After a heated discussion, they asked him by whose authority he had built the hut. He answered that he had a written permission from the Governor. The chief said, “Have you not heard that we intend to kill you?” “Yes I have heard that,” answered Daehne, “but I cannot believe it. You know I am a man of peace and there is nothing in my heart but love for you, and you have among your own tribe those who can tell you that I am a friend of the Indians.” The chief was impressed by these words. He had been in many scrimmages with white men and some of them he had found to be cruel and deceitful. “I believe that you are different from the other white people,” he answered, “and you do not intend to do us harm.”
Turning to his followers, the chief addressed them in their own language, and very soon their threatening attitude changed and they showed themselves friendly. Daehne was at this time actually very short of food and he told the chief that he would be very glad to accept a gift of native bread. The request pleased the native so much that he ordered bread and fish to be given to the missionary, and before long the Caribs actually helped him to clear some more ground and showed their friendliness in many other ways. Sometimes when he was reduced to great want and hardly knew where the next meal was coming from, he found that the Carib Indians had brought some food to the door of his hut.
About this time Daehne had an extraordinary escape from what would have been a horrible death. One evening he was not feeling well and lay down on his hammock. Soon he perceived an enormous serpent—the largest he had ever seen—descending upon him from a shelf near the roof. Before he had time to change his position the creature attacked him and mound itself two or three times around his head and shoulders, making it almost impossible for him to move. By a tremendous effort, he managed to get his arms free and, supposing that he would be dead in a few minutes, he decided to write the cause of his death upon the table with a piece of chalk so that his fellow missionaries would not think he had been killed by the native Indians.
Still in the frightful grip of the savage monster, he went on writing his message, then suddenly, as he wrote, this text from the New Testament came into his mind, “They shall take up serpents and it shall not hurt them” (Mark 6:18). A moment before he had been reconciled to a horrible death, but this text seemed like a message from God, so summoning all the strength he had, he seized the serpent with such force that it was compelled to release its grip from his neck and he flung it out of the hut. Although stunned and completely exhausted, he gradually recovered from the shock and suffered no permanent injury. That he was not strangled to death, or bitten so as to be fatally poisoned, seemed a mystery, and Daehne never ceased to regard it as a deliverance from God.
Some time after this Daehne, owing to his incessant bodily labors, fell ill, and was so completely prostrate that it seemed he could not recover. He managed to send to his fellow missionaries at Paramaribo a call for help, and a friend named Boemper set out to help him. This man, however, had great difficulty in getting anyone to pilot him through the jungle, because the natives were naturally afraid of a sick man and the report had been circulated that the devil lived with Daehne. Boemper, however, eventually arrived at the Corentyn and was largely instrumental in helping his friend to recovery.
The influence of Daehne upon the savage Indians was such that when in 1765 a fierce feud arose between different tribes, the Dutch Government realized that while soldiers would probably infuriate the natives, the presence of Daehne would do much to pacify them, and accordingly he was sent to the seat of the trouble. Led by two savage leaders, Abim and Samsam, the Negroes were in revolt against the Dutch Government and all manner of cruel outrages were being committed. Daehne found Samsam willing to receive him, but the Negro was a difficult man to deal with.
He insisted on one of the missionaries living with him, not from any peculiar regard for them, but solely to have a European residing in his house, which the Negroes esteem an honor. When he found them resolute in their determination of dwelling together, he kept back their goods, and either applied them to his own use or suffered them to spoil. One of the new missionaries died, and Daehne and the other, named Stoll, at first suffered great hardships, living in a miserable little hut till Abim, the other Negro chief, built a small house for them. In a short time, however, they lost likewise this friend and benefactor, as he was shot in a battle between his own and another Negro tribe. Before he went to the battle he presented his son, John Arabini, to the missionaries, saying, “that he did not know what sort of people the brethren were, nor the cause of their abode in the country, but believed God had sent them.”
Arabini, who was chosen chief in the place of his father, proved a real friend and protector to the missionaries, who, as soon as they had learned the language, began to preach to the people. This excited the jealousy and opposition of the idol priest, and especially of the old women, who terrified their superstitious fellow countrymen by saying that their ‘gados’ (gods) were angry with them for turning to the ‘Grangado’ (the great God) of the white people.
The missionaries, ignorant of the plots for their destruction, continued to hold their family devotions with their doors open, hoping that some of the savages might be attracted by curiosity to attend. They were warned against going out of the house at night, but as Arabini maintained a good understanding with the Dutch Government, who had recommended the missionaries to his protection, none of their enemies ventured to do them any personal injury.
Arabini himself, after careful instruction, was baptized in the presence of most of the male inhabitants of the village, the women being too much afraid of their gods to come. His baptism incensed the heathen Negroes, especially the idolatrous women. Instigated by them, the chief of a neighbouring village entered the mission house foaming with rage and armed with a gun and sabre. He cursed them for committing the heinous offence of persuading Arabini to forsake the gods of his fathers. But the undaunted demeanour of the missionaries baffled him, and he returned to his own house.
