provided by Gordon Obed, Sr, on 13 February 2013. 39 Hawkes, The Labrador Eskimo, 122-3. 40 Moravian Eskimo Choir, Nain Labrador. 41 La Trobe, Anthems, 1811. 42 David Harris, Sr, interview by author, Nain, nl, 18 November 2010. 43 Stravinsky, Expositions and Developments, 112. 44 Gordon, “Found in Translation.” 45 The German title is Schöpfer Erlöser, Herr Himmels. First entering the Moravian anthem repertoire on 13 November 1781, Schöpfer Erlöser was a contrafactum on Geist aller Welten, the Chorus of Priests from Act 1, Sc. 3 of Naumann’s 1780 opera Cora und Alonzo. Cora und Alonzo was a source for a great deal of Moravian music. Its moralistic tale of fidelity and redemption through death was easily translated (literally) to pietistic Christian sentiments. Pauline Fox has identified a total of twenty-seven contrafacta taken from Naumann’s opera that entered the Moravian repertoire both in Germany and in the American congregations. Fox, “Parodies for Piety.” 46 Knouse, “Biographical Sketches,” 271. For more information on Gambold, see Gayle, “Vocal and Instrumental Works of John Gambold.” 47 Tuglavina, “Kaut attutangit Tapkoa,” 3, 6. 48 The original instrumentation, as documented on a full score and parts in the collection of the Moravian Music Foundation, is for two trumpets, two oboes, string quartet, and organ. The availability of horns and clarinets in Labrador is likely the reason for the change in instrumentation in the part sets in Hopedale and Nain. However, none of the wind parts in Labrador show evidence of frequent use. 49 There is evidence that the recording may have been crudely spliced and that the first sixteen bars may have been lopped off. Whether they were actually performed or not, the recording is presented as whole in this new configuration.

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50 pa 34, no. 354 (March 1887), 19. For more of this account, see chapter 3. 51 Kohlmeister and Kmoch, Journal of a Voyage from Okkak, 31. 52 pa 28, no. 292 (September 1871), 62. 53 pa 34, no. 361 (December 1888), 406. 54 Kobbé, “Down the Labrador,” 677–8. 55 Peacock, “Nain Radio Station.” The archive of scripts and playlists is held in the F.W. Peacock Collection (Coll-069), Archives and Special Collections, Memorial University Library. 56 Moravian Eskimo Choir, Nain, Labrador. 57 Gordon, Pillorikput Inuit; Gordon, Imgerusit | Trumpet Hymns; Markham, Till We Meet Again. 58 Mary Ford, interview by author, Makkovik, 25 November 2010. 59 I am grateful to my colleague Dr Jane Leibel for her analysis and advice in developing these descriptions of vocal technique and physiological production. 60 The choir, in this recording, is comprised of members of the Nain choir and the St John’s-based, non-Inuit Innismara Vocal Ensemble, who participated with the Nain choir for the making of the film Till We Meet Again. 61 See discussion of Gregor’s Jêsub niaĸone nêrpa in chapter 3. 62 Referring to his first efforts in 1819, Ludwig Morhardt wrote: “I made a beginning to teach two young Esquimaux the violin, one of them grew so peevish about keeping time, that he declared, that it was impossible to learn it” (pa 10, no. 113 [December 1826], 67.) As detailed in chapter 3, the frustration that Inuit musicians experienced with the measurement of musical time paralleled their antipathy toward what the Moravian teachers considered the least successful part of the school curriculum: ciphering. 63 Moravian scholar Peter Vogt proposed an alternative explanation for the tempo preferences of the Moravian Inuit musicians. Recalling Christian Gregor’s injunction in his “Treatise Concerning the Singing in the Brethren Congregation,” that chorales should be sung very slowly, Vogt wrote: “Some years ago I saw a recording of Moravian singing from Labrador and was surprized by the slow tempo. I suspect this is one of the ways in which aspects of the character of 18th century Moravian singing may have survived there, long after the practice changed in Europe” (private communication, 22 February 2022). 64 Beni Ittulak, with permission, transcribed from the film Till We Meet Again.

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Bibliography Bibliographic entries are listed alphabetically by author’s name. Endnote references to manuscripts in archival collections as well as a small number of periodicals frequently referred to employ the following abbreviations.

Repositories and Archives cns

mab uah

Centre for Newfoundland Studies, Queen Elizabeth II Library, Memorial University of Newfoundland, St John’s, nl, Canada, https://www.library.mun.ca/cns. Moravian Archives, 42 West Locust Street, Bethlehem, pa, usa, https:// www.moravianchurcharchives.org. Unitätsarchiv der Evangelischen Brüder-Unität Herrnhut / Unity Archives, Zittauer Strasse, Herrnhut, de, https://www.unitaetsarchiv.de/en/home.

Periodicals Moravian Missions (London: Moravian Mission Agency, 1903–56). Nachrichten aus der Brüder-Gemeine (Gnadau: Christoph Ernst Senft / Verlag der Unitäts-Buchhandlung, 1819–94). pa Periodical accounts relating to the missions of the Church of the United Brethren established among the heathen (London: Brethren’s Society for the Furtherance of the Gospel among the Heathen, 1790–1889), 34 vols., 365 nn. pa/ns Periodical accounts relating to the foreign missions of the Church of the United Brethren, Second century. Retitled Viewpoint from Distant Lands, 1962–1970 (London: Brethren’s Society for the Furtherance of the Gospel among the Heathen, 1890–1970), vols. 1–12 (1890–1927); from 1928 listed by number only. 178 nn.

mm nbg

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Attwood, Brian. “The bias Papermills Survey.” bias [Bristol Industrial Archaeological Society] Journal 3 (1970): 11–21. Atwood, Craig. “Blood, Sex, and Death: Life and Liturgy in Zinzendorf’s Bethlehem.” PhD diss., Princeton Theological Seminary, 1995. “August Gottlieb Spangenberg.” Encyclopedia Britannica. 2021. https://www.britannica .com/biography/August-Gottlieb-Spangenberg. Ben-Dor, Shmuel. Makkovik: Eskimos and Settlers in a Labrador Community. St John’s: iser Books, 1966. Bergquist, Stephen A. “Ten Musical Portraits.” Music In Art 35, nos. 1–2 (Spring-Fall 2010): 271–89. Boonzaaier, Devandré, and Alethea DeVilliers. “The Moravian Heritage of Community Musicking.” Journal for Transdisciplinary Research in South Africa 15, no. 1: a641. https://doi.org/10.4102/ td.v15i1.641. Bourquin, Theodor. Grammatik der Eskimo-Sprache, wie sie im Bereich der MissionsNiederlassungen der Brüdergemeine an der Labradorküste gesprochen wird : auf Grundlage der Kleinschmidtschen Grammatik der Grönlandischen Sprache, sowie älterer Labrador-Grammatiken zum Gebrauch der Labrador-Missionare. London: Moravian Mission Agency; and Gnadau: Unitäts-Buchhandlung, 1891. – ed. Imgerutsit nôtiggit 100. Hundert eskimoische Lieder freie übersetzungen und nachbildungen deutscher volksegesänge. Leipzig: E. Pöschelib, 1872. – ed. Lieder der Niskyer Turner nebst ihren Singweisen; Zweite stark vermehrte Auslage. Nisky: im Selbstverlage der Unitäts-Anstalten, In Kommission bei H. Schultze in Leipzig, 1862. “Brass Band Documentary.” Produced by Katie Harris. Oĸâlaĸatiget Society Radio, 20 December 1990. Brice-Bennett, Carol. Dispossessed: The Eviction of Inuit from Hebron Labrador. Montreal: Isberg, 2017. – Reconciling with Memories: A Record of the Reunion at Hebron 40 Years after Relocation / Ikkaumajannik Piusivinnik; Titigattausimajut Katiutisimaningit Hebronimi 40 Haret Kingung Ani Nottitau Simalidlutik. Happy Valley: Labrador Inuit Association, 2000. – “Two Opinions: Inuit and Moravian Missionaries in Labrador, 1804–1860.” ma thesis, Memorial University of Newfoundland, 1981. Brown, Jenn, dir. Katatjanik Utippalianinga: The Return of Throat Singing. St John’s International Women’s Film Festival, 2015. vhs, 6 min. Browne, Patrick William. Where the Fishers Go: The Story of Labrador. New York: Cochrane, 1909. Budgell, Anne. We All Expected to Die: Spanish Influenza in Labrador, 1918–1919. St John’s: iser Books, 2018. Budgell, Leonard. Arctic Twilight: Leonard Budgell and Canada’s Changing North, edited by Claudia Coutu Radmore. Toronto: Blue Butterfly Books, 2009. – “Special Place and People.” Them Days 16, no. 3 (April 1991): 48–9.