In spite of the privations and the unhealthiness of the climate, together with occasional treachery of the natives, Daehne continued to labour among them with such success that, more than one hundred and fifty years after his death, the distinguished traveler, W. G. Palgrave, found lasting evidences of his work. Alone in the dark jungle, Daehne laid the foundations of Christian missions so well that today there is a well established church with schools and hospitals faithfully carrying on Christian work.
CHAPTER III.
AN ADVENTURE WITH A LION.
Suddenly the Attention of the Lion Was Diverted.
IN 1840 David Livingstone left his home in Scotland to become a missionary in the heart of Africa. After a long and wearisome journey of three months, he reached Cape Town and then rounded the Cape of Good Hope and landed at Algoa Bay. From there he started a seven-hundred-mile journey over the rough African veldt in a great wagon. Sometimes he rode on horseback.
He was just twenty-seven years of age, courageous as any man could be, with a cheerful heart and a merry laugh. He enjoyed everything. The clumsy wagon drawn by a long team of African oxen climbed up the steep hills of Africa, which reminded him of the highlands of his native Scotland. Sometimes the wagon stuck fast in the swamp or the oxen became unmanageable and refused to keep to the trail, but Livingstone enjoyed every hour of the journey, even if he had to eat tough rhinoceros for supper and his sleep was often broken by the unearthly yells and screams of animals he had never heard or seen before.
When darkness came, both men and oxen were glad to rest. The beasts were unyoked while the men went off into the bushes to gather wood, then a huge kettle was slung over it and a piece of one of the animals that had been shot during the day was roasted among the glowing sticks of the fire, and the hungry travelers thankfully ate the meat and sipped the hot coffee.
At the end of the seven-hundred-mile trek, Kuruman was reached, where Robert Moffat lived when in Africa. The savage tribes who lived in that part of the countr
y called themselves after names of animals, and near Kuruman Livingstone found the Bakwena, which means the People of the Crocodile. Here he remained for six months, and as no one there could speak English, he was forced to learn the language, which he came to know perfectly. He carefully studied the lives of the people as he saw them daily and helped them in every way. There was only one spade in the whole tribe, and that was without a handle, but he managed to dig a little canal from which water ran from a nearby stream and watered the gardens of the people; for the first time they had abundance of vegetables.
Livingstone took long journeys, sometimes of several hundred miles in different directions. One day he went into the village of a tribe called the Bakaa, where the natives had recently murdered a traveling trader. The missionary walked among them, and at their invitation ate part of their porridge, then calmly lay down and fell asleep in the midst of the murderers. Such courage they had never seen and no one harmed him.
Misfortune fell upon the People of the Crocodile, and a cruel and powerful enemy scattered them and drove them far away. Then Livingstone went to another people—the Bakhatla, which means the People of the Monkey.
The chief and all the members of this tribe were delighted when he decided to remain with them. It was a lovely village surrounded by trees; in the distance the summit of green hills could be seen, and there Livingstone lived among them as helper and friend. Day by day they came to him—the blind, the lame, and the sick— seeking his help. His power to heal different diseases amazed and delighted them and their joy was great when he showed them how to dig canals and make their gardens fertile. In the evening when day’s work was over, they would gather around campfires and tell stories of their African heroes, tales of courage and daring which had been handed on to them by their forefathers. Then Livingstone would tell them the story of Jesus Christ while they listened in wonder and amazement.
There was one thing, however, which made life a terror in this beautiful village surrounded by trees and hills. It was the constant attacks of ferocious lions, which came nightly among the herds of the village people and killed their best cows. About the time Livingstone arrived there, these attacks had become so frequent that the people were utterly discouraged and felt that they were bewitched by some evil spirits. They said: “For many years fierce lions destroyed our cattle by night; now they are so bold that they take our cattle in the middle of the day.”
A number of men were mustered together and went out in search of lions, but they were so terror stricken that they came back without having even injured one.
One day a lion, roaring with savage rage, leaped among the sheep near Livingstone’s house and killed nine in broad daylight. The missionary knew that if one lion were killed, the others would take fright and probably leave the district, so he gathered a number of the bravest men around him and hunted the beast in his lair. They found the lions on a little hill covered with trees. The hunters made a circle and Livingstone and the schoolmaster, whose name was Mebalwe, waited with guns. Mebalwe fired and hit one of the lions, which dashed through the circle of hunters, evidently more angry than hurt. This so discouraged the natives that they were afraid even to throw their spears, feeling that they were bewitched. Livingstone advanced to within thirty yards of a huge lion, then, taking steady aim, fired both barrels of his gun at its body. The natives shouted, “He is shot! He is shot! He is shot!” True enough, the animal had been hit, but was by no means dead, and when Livingstone was in the act of reloading his gun, he heard a shout. Looking up quickly, he saw the lion in the act of springing upon him. Before he could move, the animal had him in its claws and sank its teeth into his shoulder; he and the lion fell heavily to the ground, rolling over and over.