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Index Abendmahl. See Holy Communion Abia (Okak), 213 abolitionism, 121 Abraham (Nain), 300 Abraham Ulrikab (Hebron), 289–90, 394n45, 394n46 absolute pitch, 279, 393n23 Advent season. See Christmas Aggek, Elias (Hopedale), 235 Aglait illunainortut, 253 Agvituk, 7, 35 Aipparet, 29, 129, 217, 377n53, 386n2 Alaska, 6, 16, 17 Albrecht, Carl Gottfried (Br), 151, 381n133 Albrecht, Christiane Auguste Dorothea (Sr), 165, 242, 381n133 Ambro (Hebron), 297 Amos (Hopedale), 153, 238, 239 Andersen, April, 20 Andersen, Bertha, 243 Andersen, James R. (Uncle Jim), 198–9, 281 Andersen, John, 206 Andersen, Mary, ix, 262, 294 Andersen, Mary “Binky,” 225 Andersen, Rita, 392n95 Andersen-Winters, Inga, 243 Andreae, J.C. Friedrich (Br), 156 Angajokĸauĸatiget, 52, 231 angakkuk, 10–13, 19, 39, 109, 340. See also shamanism Anglican Church, 15, 94, 97, 119, 202, 262 Antes, Anna Margaretta, 118 Antes, Henry, 376n39 Antes, John, 118 anthems, x, 27, 29, 30, 39; on brass instruments, 175; collections of, 113, 135–44, 147, 162–4, 266, 306; dating of, 373n8; instrumental accompaniment

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for, 278, 284, 329, 340; Labrador repertoire of, 307–10, 318; by La Trobe, 124–5; learning of, 148, 286, 293, 294; musical structure of, 114, 116, 139, 156, 341–2, 379n81; performance of, xii, xv, 110, 117, 132–3, 145, 281, 299, 361n64; recomposition of, 325, 326–7, 329–34; scores for, xvi, 113; translation of, 129, 135, 178, 212, 318–19; voicing of, 336. See also choir pieces; choir pieces, Inuktitut titles; Hopedale; music manuscripts; Nain anthems, English titles: Amen! The Lord our God we bless, 144; Bethany, O peaceful habitation, 140, 308; By Thy meritorious death, 144; From the mouths of children, 308; Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace, goodwill towards men, 111, 115, 144; Holy, holy, holy is God the Lord, 185; Holy Redeemer, by Thy rest most glorious, 133; How great the bliss to be a sheep, 142; Indeed, He bore our sickness, 308; In this sepulchral Eden, 144; I smite upon my guilty breast, 142; Jesus bowed his head, 138–9, 308; Lord of Life, now sweetly slumber, 140; Morning star in darkest night, 395n25; Now all that breathe His mighty, 142; The Lord hath made His wonderful works, 142; Thou child divine, 113, 144; Thou heavenly wine, 308; When we in spirit view Thy passion, 139, 308; Zion arise and shine, Christ thy light, 144 anthems, German titles: Abendfeier: Wie ist der Abend so traulich, 395n25; Allmächtiger Schauer; Thut auf die Pforten, 308, 343; Amen der Herr

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i n de x thue also, 144; Anbetung, Dank und Preis und Ehre, 136, 140; Aus dem Munde der jungen Kinder, 142, 162; Ave o du blass und bleiche, 143; Das ew’ge Licht geht da herein, 144; Das Passions Getöne führt mich bis zu Gruft, 144; Die Gnade und Wahrheit des Herrn waltet, 136–7; Du süsser Weinstock, deine Reben, 136, 140; Ehre sei dem, der da ist die Auferstehung, 164; Ehre sey Gott in der Höhe, 111, 114, 115, 136, 144; Er hat ein Gedächtnis gestiftet seiner Wunder, 142; Gellert’s geistliche Oden und Lieder, 142, 308; Heil’ger Leib für uns gegeben, 136; Heilig ist Gott der Herr, 204, 385n76; Hosanna, 115–16, 136, 142, 232, 239, 277, 297; Jesus neigte sein Haupt, 136, 138–9; Kommt lasset uns zum Herrn fügen, 113, 379n79; Lob sei Christo in der Höhe,144; Mache dich auf werde Licht, 144; Macht hoch dir Thür, die Thor macht weit, 327–9; Mein Herz ist bereit, 113; Mit deinem verdienstlichen Tod, 144; O angenehme Augenblicke, 143; O Bethania, du Friedenshütte, 136, 140; Preise Jerusalem den Herrn, 379n79; Ruhe sanft nach langen Leiden, 136, 140; Schöpfer Erlöser, Herr Himmels, 396n45; Seh’ich in deinen Seelenschmerzen, 136, 139, 162; Siehe das ist Gottes Lamm, 142; So ruht dein in Todeskummer, 164; Versammlet euch, erlöste Seelen, 136; Was Odem hat verkünd’ge, 142; Wiederholts mit süssen Tönen, 162; Wie herrlich ists ein Schäflein, 142; Wir halten das Fest mit Freuden, 113; Wir wollen täglich rühmen von Gott, 136 anthems, Inuktitut titles. See choir pieces, Inuktitut titles archives, x, xv, xvii, xviii; imbalance in, 5; of music manuscripts, 135, 137–8,

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414 326; non-written, 8. See also music manuscripts; Oral Tradition Arctic, 3, 6, 7, 9, 18, 38–40 arias, xii, 14; for choir festivals, 129; for Christmas, 142; for Easter, 140, 162, 308, 343 Asboe, Lily (Sr), 298 Ascension Day, 73, 144 Assa (Hopedale, d. 1880), 232 Assa, Ambrose, 188, 218, 232–4, 236–8, 240–1, 387n12; house of, 388n22; leadership of, 298; as National Helper, 389n33, 394n48 Assa, Johanna, 236–7, 241 Atsatatojok, Michael, 189, 191 Attanek, 229 audio recordings, xiv, xviii, xix, xxv– xxviii, 336–8, 372n118; of anthems, 308, 331, 333, 396n47, 397n58; of brass bands, 198, 201, 202–7, 224; Inuit Voice on, 325, 334; of songs, 304 Aufblasen, 173 aurality, 272, 277–9, 281, 290, 294–6; and memory, 291, 293, 301 Ausblasen, 173 Avertok, 7, 35 Awakening of 1804–05, 67–73, 76, 107, 274 Bach, Carl Philipp Emanuel, 142, 145 bandmasters, 181, 188–9, 257, 384n65. See also Atsatatojok, Michael; brass bands; Daniel (Hopedale); Sillitt, Jeremias (b. 1862) Baptism, 64, 74, 75, 78, 151 Barbour, George, 206 Barsoe, Christian (Br), 157 Barth, Christian Gottlob, 238, 389n33 Beck, Johann (Br), 60, 365n16 Beck, Johann Ludwig (Br), 61–2, 284, 365n17 Benjamin (Okak), 194, 195, 213, 258, 384n65 Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, 88, 170, 364n10, 376n39; trombone choir of, 174, 207, 210, 218, 361n58

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4 15 Beyer, Michael Ernst (Br), 182 Bohlmann, Ernst (Br), 297–8, 384n67 Böhnisch, Friedrich (Br), 365n17 bombardon. See brass bands Borlase, Tim, 309 Borniansky, Dmitry, 204 Bourquin, Theodor (Br), 85, 289, 301–2, 370n87, 371n104 Bradford, William, 158 Brasen, Christoph, 35 brass bands, xii, xiii, xix, 15; collapse of, 223–4; community role of, xv, 29, 30, 167, 170–1, 210–11, 217–23, 225–6, 343; establishment in Labrador of, 176–81; history of, 27–8, 39, 171–6; instruments of, 186, 188–9, 194, 197, 361n58; leadership in, xvi, 52, 228, 257, 269; liturgical role of, 212–17, 234; membership in, 40, 258; repertoire of, 197–200, 306, 310; sound of, 200–7; symbolism of, 187, 207–10; and women, 238, 241, 242. See also bandmasters; Christmas; Hebron brass band; Hopedale brass band; Nain brass band; Okak brass band; Passiontide; Tittulautet Nunatsiavuttini; trombone choirs; tune books, brass bands; Watchnight British and Foreign Bible Society, 128 British Empire, 7, 25–6, 33–4, 37, 40. See also colonialism British Mission Board, 47. See also Society for the Furtherance of the Gospel (sfg) British Society of Friends, 180 Brown, Miriam, 263 Brown, Sam, 263 Browne, Patrick William (Rev.), 97–8 Brüdergesangbuch, 365n17 Brüderischen Bläsertag, 224 Budgell, Leonard, 222 Burkhardt, Christian Friedrich (Br), 67–8 Burney, Charles (Dr), 124, 375n34

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i n de x “call upstairs,” the, ix, xi, 258, 269 Canada: Centennial of, 262, 263; government of, xix, 47, 263, 358n1 Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (cbc), 201–3, 222 canons, 84, 135, 156, 162, 275–6; domestic performance of, 289, 301–3. See also songbooks Cartwright, George, 7, 358n8 Caubvick, 358n8 ceremony, 12, 18, 21 chapel servants. See National Helpers/ Assistants Chief Elder, 53, 228–9, 242, 247, 387n7; role of, 262. See also Elders; Harris, David, Sr; Nochasak, Levi; Sillitt, Jerry (b. 1924) Children’s Festival Day, 29, 129, 142, 377n53, 386n2 Chimmo, William, 158–9, 287, 300 choirmasters, x, 52, 188; as composers, 146; as copyists of music, 326; leadership of, 231, 258–62, 269, 306, 309; mentorship of, 291, 294, 298; at Nain, 155, 251. See also Assa, Ambrose; choirs; Harris, David, Sr; Illiniartitsijok, Natanael; Nochasak, Levi; Sillitt, Gustav; Sillitt, Jeremias (b. 1862); Sillitt, Jerry (b. 1924) choir members, xi, 83, 110; in chapel, 134, 135; improvisation by, 280–1; mentorship of, 292–4; music literacy of, 290; qualifications of, 258; training of, xiv; women as, 238, 241. See also choirmasters; choirs choir pieces: collections of, xvi, 111–13, 134–47, 162–4, 306–8, 373n8, 379n77; complexity of, 266, 284; composed by Inuit, 194, 247, 311–20; instrumental accompaniment for, 328, 329–31; Labrador repertoire of, 308–10, 318; learning of, 147–8, 160, 293, 294; performance of, x–xi, xii, 117, 128–30, 132–3, 145, 150, 153, 232, 299; sound of,

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i n de x 200, 262; transformation of, xv; voices for, 336, 379n81. See also anthems; choral music; Christmas; harmony; Illiniartitsijok, Natanael; music manuscripts; Passiontide choir pieces, Inuktitut titles: Ahâĸ! Ahâĸ! Gudipta iglunga, 282–3, 306, 311–20, 327, 328, 334, 340, 343; Ahâĸ! Ahâĸ! upkuerutjilaukpunga, 307; Ahâĸ Gûdib saugârsunga, 142; Amen, Amen Nâlekab, Gûdipta, 144; Anêrne ĸartut, 142; Ave ĸakkaktitotille, 143, 307; Engelit ĸillangmiugaseksuit, 142, 145; Gethsemanenut mana, 307; Gûde nakorijomavavut (Gebhard), 136; Gûde nakorijomavavut (Mortimer), 138; Gûde nertortaule, 147; Gûd Gûd Nâlegavut, 113, 379n79; Gûdiga sângne, 113; Gûdivut kotsingnermetok (Gregor), 144; Gûdivut kotsingnermetok (Mortimer), 111–12, 114, 115, 136, 140; Hallelûjâ nertortaule Gûdivut. Amen, 307; Hosiana, 115–16, 136, 140, 142, 145, 239, 297–8, 307, 308, 328, 342–3, 374n13, 389n38; Inûb ôma niaĸoa, 162, 307; Issoĸangitoĸ ĸaumajoĸ, 144; Jêsub kanimanivut, 162, 307, 308; Jêsub niaĸone nêrpa, 136, 138–40, 145, 307, 308; Jêsub timinga ĸaitaungmit, 136; Jêsuse aulik erĸitsomavagit, 307; Jêsusib ânianget illuvinganut, 144, 307; Jêsusib aunga ikkingillo, 136, 140, 307, 308; Jêsusib najorningane, 307; Kailauritse piulijaujosse, 136, 140; Kittorngauneĸ Kristusemut ânanâĸ!, 142; Kuvianadlarpoĸ illa mana uvloĸsiorapta, 113; Kuvianak Bethaniab iglunga, 136, 140, 307, 308; Kuvianak nerringijavut, 143, 145; ĸausiut nuijotit, 232, 387n17; Makkilerit ĸaumalerlutillo, 144; Merngoêrserpok mana, 307; Merngoêrsertillutit ikkingnît, 307;

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4 16 Nâlegapta, Jêsusib, Kristusib, 307; Nâlegaĸ inôgutaujoĸ, 136, 140, 307; Nâlegaĸ Jêsuse piulijivut, 327; Nâlegaĸ nertortaule makkiviojok, 164, 307; Nâlegaĸ Nertoruk Jerusaleme, 379n79; Nâlegaĸ saimasaijoĸ, 141, 142; Nâlegavut ivsornaitoksôvok, 307; Nâlekab saimaraininget, 136–8, 353; Nâlekamut imgerutsemik, 232, 387n18; Nertorsiuk Salaĸartoĸ, 136, 140, 145, 307; Nutaĸĸallo amamaĸtullo, 142, 145, 162, 307, 308; Opinak ikkeliojotit, 140; Oĸautsivit kingorlerpânget Jêsus, 307; Pangna Kristus nertortaule, 144; Pingortitat tamaita, 307, 308, 343; Pingortitsijoĸ ĸillangmik, 327; Piniarneĸ ussornartoĸ!, 142, 145, 307, 308; Piulijivut ivsornaitotojotit, 338; Piulijivut nertorsiuk, 113, 144, 307; Saimartigut, Jêsuse!, 395n25; Saugârsuk imgervînarpagit, 307; Seĸĸerngub nuilertub, 232, 387n17, 395n25; Siorniudlarnernit merngoerserpotille, 164; Tarniptigut tautukaptigit Jêsuse, 136, 139, 145, 162, 307, 308; Tattiĸartoĸ Gûdiptingnik, 307; Toĸĸolauravit pivluta, 144; Toĸĸotak Gûb, 307; Upkuaksuit angmasigik, 307, 327–34, 336 choirs, 110–11, 150, 187; accompaniment of, 176, 242; apprentices in, xii, xiv, 294; improvisation in, 280–1; leadership of, 155, 241, 269; music scores for, 135–6, 138–9, 285; repertoire of, 90, 142–7, 306–8, 326; schedule for, 200; sound of, 203, 315, 325, 334–9. See also audio recordings; choirmasters; choir members; choral music; Hebron choir; Hopedale choir; Makkovik; Nain choir; Okak choir choir system, 29, 39–40, 70, 74, 121; festival days of, 217; and gender, 242; hymns for, 78; social structure of, 228–30. See also specific festival days

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4 17 Choral-Buch (Gregor), 26–7, 62, 73–4, 314–15, 365n15, 368n53; copying of, 151; importance of, 340; voicing in, 280 chorales. See Moravian chorales choral music, ix, 37, 124; influence on, 125–6, 145, 242; Inuit embrace of, 110, 127, 156, 318; manuscripts of, 111, 129. See also anthems; choir pieces; choirs; harmony; Moravian chorales; Moravian music choristers. See choir members Christianity, xv, xviii; civilizing mission of, 210, 268, 271; conversion to, 35, 37–9, 51, 61, 70–1, 127, 253–4, 313; education in, 44–5; expansion of, 5, 30, 32; Inuit agency in, 219; and music, 23, 66, 109–10, 170, 175, 340. See also Awakening of 1804–05; Moravian mission to Labrador Christmas, xii, xiii; anthems/choir pieces for, 111, 116, 129, 142, 144; brass bands at, 201, 205, 212, 214–15, 225; carols for, 96, 205, 342; hymns for, 64, 73, 75, 86, 100; repertoire for, 306 Church Anniversary Festival Day. See Katimmaviup Atujauvia clarinet. See wind instruments collegia musica, 27, 30 colonialism, xv–xvi, 36–7, 48, 50, 53, 200; of brass bands, 207, 210; and colonization, xix–xx, 3, 170, 228, 287; of music history, 319; resistance to, 269. See also archives; British Empire; Christianity; Moravian Church; Moravian missionaries Comenius, Jan Amos, 24 Community Music Literacy in Coastal Labrador, xiv Congregational/Community Councils, 166, 228, 242 cornet. See brass bands Covid-19, 225–6. See also infectious diseases Cramer, Johann Baptist, 124, 375n34

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i n de x Creation, The (Haydn), 142 Crotch, William, 124, 375n34 cultural genocide, 105 Curtis, Roger (Lt), 61 Curwen, Eliot, 94–5, 187–9, 232–3, 300 Dam, Peter Petersen (Br), 248 Dan, Kitora, 334 dancing, 10–11, 17, 19, 39, 58. See also kashim Daniel (Hopedale), 188, 238, 387n13 Davey, J.W., 14 David (Hopedale), 153, 158, 166, 238–41, 254 Davis Inlet, 183 Dicker, Mary (Sr), 263, 293, 294 Dorset culture, 6–7, 358n10 Double Island, 234–5 Drachart, Christian Lorenz (Br), 32, 58, 284 drumming, 8, 10–11, 359n24; banning of, 39; as “heathen,” 13–15, 19; and rhythm, 17, 21, 22, 325, 338, 360n43; and time, 149, 341–2. See also metre; qilaut; rhythm “duffles,” 201–2 Dürninger, Abraham, 185 Easter. See Passiontide Eberle, Michael (Br), 211 education, 24, 29, 44–5, 51, 150; at boarding schools, 220; and gender, 241; goal of, 228; Inuit expectations of, 260, 363n93; Inuit role in, 166, 184, 231, 236, 239–40, 243–7, 385n101; and memorization, 273–7; mission curriculum of, 252; in music, 30, 135, 287–9; role of hymns in, 66–7, 69, 79, 83–4; state control of, 48. See also Assa, Ambrose; Assa, Johanna; David (Hopedale); Illiniartitsijok, Friedericke; Illiniartitsijok, Natanael; literacy; music literacy Elders, xiii, 13, 16, 207; of Hebron, 267; leadership of, 52, 166, 262,

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4 18

i n de x 263, 269–70; learning from, 292, 294; memories of, 303; missionary designated, 229, 231; Nain vigil for, 226; respect for, 253; serenading of, 200, 225. See also Chief Elder; Elders’ Councils Elders’ Councils, 166, 231. See also Angajokĸauĸatiget Elsner, August Ferdinand (Br), 84, 133, 155–6, 302; and brass bands, 176–9, 181, 183–6 Elsner, Maria Bertha (Sr), 155, 178–9, 184–6, 242 Epiphany, 142, 144, 357n2 Erdmann, Friedrich (Br), 82, 302, 369n73, 370n87 Erhardt, Johann Christian (Br), 30, 32 Ernestine (Hopedale), 238 Eskimo Bay, 34 Essex, H.O., 95 Etzel, Juliane (Sr), 376n47 feminism, 70. See also gender; women festival days, 27, 78, 116, 148, 228; music for, 87, 152, 306; use of instruments on, 130, 172, 174, 200, 217. See also Aipparet; Children’s Festival Day; choir system; Katimmaviup Atujauvia; Nulletut Uvlusiupvinga; Uigganet Uvlusiupvinga; Uiggasuit Uvlusiupvinga Fliegel, C.W., 395n25 flute. See wind instruments folk music of Europe, 13–14, 20 Ford, Mary, 337 Fox, Joas, 249–50 Fox, Manas, 293 Freitag, Carl Traugott August (Br), 84, 152–3, 160, 295, 299, 302, 369n82 Freydt, Johann Ludwig, 139, 145, 162, 308, 395n21 Freylinghausen, Johann Anastasius, 396n36

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Friede, Natan, 254, 291 funerals, 173, 182, 207, 342 fur trade, 42, 46. See also trade Gambold, John, Jr, 147, 327, 329–32, 364n8, 379n82 Gathorne-Hardy, Geoffrey, 194 Gebhard, Johann Gottfried, 136–7, 306, 379n79, 379n82, 395n21 Gebhardt, Paul, 366n20 Gehler, Friederike Henriette (Sr), 145 Geisler, Johann Christian, 142–5, 162, 306, 308, 379n82, 395n21 Geistreiches Gesang-Buch (Freylinghausen), 396n36 Gellert, Fürchtegott, 142 Gemeinschaftslieder (Rappard), 96, 97, 101, 372n105 gender, 228, 237, 241–3, 247, 300. See also women General Mission Conference, 96–7 Gerhardt, Paul, 364n8 Gesangbuch (Gregor), 26–7, 73–4, 78, 91, 327, 364n8; translation of, 76, 85, 88, 107. See also Gregor, Christian; hymnals, German titles Glitsch, Zacharias (Br), 127, 135, 157, 166, 285, 376n47, 394n32 Godthåb. See Nuuk, Greenland Golkowsky, Georg Wenzeslaus (Br), 32 Gorke, Henriette (Sr), 372n2, 382n21 Gorke, John Gottfied (Br), 110, 175, 372n2, 382n21 Gottlob (Ramah), 243, 300, 387n13 Grammatik der Eskimo-Sprache (Bourquin), 370n87 “Great Awakening,” 367n36 Green, John, 263 Greenland, xx, 7, 389n35; brass bands in, 175, 211, 376n50; choirs in, 110; hymnals of, 62, 88, 364n10, 365n17; language of, 11–12, 59, 73, 284, 365n16; mission to, 10, 25, 30, 38,