The lion shook Livingstone as a dog would shake a rat. Just when it seemed that the beast would kill him, Mebalwe fired at it twice and missed, but this diverted the attention of the lion and, leaving Livingstone, he made for the schoolmaster. Then a native whose life Livingstone had saved a few days previously flung a spear. The savage beast turned from Mebalwe to this man, and at that moment the bullets he had received did their deadly work, and the huge animal fell dead.
Livingstone’s left arm was crunched into splinters, and he carried for the rest of his life eleven huge tooth marks in his arm. The natives said they had never seen so large a lion before, and around its carcass they gathered and rejoiced as they had not done for many long months or even years.
For more than thirty-two years David Livingstone gave himself—body and soul—to help the African people. His energy never seemed to fail. As doctor, explorer, teacher, gardener, and, above all, gospel preacher, he will always be remembered for the great good he did.
Livingstone made his last journey in August 1872. It was in some ways another journey of exploration, for he did wish to make sure about the sources of the river Nile. But all the while he was gathering information so that he might return to England and strike one mighty blow at the slave trade. He said: “If the good Lord permits me to put a stop to the enormous evils of the slave trade, I shall not grudge my hunger and toils. The Nile sources are valuable to me only as a means of enabling me to open my mouth with power among men.”
He did not live to carry out all his plans, for his strength was not equal to the task with which much determination he pressed forward, but at last he became so weak that he had to be carried on the shoulders of his faithful blacks. Gradually he became too weak even to be carried. “Susi,” he said to his devoted servant, “lay me down. I can journey no farther.” A hut was hastily prepared for him, and he lay down to rest. As night came on he said: “Susi, light my candle, and then you can go to rest. Only, tell Majwara to stay within reach, in case I should need him.”
Majwara, a mere boy, lay at Livingstone’s door. During the night he summoned Susi and Chumah. “There is something wrong with master,” he said. “I am afraid.” The three hurried into the hut where the light was dimly burning. Livingstone was kneeling as in prayer by the side of the bed, his face buried in his hands. When they touched him he made no response. They called him, but he did not answer. His soul had passed into the presence of his Master. He had made the last journey. He had crossed the river that men call death. Susi and Chumah, with three others, embalmed his body, and carried it amid terrible dangers, many, many, weary miles to the coast, where it was taken to England and buried in Westminster Abbey, that last resting place of so many illustrious dead.
Livingstone traveled over thirty thousand miles through the heart of Africa. Many of these journeys were through parts where no other white man had ever been. Wherever he went, he opposed slavery and whatever other evils he found. He had infinite patience and tenderness, and in his life and teaching he showed in an extraordinary degree the spirit of his Master, Jesus Christ.
CHAPTER IV.
ADRIFT ON THE ARCTIC ICE.
More Than Once Grenfell Thought of Giving Up.
ON A bright June day in 1892, a little vessel named The Albert sailed from England for the coast of Labrador. On board the craft was a young doctor named Wilfred T. Grenfell, who was being sent out by a deep-sea mission to work among the fishermen of the northern coast of Newfoundland and the lonely, bleak coast of Labrador.
For nearly fifty years Dr. Grenfell has been a messenger of mercy to thousands of fishermen in those northern waters. When he arrived, there was not one medical man on the seven hundred miles of Labrador coastline, and the condition of the people, both “Liveyeres” and the visiting Newfoundland fishermen, was pitiable. Dr. Grenfell has been doctor, explorer, missionary and legal adviser to a great many. He has also established hospitals for the sick and orphanages for unfortunate children.
On Easter Sunday in 1908, which fell on April 21st, it was still severe winter weather at Saint Anthony’s in northern Newfoundland, where Dr. Grenfell was at that time. Everywhere there was snow and ice. Out in the ocean the sea was frozen for miles, although the break-up was daily expected. After the morning se
rvice at a little church, a boy came running to Dr. Grenfell with the news that some men and a large team of dogs had arrived from a settlement sixty miles to the south, with the hope that the doctor would go back with them to visit a young man who was suffering from bone disease of the thigh and badly in need of the doctor’s help. Dr. Grenfell agreed to go at once. He got ready his six dogs, which had pulled him across hundreds of miles of snow and ice: Moody, Watch, Spy, Brin, Jerry, Sue and Jack—all magnificent beasts and never happier than when hauling a komatik over the frozen wastes.
The men who had come for Dr. Grenfell were anxious to travel back with him, but in the first twenty miles the doctor’s dogs traveled so fast that on two or three occasions he had to wait until the others caught up. On the morning of the second day the doctor sent the others ahead with their dogs two hours before he left, feeling sure that he would soon catch up. A deep bay had to be crossed; to go around by the shoreline would mean a tiresome and dangerous journey over huge boulders that lay on the land wash. While the bay was still frozen, clear water could be seen a mile away, and this was a sure sign that the spring break-up had come at last. Dr. Grenfell knew that if he did succeed in crossing the bay he would be the last one for that season.
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