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4 19 55, 58–9, 372n2; music of, 17, 286–7; songs of, 359n26. See also hymnals, Greenlandic titles Gregor, Christian, 26–7, 62, 120, 374n22; adaptations of, 126, 142; anthems by, 113, 115, 136, 138–9, 143–5, 162; in Labrador repertoire, 306, 308, 395n21; “Treatise Concerning the Singing in the Brethren Congregation,” 361n61, 376n44, 395n21. See also anthems; Choral-Buch (Gregor); Gesangbuch (Gregor); hymnals, German titles Grenfell, Wilfred, 93, 94, 187, 384n61. See also International Grenfell Association Grimm, Johann Daniel, 136, 140, 308 Grubb, Fred (Rev.), 208–9, 216–17, 247 Grubb, Marjorie, 216–17 Haidt, Johann Valentine, 25 Hamilton Inlet, 34, 79 Handel, G.F., 123, 124, 305 Happy Valley–Goose Bay, 36, 47 harmoniums, 15, 99, 158, 181, 235, 243; domestic use of, 234, 279–80, 300–2 harmony, xii, 17, 278–81, 286, 325, 341–2, 393n26; in anthems, 312, 315–17, 327–8, 331, 338; in brass band music, 173, 188, 189, 197, 200, 257; of “Ernîk erligidlarpagit,” 324. See also anthems; choir pieces; hymns; Moravian chorales Harp, George (Rev.), 99, 101, 104, 200, 202, 215 Harper, Stephen, 105 Harris, David, Sr, 247–8, 258–9, 262–3, 292–3; as Chief Elder, 270, 312; musical education of, 279 Harris, Katie, 208 Harris, Paul, 224, 280 Hassler, Hans Leo, 364n8 Hastings, John (Br), 366n26 Hastings, Maria Magdalen (Sr), 274, 366n26

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i n de x Haven, Jens, 10–12, 23, 32, 34, 35; at Hopedale, 388n22; mission of, 58, 60, 62, 174–5, 284. See also Moravian mission to Labrador Haven, Mary (Butterworth), 35 Hawkes, Ernest W., 15–18, 23, 272, 295, 319 Haydn, Franz Joseph, 10, 123–4, 142, 143, 145, 262, 375n36 Hebron, x, xix, 35–6; disease at, 43, 220; mission building at, 134, 135, 389n35; mosquitos at, 202; music at, 145, 161–4, 177, 308; musicians of, 153–5; music library of, 111, 113, 144, 146, 266, 290, 373n8, 379n77; organ at, 378n66, 381n126; resettlement of, 48–50, 105, 200, 203, 222–3, 243, 264, 266–7, 270, 363n100; Watchnight service at, 215 Hebron brass band, 182–3, 197; after resettlement, 267; community role of, 223; and influenza, 220–2; performance of, 202, 211; photograph of, 196; recording of, 203–4, 336; repertoire of, 200, 209; sound of, 207 Hebron choir, 134, 147, 162, 164, 336; after resettlement, 267; leadership of, 266; performance of, 297; and resettlement, 203. See also Nochasak, Levi Hellstroem, Goerg Friedrich, 232, 387n17, 395n25 Henn, Christian Benedict (Br), 111, 152, 160 Henoch (Okak), 161 Herrnhut, Germany, xviii, 24, 69, 116, 131; brass band festival of, xiv; Inuit musicians at, 224; music tradition of, 27–8, 146; trombone choir of, 172, 173. See also Moravian Church Herzberg, Georg (Br), 378n59 Hesketh-Pritchard, Hesketh, 194 Hettasch, Ellen and Kate, 395n2 Hettasch, Paul (Rev.), 221, 235, 236, 260, 331 Hettasch, Siegfried (Rev.), 48–9, 101, 203, 206, 392n95

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i n de x Hilfsbuch für Liturgen und Organisten, 305–6 Hoffnungs Thal, 31, 32, 36 Holeiter, Bertha, 242, 292 Holmes, Edward, 123–4, 375n32 Holy Communion, 29, 173, 217, 230; hymns for, 64, 74, 75, 78, 87 Homilius, Gottfried August, 142 Hopedale, x, xiii, xviii, 7; anthem collection of, 111–12, 141, 144, 379n77; the Awakening at, 68–9; education at, 44, 66; establishment of, 35, 36; hymnody at, 95; Inuit musicians at, 153, 223; Jubilee celebrations at, 114–15, 136; mission house at, 135, 233, 388n22, 389n35; music at, 117, 145, 155–9, 177– 81, 185, 211–14; organists at, 232; school at, 236, 239, 274; settler population of, 40, 41; tune book collection of, 198–9. See also Assa, Ambrose; David (Hopedale); Friede, Natan; Uviluktôk Hopedale brass band, 157–9, 167, 187–8, 299; end of, 223; founding of, 179–80, 185; photographs of, 188, 384n67 Hopedale choir, 129–30, 135, 141, 157–9, 287; instrumental support for, 176; repertoire of, 395n25; sound of, 335 Hudson’s Bay Company, 41–2, 45–7, 94, 179, 183, 222 Hunter, Filipus, 250 Hunter, Renatus, 251 Hus, Jan, 3, 24 Hutton, James, 34, 121 Hutton, Samuel King, 14, 21, 43, 97, 194, 213–15, 391n75; as doctor, 255–6; observations on Inuit musicality of, 272, 309, 384n65 hymnals, xv, xviii, 26–8, 92; copying of, 72; demand for, 80, 81, 83, 85; in education, 66–7; Moravian, 26, 98–100; preparation of, 84; use of, 127–9, 273–4, 280. See also Christmas; songbooks; tune books, brass bands

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4 20 hymnals, English titles: Hymns Sung in the Church of the United Brethren, 126, 131, 235, 378n60; Moravian Book of Worship, 396n36; Moravian Hymn Tunes, 119; Sacred Songs and Solos, 90–3, 96, 104 hymnals, German titles: Alt und Neuer Brüder Gesang, 26; Das Gesangbuch, zum Gebrauch der evangelischen Brüdergemeinen, 378n68; Gesangbuch der evangelischen Brüder-Gemeinen in Herrn-Huth, 26, 73–4; Gesang-buch der Gemeine in Herrn-Huth, Das, 364n10. See also Gesangbuch (Gregor) hymnals, Greenlandic titles, 55, 59–63, 364n10, 370n84; Illeit Tuksiautit Tuksiutilla Errinnaglit Errinnakangitsullo Attuœgekset Illœgeenut Karalit Nunœnnetunnut, 62, 364n10, 365n17 hymnals, Inuktitut, 55–62, 66, 72–4, 87–8, 370n89 hymnals, Inuktitut titles: of 1780, 62–5, 73–4, 364n10, 366n26, 367n44; Eskimo Sankey, 96, 99; Imgerutit Attorekset Illagêktunnut Labradoremêtunnut (1841), 82, 83, 369n76; Imgerutit Attorekset Illagêktunnut Labradoremêtunnut (1856?), 85, 87, 88; Imgerutit Attoræksat Illagêktunut Labradoremêtunut (1879), 85, 87, 88, 90, 91, 96, 289; Imgerutit Attoraksat Illagektunut Labradoremetunut (2005), 80, 100, 365n15; Kattangutigêt Tuksiargalautsingit, 99–100, 320; Tuksiagalautsit (1900), 94, 96, 97, 100, 371n104; Tuksiagalautsit (1905), 97, 98, 101, 102, 372n109, 372n112; Tuksiagalautsit (1912), 98, 372n112; Tuksiarutsit, attorekset illagêktunnut Labradoremetunnut (1809), 73–6, 81, 88, 274, 359n19, 367n48; Tuksiarutsit Attorekset Illagêktunnut

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421 Labradoremêtunnut (1824), 76–8, 81, 127–9, 368n62; Tuksiarutsit Kujalitikset Nertordlerutiksello Attorekset Illagêtunnut Labrademêtunnut (1830), 80 hymnody, xiv–xv, 11, 29–30, 62; and brass bands, 170, 200; codification of, 24; improvisation in, 280; Inuit adoption of, 13, 14, 108, 301, 325; language of, 60; learning of, 278, 293; as liturgy, 23, 26; new, 93, 94, 98, 164; repetition in, 23; as a tool of conversion, 54–7, 61, 67, 69–71, 89, 106–7. See also hymnals; hymns; Moravian chorales; “Sankeys” hymns, xi, xii, 26, 28, 30, 39; brass instruments and, 172, 194, 218–19, 384n68; and Christian colonization, 54–5, 58–9; domestic use of, 76, 79–80, 99, 255–6, 287–9, 299, 301; “human,” 93; improvisation of, 280–1; instrumental performance of, 115, 117, 165, 197, 203–4; learning of, 278; melodies for, 82–3, 126; memorization of, xvi, 29, 44, 66–7, 69, 245, 248, 273– 6; metre of, 60, 81, 365n15; musical accompaniment of, 125, 171, 174, 181, 279–80; on the radio, 260; singing of, 56, 61, 71, 83–4, 107, 114, 128, 147–8, 156; translation of, 60, 72–3, 81, 212, 234, 369n83. See also education; Melodies (Mel.); Moravian chorales; music manuscripts; Passiontide; “Sankeys”; singing; Singstunde hymns, English titles, 101–2; “Abide with me,” 95, 100; “All glory be,” 199; “All people that do dwell,” 100; “Christ arose,” 199; “Christ the Lord is risen today/Hallelujah,” 212; “Fling wide the door, unbar the gate,” 396n36; “Free from the law, Oh blessed condition,” 95; “God be with you till we meet again,” 96, 99–100, 104–6,

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i n de x 167, 198, 200, 209, 210, 212, 220, 223; “How sweet the Name,” 100; “I will sing to my Creator,” 368n62; “Jesus be our chief delight,” 199; “Jesus day by day,” 261; “Jesus lead on,” 343, 369n83; “Lift up your heads, ye mighty gates,” 327, 396n36; “Lord Sabaoth,” 10; “Lord take my hand and lead me,” 206; “Must I go, and empty handed,” 102–3, 106, 304, 342; “Nearer my God to Thee,” 226; “Now, on land and sea descending,” 204; “Now let us praise the Lord,” 115, 211, 381n2; “Now thank we all our God,” 173, 179, 180, 197, 209, 211, 215, 216, 381n2; “O Christmas tree,” 100, 342; “O Christ our hope,” 199; “O Come little children,” 100, 205, 342; “O Head so full of bruises,” 58, 65, 71, 364n8; “Onward Christian soldiers,” 100; “Out of Shadowland,” 100; “Peace be to this congregation,” 199; “Praise God for ever,” 185, 213, 368n62; “Rock of ages,” 98; “Safe in the arms of Jesus,” 103, 200; “Salt for the little lambs,” 71; “Shall we gather by the river?,” 98, 200, 212; “Silent night,” 100, 342; “Stand up for Jesus,” 100, 199; “Sweet bye-and-bye,” 100; “The Ninety and the nine,” 100; “The Prince of peace,” 199; “The Saviour’s blood and righteousness,” 59, 65, 71, 106, 364n10; “Thousand times by me greeted,” 366n20; “’Tis most blessed,” 199; “What a friend we have in Jesus,” 100, 204; “What God ordains,” 199; “What off’ring,” 199; “Whoe’er would be a soldier of Christ,” 239; “Yet there is room,” 100–2, 343 hymns, German titles, 60–1; “Allein Gott,” 199; “Christi Blut und Gerechtigkeit,” 60, 364n10; “Es ist noch Raum,” 100; “Gelobet Seyst Du Jesu Christ,” 60; “Herr Zebaot,

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i n de x Du wahrer Gott,” 359n19; “Herzlich tut mich verlangen,” 364n8; “Ihr Kinder, wo seyd ihr ohnfehlbar,” 367n44; “In meines Herren Tod und Schmerz,” 138–9, 378n68; “Jesus meine Zuversicht,” 199; “Lobt Gott,” 199; “Macht hoch die Thür, die Thor’ macht weit!,” 314; “Mein liebes Jesuse,” 63; “Nun danket alle Gott,” 173, 197, 199, 215, 381n2; “O Haupt, voll Blut und Wunden,” 63–4, 364n8, 366n23; “Sehr gross ist Gottes Gutigkeit,” 389n37; “So nimm denn meine Hände,” 206; “Was Gott tut,” 199 hymns, Inuktitut, 56, 63, 65–6, 73–4, 78, 86–8, 107 hymns, Inuktitut titles: “Aggakka tigulugit tessiunga,” 206; “Ernîk erdligidlarpagit,” 100, 207, 320–4, 334, 342; “Iniksalik,” 100–2, 224, 343; “Jêsuse neglikpara!,” 63; “Jêsus tessiunga,” xix, 170, 197, 200, 211, 224– 6, 384n68; “Kilangmullo, nunamullo,” 359n19; “Kilarutjalaunga,” 226; “Kristum aunga peĸĸaraĸpo,” 364n10; “Naleganga,” 10, 30; “Napartole,” 342; “Niakut innerara,” 366n23; “Nunamênimne akkunit,” 102–3, 304, 342; “Okpertut sorsuktut sâlaĸarningat,” 91; “Sivorlilaurit, / Jêsuse Igvit,” 343, 369n83; “Sorrutsit kiale sapputidlarpâsê,” 367n44; “Sorutsit,” 205, 342; “Takkotigêlarminiptingnut,” 96, 99, 100, 104–6, 198, 200, 224, 307; “Unnuak opinak,” 342 “hymn theology,” 54–5, 57, 61, 65, 107 Igloliorte, Adam, 312 Ikkusek, Julius, ix, xii, 263, 292, 294 Illiniartitsijok, Friedericke, 244–7, 252 Illiniartitsijok, Hedwig, 251, 390n67 Illiniartitsijok, Natanael, 184, 194, 243–6, 249–52, 371n104; composition by, 280,

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422 282, 306, 311–20, 343; leadership of, 253–4, 298; and the Moravian Church, 268; as a musician, 247–8 Imgerutsit nôtiggit 100, 287–9, 301–3, 310, 370n87, 371n93. See also songbooks; songs improvisation, 204, 247, 280–2, 315, 324 Indigenization, 326, 334, 339–40 infectious diseases, 42–4, 48, 225, 358n8, 372n2. See also Covid-19; influenza; smallpox; tuberculosis influenza, 252, 384n66, 386n104; 1918 pandemic, 43, 215, 220, 258, 391n80; outbreak of 1907–8, 391n74 Innismara Vocal Ensemble, 397n58 Innu, 7, 105 instrumentalists: in church, 130, 134, 135; improvisation by, 280; Inuit, 83, 109, 110, 181–3, 188; mentorship of, 291; music literacy of, 286–7, 290, 295; repertoire of, 326; training of, xiv, 146, 148–50; tune books of, 198; women as, 225, 238. See also brass bands; organists instrumental music, ix, 37, 114; as accompaniment, 112, 114, 129–30, 132, 139, 284, 327; and drums, 19, 21; hymns as, 115; instruction in, 135; Inuit, 8–9, 340; learning of, 278; Moravian tradition of, 171; recomposition of, 329. See also brass bands; organs; string instruments; trombone choirs; wind instruments instruments, 99, 382n5; availability of, 181; destruction of, 220; deterioration of, 224; domestic use of, 300–1; and the environment, 201–2; Inuit made, 299–300; learning of, 148, 160, 278–9; loss of, 198; need for, 117–18, 146, 157, 162, 179; sound of, 200; teaching of, 135; tradition of, 172; in use in Labrador, 111, 112, 114, 128–31, 188, 197, 285, 384n67. See also brass bands; organs; piano/pianoforte; qilaut;

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4 23 string instruments; tautirut; wind instruments intergenerational trauma, 53, 105, 170 International Grenfell Association, xiii, 44, 263; colonialism of, 50; education program of, 46; funding from, 357n3, 386n115; and resettlement, 48, 222 Inuit music, xvii, xix, xx; characteristics of, 339–43; composers of, xvii, 320, 325; and cultural hybridity, 53; harmony in, 315–17; and memory, 272; pre-contact, 8–9, 11, 13–23, 359n26; and recomposition, 327; rhythm of, 295–6, 318–19. See also choir pieces, Inuktitut titles; Illiniartitsijok, Natanael; Inuit Voice Inuit musicians, xv–xvi, 109, 151, 188; leadership of, 166, 240–1; preferences of, 329, 334, 339. See also bandmasters; choirmasters; choir members; instrumentalists; organists Inuit Nunangat, xx Inuit of Labrador. See Labradorimiut Inuit Voice, xvi, xvi–xvii, 286, 298–9, 310, 311; in anthem and hymn repertoire, 320, 325; sound of, 334, 336, 339; through recomposition, 327, 342 Inuktitut, xiv, xx; Bible in, 116; choir pieces in, 111, 129, 135–9, 146, 262; dialects of, 10–12, 49, 389n35; dictionary of, 370n87; education in, 44, 46, 178; fluency in, 32, 73; hymns in, 62–3, 86–8, 212, 274, 324; literacy in, 277, 295; loss of, 264; magazine in, 253; numbers in, 149; printed material in, 94, 98–9; rhythm and metre in, 318–19; singing of, 19–20, 288–9, 338; translation to, 73, 76, 80–2, 84, 294, 369n73, 369n83; written form of, xvi, 18, 284. See also choir pieces, Inuktitut titles; hymnals, Inuktitut titles; hymns, Inuktitut titles; language; literacy Inupiaq People, 16

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i n de x Isaac (Hebron), 153–5, 162, 166, 232 Ittulak, Beni, xii, 313, 343 Jablonski, Daniel Ernst, 25 Jackson, Joseph, 143, 145 Jacob (Hebron), 153 Jacob (Okak), 152–3, 160, 380n101 Jacobus (Hopedale), 387n15 Jacques, Henry, 204 Jaeschke, Christan David, 120, 306, 379n79, 395n21 Jannasch, Hermann (Br), 98, 187 Japeth (Okak), 255–6 Jararuse, Amalia, 334 Jararuse, Boas, 334 Jararuse, John, 102, 242, 292, 304 Jararuse, Ken, 334 Jararuse, Martin, 208 Jonatan (Nain), 300 Jonathan (Hopedale), 13, 66 Joseph (Nain), 151–3, 156, 166, 176, 177 Kahle, Zechariah, 234 Kapik (Nain), 69 Karpik, Adam, 249–50 kashim, 16, 39, 386n1. See also dancing katatjak, 9, 13, 17, 20–3, 340 katimak, 51. See also Congregational/ Community Councils Katimmaviup Atujauvia, 187, 313, 328 Kemuksigak, Patricia, 105 kiggait, 52. See also National Helpers/ Assistants Killinek, 36, 47, 358n1, 387n13 Kingminguse, Peter, 313 kinship networks, 49–51, 70, 86, 228 Kleinschmidt, J.C. (Br), 287, 359n26 Kmoch, George (Br), 13–14, 22, 366n26 Knight, Richard (Rev.), 79 Kobbé, Gustav, 335 Koch, Betty (Ford), 228 Koerner, Johannes (Br), 111 Kohlmeister, Anna Elizabeth (Sr), 111, 112, 114–15, 117, 127, 373n4; influence of, 285

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i n de x Kohlmeister, Benjamin (Br), 13–14, 81, 111, 127–8, 373n4; influence of, 285 Kojak, Lorenz, 259 Konigseer, Michael (Br), 376n50 Kornelius, Simeon, 233, 388n22 Kretschmer, Carl Gottlieb (Br), 157, 302, 371n104 Krumm, Johann Christian (Br), 32 Kruth, Ferdinand (Br), 145–6, 239, 389n35 Kunz, Matthäus (Br), 32 ĸivgait, 231. See also National Helpers/ Assistants Labrador, xi, xix, 4; history of, 6–7; mission to, 55–6; survey of, 115. See also Newfoundland and Labrador, government of; Nunatsiavut Labradorimiut, xiv, xvi; in Canada, 47–8; community life of, xix, 86–7, 106–7, 207, 320; conversion of, 67–71, 127, 151; early history of, 6–8, 23; and hunting, 240; hymn singing by, 78–9, 89–90, 100; and infectious diseases, 42–3; leadership among, 267–70; and literacy, 44–5; and memory, 275–7; mission leadership of, 165–6, 234–5, 241, 242–3; and Moravians, 3–6, 32, 34–5, 37–42; musicality of, ix, 8–23, 158, 271–2, 281, 295–6; numeracy of, 148–9; resettlement of, 48–9; and residential schools, 105–6; social structures of, 228; sovereignty of, 50–3; surnames of, 116, 390n48. See also Elders; Inuit music; Inuit musicians; Inuit Voice; Inuktitut; Oral Tradition; self-determination; women; individual names Labrador Inuit Association, 242, 270, 358n1 Lampe, Hennock, 200, 223 Lampe, Johannes, 313 Lampe, Matthew, 249–50

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424 Lane, Julius C., 103 language: and education, 44–6; of hymns, 55–6, 281, 318–19, 324; and isolation, 224; loss of, 264; preservation of, xx; and translation, 59–60, 73, 76, 80, 365n16. See also Inuktitut; literacy L’Anse Amour, 6 La Trobe, Benjamin (Bishop) (1847–1917), 55, 88–9, 383n53; tour of Labrador by, 186–7, 243, 248, 300, 335, 362n82 La Trobe, Benjamin Bonneval (Bishop) (1728–1786), 118, 327, 383n53 La Trobe, Benjamin Henry (1764–1820), 118 La Trobe, Christian Ignatius, 109–11, 364n3, 374n19; compositions by, 139, 140, 142, 144, 147, 306, 375n37, 378n60, 395n21; friendships of, 375n36; influence on Labrador mission of, 118–22, 133–4, 376n50; interests of, 374n29; mentors of, 374n22; musical influence of, 122–7, 132–3, 136, 141, 143, 145, 285; philosophy of, 376n41, 376n44; Selections of Sacred Music, 125, 375n37 La Trobe, Johann Friederich, 144 La Trobe, John Antes, 119, 122–3 La Trobe, Peter, 118, 133 Leibisch, Samuel (Br), 66, 273 Lenz, Ingeborg (Br), 235 Lenz, Ingeborg (Mrs), 395n2 Leo, Sarah, 242 Lidd, Abel, 263 Lidd, Evelyn, 167, 171 Liebesmahl. See Lovefeast Lieder der Niskyer Turner nebst ihren Singweisen, 302 Liederpredigt, 28, 55 Linder, Carl, 362n82 Lister, Christian (Br), 9, 18 litanies/Litanei, 28, 80, 85, 95. See also liturgy literacy, xx, 24, 26, 29, 44–5; education in, 149, 273–4, 276, 379n87; and

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4 25 hymns, 55–6, 67, 80, 83; teaching of, 84, 128; and writing, 72. See also education; Inuktitut; music literacy Little Diomede Island, 16 liturgy, 13, 18, 23–4, 27–30, 55; continuity of, 164; of daily life, 170, 174, 208, 218; in Inuktitut, 62, 86; music for, 74, 126, 212–16, 308–9; native assistants in, 249–50; participation in, 40. See also Christmas; hymnody; Passiontide Loretz, John, 120, 374n22 Lossius, Kaspar Friedrich, 303 Lovefeast, 29, 30, 114, 173, 182; on festival days, 217; hymns for, 64. See also liturgy; Singstunde Ludolf (Hopedale), 232, 387n15 Lundberg, John (Br), 80, 372n2, 382n21 Lyall, Hilda, 292, 370n89 Lyall, Ron and Miriam, 215–16 Lyall, Susie Debbie, 20 Lydia (Ramah), 300 MacDonald, J. Ramsay, 208 MacGregor, William, 189, 194, 208, 233–4, 384n61 Maggo, Paulus, 244–5 Maggo, Sue, 263 Maggo, Zack, 263 Makkovik, xviii, 36, 41, 93, 373n8; brass band at, 198, 203–5, 223, 384n66, 386n104; Inuit choir at, 331, 334, 336–7; Moravian boarding school at, 45–6; organists at, 243, 266; resettlement to, 267; tune book collection of, 199 Maritime Archaic people, 6 Markham, Nigel, xiii Markus (Nain), 150–1, 153, 155, 285–6, 387n11 Married Couples Festival Day. See Aipparet Martin, Carl Albert (Bishop), 86, 97, 231, 249–50, 312, 371n104 Martin, Johann Friedrich (Br), 80, 160, 275

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i n de x Martin, Johann Traugott (Br), 76, 368n59 Martin, Martin, 229, 258, 277 Martin, W. (Capt.), 114–15 Melodies (Mel.), 62, 73, 82–3, 85, 206, 365n15; “Cassel,” 199; “Hernnhut,” 199; Mel. 22a, 364n10; Mel. 151a, 173; Mel. 459, 280, 315–19; “Pilgrimage,” 199. See also Choral-Buch (Gregor); tune books, brass bands Memorial University, 385n101, 386n115 Menadelook, Charles, 16–17 Mendelssohn, Felix, 305, 306, 395n24 Mentzel, Jonathan (Br), 134, 135, 138, 144–7, 177, 381n126; influence of, 285; as music mentor, 153, 161–2, 182 Merkuratsuk, Emelia, 391n80 Methodist Church, 15, 79, 90, 94 metre, 17, 341–2, 360n43; changes to, 310; of hymns, 60, 281, 365n15; and Inuktitut text, 318–19; learning of, 148–9, 275, 397n60. See also rhythm; tempo Miertsching, J. August (Br), 160–1, 286 Mikak (ca. 1740–1795), 32–5, 243, 361n71 Missionary Conference of the United Brethren, 230. See also Unity Elders’ Conference Mission to Deep Sea Fishermen, 187 Mitsuk, Benjamin, 286 “mocking songs,” 19–20 Moody, Dwight Lyman, 90, 92 Moravian chorales, xiv–xv, 27, 82–3, 102, 107–8, 126; foundation of, 340–1; harmonic structure of, 315–17; improvisation on, 204; instrumental performance of, 173, 184–5, 187–9, 194, 199–200, 208; voice-leading of, 197, 278, 317. See also Choral-Buch (Gregor); harmony; hymns; Melodies (Mel.) Moravian Church, xiii, xiv, 3–6; archives of, xvii–xviii; brass bands in, 170, 171, 173–4, 207–8; British Congregations of, 118, 122; colonization by, xix–xx,

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i n de x 36–7, 50, 263, 270; demise of, 224; discipline of, 260; history of, 24–30, 69, 376n39; Inuit agency in, 50–3, 219, 254, 267–70; and Inuit resettlement, 48–50, 222, 267; mission fields of, 55, 57, 88, 91, 110, 165, 230; music in, 23, 107, 126, 131, 147; and slavery, 121; and trade, 32, 40–2, 362n79, 362n80, 362n82; women in, 70, 237–8, 241–3, 247. See also education; Herrnhut, Germany; liturgy; Niesky, Saxony; Society for the Furtherance of the Gospel (sfg); Spangenberg, August Gottlieb; Unity Elders’ Conference; Zinzendorf, Nikolaus von Moravian missionaries, ix, x, xv– xvi; arrival in Labrador of, 32, 34–5, 58; and brass bands, 174, 207–9; communal life of, 29; and Inuit music, 12–15; language training of, xx, 59–60, 365n16, 370n87; as music teachers, 155, 309; paternalism of, xviii, 50–3, 240–1, 248, 256, 298; perspective on Inuit of, 253–4, 267–8; social engineering of, 36–40, 228–31, 242; use of hymns of, 58–62. See also individual names Moravian mission to Labrador, 30, 32–6, 38–9; census of, 70, 93; decline of, 47– 9; and disease, 42–3; and education, 44–5, 363n93; and governance, 52; jubilee celebration of, 114; oversight of, 164–5; social structures in, 228; trade practices of, 40–2, 51. See also choir system; Christianity; education; language; National Helpers/ Assistants; resettlement; Society for the Furtherance of the Gospel (sfg); specific mission stations; trade Moravian music, 30; composers of, 139–40, 142–4, 305–6, 325; and Inuit agency, xvii, 53, 299, 304–5, 310–11, 326–7, 334, 339; Inuit performance of, 16–17, 334–8; Inuit stewardship of, x–xi, xv–xvi, 269, 270, 285, 291,

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426 298, 307–10, 340–4; recordings of, 336. See also anthems; brass bands; choir pieces; hymnals; hymnody; hymns; instrumental music; Moravian chorales; “Sankeys”; Singstunde; trombone choirs Moraviantown, Ontario, 91–2 Morhardt, Andreas Ludwig (Br), 116 Morhardt, Johann Ludwig (John Lewis) (Br), 82, 116–17, 130–1, 135, 141, 144–9; influence of, 285; as music mentor, 153, 161–2, 380n107, 397n60 Mortensen, Peter (Br), 83, 182 Mortimer, Peter, 111–12, 115, 136, 138, 140, 144, 373n7, 379n82 Mozart, Ludwig Amadeus, 123, 124, 143; Ave verum corpus, 140 Müller, Friedrick Jensen (Br), 129, 150, 377n51 music literacy, xvi, 135, 272, 278–9, 284– 90; acquisition of, 291, 303; hybridity of, 295–6. See also education; literacy music manuscripts, x, xv, xviii; collections of, 62–5, 113, 134–42, 306, 312, 325; copying of, 248, 265, 266, 285–6, 326–7; dating of, 111, 135, 137–9, 143–4, 146, 373n8, 379n74; domestic use of, 301; reading of, 272, 294. See also anthems; archives; choir pieces; choir pieces, Inuktitut titles; Hebron; Hopedale; papermaking Nachtwache. See Watchnight Nachvak Fjord, 13, 16, 35 Nain, x, xi, xiv, xviii; anthem collection of, 248, 373n8; conversions at, 61, 69; dedication of the church of, 194, 219, 252–3, 280; disease at, 43, 252; Easter at, 181; education at, 44–6, 66, 244–7, 260, 275; establishment of, 35, 58, 60, 175; instrumental music at, 112, 114, 136, 291; Inuit musicians at, 150–2, 224, 225, 286, 301; missionaries at, 11; music at, 145,

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4 27 150, 155–6, 177, 310–11, 313; need for instruments in, 117; organ at, 131–2, 178, 293, 378n59; resettlement to, 48–9; string orchestras at, 112, 114, 141, 291; Watchnight at, 216 Nain brass band, xiv, 102, 104, 167–9, 227–8, 384n61; at church dedication, 311–12; demise of, 223; documentary about, 208; at Hebron, 221; photographs of, 104, 168–9, 189–94, 197, 202, 206, 226, 383n60; recording of, 203–7; repertoire of, 200; sound of, 207. See also Nainip Tittulautingit Nain choir, ix, xii, 102, 135, 150, 155, 368n53; and community, 167, 320, 343–4; instrumental support for, 176, 390n50; leadership of, 248, 258–9, 262; learning in, 292–4; photographs of, 187, 263, 383n60; recordings of, 308, 336, 338, 372n118, 397n58; repertoire of, 204, 312, 380n107, 395n25 Nainip Tittulautingit, 224–7 Nain Radio Station, 260, 336, 397n53 Nalujuk’s Night, xii, 357n2 National Helpers/Assistants, 165–6, 228– 31, 387n7; and gender, 241; leadership of, 248–9, 253–4; in schools, 236, 246. See also Amos (Hopedale); Assa, Ambrose; Assa, Johanna; Atsatatojok, Michael; Fox, Joas; Illiniartitsijok, Natanael; Karpik, Adam; Lampe, Matthew; Rink, Paulus Naumann, Johann Gottlieb, 140, 143, 147, 308, 327; Cora und Alonzo, 396n45 Nestle, Emilie, 297 Newfoundland, 6–7, 93–4, 98, 187, 300 Newfoundland and Labrador, government of, xix, 7, 42, 47, 358n1; Confederation with Canada of, 231, 269, 392n90; education policy of, 44, 46, 277, 393n18; Inuit policy of, 116, 261–4, 387n12; and resettlement, 48–50, 222, 266–7 New Herrnhut. See Nuuk, Greenland

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i n de x New Year’s Eve. See Watchnight Niatak, 12 Nicholina (Ramah), 243 Niesky, Saxony, 116, 119–21, 145, 189 Nisbet, Claud, 32 Nisbet Harbour. See Hoffnungs Thal Nitschmann, David, 25 Nochasak, Antone, 334 Nochasak, Harriet (Aunt), 336–8 Nochasak, Levi, 209, 243, 264–8, 270, 321, 334 Nochasak, Simeon, 266, 267 Nochasak, Tabea, 334 North Carolina, 174, 361n58, 376n39 Northwest River, Labrador, 46, 179, 220 Novello, Vincent, 124, 375n32, 375n34, 375n36 Nulletut Uvlusiupvinga, 29, 217, 386n2 Nunatsiavut, xi, xix–xx, 53; government of, 242, 357n3; Indigenous Title Agreement of, 50, 270, 358n1 Nutak, 48, 220, 222, 296, 385n103, 386n109 Nuuk, Greenland, 30, 59, 287 Obed, Dasi, 263 Obed, David, 208 Obed, Elias, 263 Obed, Gordon, 323 Obed, Joshua, 200, 223, 242 Obed, Karrie, ix, 225, 294, 308, 337, 338 Obed, Zach, 263 Ogletree, William, 336 Okak, x, xix, 35, 36, 47; anthem collection at, 373n8; Christmas at, 215; conversions at, 69, 255; Easter at, 212–14; education at, 44, 66, 275; governance at, 51; hospital at, 391n75; influenza at, 43, 220, 258, 386n104, 391n74; Inuit musicians at, 152–3; jubilee celebrations at, 114; music at, 145, 159–61, 177; resettlement of, 48, 49–50, 243; services at, 98, 99, 368n62

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428

i n de x Okak brass band, 181–2, 194, 195, 218, 257–8, 386n104 Okak choir, 160, 286 Onalik, Amos, 370n89 Onalik, Boas, 206 Onalik, Joas, 223, 243, 296, 334 Onalik, Martin, 334 Oĸâlaĸatiget Society, xviii, 208, 304, 308 Oral Tradition, xvii, xix, 5, 23, 358n10; and archives, 254; and knowledge transmission, 284, 295, 310; and memory, 272–4, 277, 290; music and, 9, 272, 281, 310; publication of, 391n80. See also storytelling organists, x, xi, xvi, 53; gender of, 241–3; improvisation by, 280; Inuit, 95, 150–4, 188, 247–8, 256–7, 286, 387n11; leadership of, 231, 232, 261–2, 269, 306, 309; mentorship of, xiv, 83, 126, 183, 273, 291–3, 298; music literacy of, 287, 326. See also Assa, Ambrose; Friede, Natan; Harris, David, Sr; Henoch (Okak); Illiniartitsijok, Natanael; Isaac (Hebron); Jararuse, John; Markus (Nain); Nochasak, Levi; Rink, Paulus; Sillitt, Jeremias (b. 1862); Sillitt, Jerry (b. 1924) organs: arrival of, 131–2, 134, 135, 162, 378n59, 378n66, 381n126; at Hopedale, 159; improvisation on, 247, 280; learning of, 150–1, 161, 279–80, 291–3; music for, 329–33; need for, 117, 156–7; playing of, 171, 376n41, 378n60; teaching of, 146, 149, 285; at Zoar, 184. See also harmoniums Otto, Julius, 232, 387n17 Outerbridge, Leonard (Sir), 208–9 Packard, Alpheus Spring, 158, 276, 380n115 Paddon, Tony (Dr), 48 Palliser, Hugh, 33–4 papermaking, 143, 146, 378n71, 379n74. See also music manuscripts

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participant-action research, xvii, xix Passiontide, xiv, xv, xix, 13, 28; anthems/ choir pieces for, 116, 138–40, 142, 144, 162–4, 307, 342–3; brass band at, 167, 173, 175, 180–3, 201, 205, 212, 213–14, 225, 285; hymns for, 64, 65, 71, 74–5, 78, 88, 100, 320–4; repertoire for, 306. See also liturgy Peacock, Doris (Sr), 242, 279, 395n2 Peacock, F.W. (Rev.), 18–21, 201, 259, 263, 277, 291, 293; establishment of radio station by, 259–60, 336; and resettlement, 47–9 Pentecost, 64, 144 perfect pitch, 279, 393n23 Periodical Accounts, xviii, 109, 122, 357n6 Perrett, Helen (Sr), 242, 395n2 Perrett, Walter W., 94, 189, 209–10, 212–13, 219, 234, 311–12; and schools, 236 photography, xix, 186–9, 357n10 piano/pianoforte, 120, 123, 131, 155, 296, 301; accompaniment of, 133, 178; lessons on, 146 Pietism, 24, 29, 238, 376n39, 396n45 Pijogge, Manasseh, 234 Pilot, William (Rev. Canon), 95, 208, 271 Post, Christian Friedrich (Br), 32 Pre-Inuit culture in Labrador, 6 Protestant Reformation, 23, 26, 30 qaggiq, 9–10, 21 qilaut, 8–9 Quebec, 7 Quirpon Island, 10 radio, xi, 108, 203, 208, 260. See also Nain Radio Station Ramah (mission station), 35, 47, 186, 264, 268; founding of, 387n13; music at, 243, 300, 384n66 Ramah Bay, 6, 99, 104 Rankin, Jeremiah, 104 Rappard, Dora, 100–1, 343

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4 29 Reichel, Levin Theodor (Bishop), 4, 161, 164–6, 180, 231, 362n82 Reissiger, Carl Gottlieb, 306 relative pitch, 279 resettlement, 43, 48–50, 105, 363n100; impact of, 170, 200, 222–3, 264, 266–7 residential schools, xix, 20, 45, 46, 170, 363n93; departure for, 220; federal apology for, 105–6 revivalism, 93, 200, 342. See also “Great Awakening” Rhodes, James (Br), 285 rhythm, 148–9, 160, 276, 297, 339; alterations to, 310; of hymns, 281; and Inuktitut text, 318–19, 325; learning of, 280, 294, 295; recomposition of, 327. See also metre; tempo Ribbach, Carl August (Br), 155–6, 178, 275 Riess, Johann Heinrich, 143, 144, 379n82 Rigolet, 94, 358n1 Rinck, Johann Christian, 371n103 Rink, Paulus, 95, 249, 371n103 Ritter, Johann Ernst (Br), 291 Rockwood, Walter, 49 Rowe, R.W., 266 Russell, John, 33 Ruth (Okak), 255–6 Sach, George (Br), 309–10 Saglek fjord, 6, 7, 16, 35 Saimat, Ben, 308 Saimat, Ruth, 334 Samuel (Nain), 151, 153, 155, 166 Samuel (Okak), 194, 195, 384n65 Sankey, Ira D., 90, 92–3 “Sankeys,” xii, xv, 58, 90, 91–3; instrumental performance of, 197, 199, 200; in Labrador tune books, 199; learning of, 280, 296; “Okpertut sorsuktut” / “Hold the Fort,” 91; popularity of, 93–5, 98–9, 102–4, 107–8, 306, 342; publication of, 96–7, 100; scores for, 289. See also hymnals, English titles; hymnals, Inuktitut

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i n de x titles; hymns, English titles; hymns, Inuktitut titles Sarah (Hebron), 90, 300 Sattugana (shaman), 12 Schloss, Brigitte (Rev. Dr), 218, 258–9, 276, 385n101, 395n2 Schmidtman, George (Br), 72–3, 76, 114, 367n50, 368n59 Schmitt, Christian (Br), 95–7 Schneider, Johann (Br), 12, 60, 284, 313 school. See education Schule, Regula (Sr), 370n89, 395n2 Schultz, Johann Abraham Peter, 113, 144 “sculpin/sculping dance,” 18 Seguliak (angakkuk), 10–12, 22–3, 32, 58, 61, 285 self-determination, xix–xx, 37, 51, 170, 268–70 Semigak, Martin, 334 Semigak, Sophie, 334 settlers, 41, 79, 101–2; education of, 45, 236, 246, 291; Inuit contact with, 93; musicians, 205; at Zoar, 183. See also Makkovik shamanism, 9, 12, 14, 16, 19, 68; decline of, 70. See also angakkuk; ceremony Sharp, Isaac, 180 Siksigak (Nain), 69 silapâks, 182, 188, 216 Sillitt, Christina, 259, 292 Sillitt, Gustav, 258–60, 268, 292–3, 391n80 Sillitt, Jeremias (b. 1862), 194, 195, 218, 225, 250, 343, 384n65; leadership of, 255–8, 298; musical literacy of, 272, 279 Sillitt, Jerry (b. 1924), 215, 260–3, 268, 270, 292–3 Sillitt, Regina, 263 Sillitt, Sibilla, 258 Simeon (Hopedale), 238 Simon, Carl (Br), 211 singing: in chapel, 158–9; and education, 67, 76, 79–80, 84, 135, 275, 284; and evangelism, 58–61, 70–1, 89–90, 107,

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i n de x 126; at home, 92, 99, 299; and identity, 20–2, 105–6; Inuit pre-contact, 9–15, 19, 359n26; learning of, 148, 273–5, 278, 280–1, 290, 292, 296; popularity of, 83, 95–9; sound of, 336–9. See also anthems; choir pieces; choirs; harmony; hymns; katatjak; “mocking songs”; Singstunde: songbooks; songs Single Men’s Festival Day. See Nulletut Uvlusiupvinga Single Sisters’ Festival Day. See Uiggasuit Uvlusiupvinga Singstunde, 28–30, 55, 67, 71, 315; books for, 73; performance of, 79, 185; transformation of, 92 slavery, 121 smallpox, 42, 289, 358n8 Society for the Furtherance of the Gospel (sfg), xvii–xviii, 95, 109, 121, 364n3; annual meeting of, 127–8; financial problems of, 122, 231; fundraising for, 214; publicity for, 122. See also La Trobe, Christian Ignatius; Periodical Accounts Solomon (Okak), 194, 195, 384n65 songbooks, 289, 301–3. See also Imgerutsit nôtiggit 100; Lieder der Niskyer Turner nebst ihren Singweisen songs: “Aklarsoaĸ,” 302–3; of Alaska, 17; and Christianity, 23, 39, 78; “God Save the King,” 199, 200, 209, 210; “Home Sweet Home,” 223; “Imgerutit tuktusiortunut / Mit dem pheil, dem bogen,” 302; Inuit, 9, 19, 21, 359n26; in Inuktitut, 289, 310; “ĸôb sennianut ingitoĸ” / “An einem fluss, der rauschend schloss,” 288, 303–4, 342; “Nutarârsuk / Schlaf Kindlein schlaf!,” 303; “O Canada,” 209; “Omajorsiorte ukalerlo / Gestern abend ging ich aus,” 302; “Twinkle, Twinkle,” 300. See also hymns; “mocking songs”; singing South Africa, 88, 91, 109, 122, 170, 230, 374n27

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430 sovereignty, 270. See also selfdetermination Spangenberg, August Gottlieb, 54–5, 57, 125, 230, 241, 376n39 Spilsbury, Maria, 11 Stach, Matthäus (Br), 32 Stadtpfeifer, 28, 172–3, 207 Stedman, Joan, 216, 242 storytelling, 21, 23, 272, 277, 358n10; in music, 324, 342. See also Oral Tradition string instruments, xi, 9, 171, 174, 176; accompaniment by, 109, 111–12, 185, 278–9, 312, 329–31; in brass bands, 197, 384n67; effect of the cold on, 117; in Greenland mission, 287; improvisation on, 280, 281; learning of, 135, 148–50, 160, 291, 293, 295; making of, 160, 299–300; music for, 135, 138–9, 146, 164, 272; need for, 118, 127–30, 134, 157, 176, 239; players of, 144, 151–3, 201, 242; teaching of, 162, 285; “UebungsStuecke fuer 2 Violinen,” 290, 394n47; in use in Labrador, 99, 132, 158. See also Joseph (Nain); tautirut St Thomas, Virgin Islands, 25, 30, 54, 174 Surinam, 88, 110 Susanna (Hebron), 297–8 Swertner, John, 73 Syms, Hannah Benigna, 118 tautirut, 9 tempo, 21; of anthems, 114, 329, 338; of band music, 203–5, 207; of harmonic rhythm, 316–17, 340–2; of Inuit music, 319, 324, 397n61. See also metre; rhythm Terriak, Samuel, 198 tessitura, xii, 142, 315, 319, 327, 336–9 Them Days, xix Thomas (Hebron), 89 Thomas (Hopedale), 287 Thomas (Zoar), 184, 185, 390n50

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43 1 throat singing. See katatjak Thule culture, 6–8, 18, 358n10 Tibet, 88 Till We Meet Again: Moravian Music in Labrador (film), xiii, 397n58 Tittulautet Nunatsiavuttini, xiii, 224, 357n3, 386n115 Titus (Nain), 244, 390n50 Tomer, William G., 104, 105 tonal system, 278–80. See also harmony Torngak, 12, 58, 61 Torrey & Alexander, 97, 98, 100, 342 Townley, Sarah, 370n89 Townley, Squire Joseph (Br), 97, 246 trade, 32, 33, 362n79, 362n80; in firearms, 362n84; Inuit dependence on, 70; Moravian monopoly of, 40–2, 51, 183, 231, 362n82; state control of, 48. See also Hudson’s Bay Company trombone choirs, 27, 171–4, 197, 207, 361n58; in Labrador, 177–81, 183–6, 194 trumpet. See brass bands Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada, 105 tuberculosis, 44, 48 Tucker, Harriot Athanasia, 184 Tuglavina (angakkuk), 34–5, 285 Tuglavina, Gustav, 163, 164, 320 Tuglavina, Magdelana, 334 tune books, brass bands, 198–200, 227, 256; “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” 199; copies of, 301; “God Save the King,” 199, 200; “Happy Birthday Song,” 200; “Home Sweet Home,” 200; “Rule Britania,” 199. See also hymns, Inuktitut titles; Melodies (Mel.); Moravian chorales; “Sankeys” Turmmusik, 173 Turner, William (Br), 61 Tutauk, 33 Uigganet Uvlusiupvinga, 29, 143, 386n2 Uiggasuit Uvlusiupvinga, 29, 217, 228–9, 386n2

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i n de x Ungava Bay, 13, 387n13 Unitas Fratrum. See Moravian Church Unity Elders’ Conference, 41, 72, 122, 164–5, 364n3, 370n87 Uviluktôk, 234–5 Uvloriak, Tom “Star,” 206, 292 Verbeek, Johannes Renatus, 120, 374n22 Verona (Hopedale), 232 violins. See string instruments violoncelli. See string instruments voice-leading, 315, 317–19 Vollprecht, J.T. (Br), 151–2 Waldmann, Siegmund (Br), 97, 221–2 Ward, Fred. W., 176, 271–2 Watchnight, xv, xix, 28, 343; brass bands at, 173, 215–17; at Hopedale, 179; hymns for, 64, 74, 75, 86, 204 Watteville, Johannes von, 367n44 Webb, Andrea, 50 Webb, Harry, 104 Weber, Anna Maria, 116 Weber, Carl Maria von, 185 Weissel, Georg, 327, 396n36 Weitz, Samuel (Br), 268 West Indies, 25, 30, 121, 230 Whaling Festival, 18 Widow’s Festival Day. See Uigganet Uvlusiupvinga Williams, Fran, 242 Willis, Algernon, 158 wind instruments: accompaniment by, 111–12, 160, 176, 185, 329; in brass bands, 189, 197; and the cold, 117; in Greenland mission, 286–7; instruction in, 135, 155, 162, 285; learning of, 160, 295, 299; making of, 160, 299; music for, 138, 146, 164, 173; need for, 134, 156–7, 162; players of, 150–3; in use in Labrador, 165, 171, 174–5, 178. See also David (Hopedale) Winkworth, Catherine, 396n36 Winsor, Earl (Capt.), 220

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i n de x Wirth, Friedrich August (Br), 301 Wolf, Ernst Wilhelm, 136, 140, 143, 145, 147, 308 Woltersdorf, Ernst Wilhelm, 100 women, 237–8, 241–3, 247, 292, 300; missionary, 241, 395n2. See also feminism; gender

43 2 Zinzendorf, Nikolaus von, 23–6, 28, 30, 54–5, 118, 121, 376n39; anthems by, 143; hymns by, 343, 364n10; and trade, 32 Zoar, 35, 41, 186, 361n58, 384n66; disease at, 43; Easter at, 181; music at, 390n50; trombone choir at, 183–5, 194

Young Men’s Festival Day. See Nulletut Uvlusiupvinga Young Women’s Festival Day. See Uiggasuit Uvlusiupvinga

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