THE very friendly reception accorded to my last book, “Adventures with the Bible in Brazil,” encourages me to publish further experiences of my travels for the Master in lesser known parts of this great Republic. To Him alone be all the glory.
It is remarkable how little is known abroad as to the actual conditions that exist in the far interior of a country nearly as large as the continent of Europe.
Of late years the southern states of Brazil have advanced very rapidly in every way, and could almost hold their own with many countries of the old world in matters of general prosperity, progress, and wealth. In the greater northern regions of the republic things are vastly different. As much of this territory yet remains to be discovered, it forms the greatest unexplored region in the world today, and is one of the most difficult and dangerous to penetrate, on account of the many Indian tribes therein, who resent the pale-face intruder. Since these forgotten tribes occupy so great an area of the country, it is necessary that some mention of them should be made, and several chapters will be found devoted to this fascinating subject.
Great as the progress of the Gospel has been, Brazil yet remains largely unevangelized, especially in the north, where, apart from the heroic band of Britishers working in dark Amazonia among the redskins, the number of missionaries directly engaged in preaching the Word does not exceed a score of men, with the co-operation of some thirty native preachers; this in a region over half the size of the United States of America. Nevertheless, much has been accomplished, as the reports of the Bible Societies can show, and never was the Book so well received as in Brazil at the present time.
Once again will be evidenced the fact of the power of God’s Word in humble, contrite hearts. As the days go by, this power is more and more in evidence, and as yet the Modernist Philistine has not dared to raise his uncircumcised head amongst us. To the writer it is an amazing thing to note the amount of time and effort the great missionary conventions and conferences devote to industrial and medical missions, to hospitals, universities, literature, philanthropy, and other means towards the saving of men, all good enough in their way, perhaps, and yet so very weak and fallible as compared with the Sword of the Spirit, the Word of God! If a tithe of the time spent in the consideration of the other matters referred to was directed to this means of God’s own provision, this infallible weapon of offense and defense, which never can fail wherever the good ground of sincerity and humility is found; if closer consideration were devoted to discovering ways and means of making fuller use of the Bible, of intensifying our circulation of the same, to our better training of colporteurs, and fuller co-operation with, and support of, the Bible Societies―then I feel assured that the results would be greater and richer all the world over; and, built upon the Word of God, would be safer and more enduring, and far more to His praise and glory in the great day at hand.
All true missionaries should be revolutionaries, in every age and clime. We seek, in the Name and with the aid of our great Captain, to overthrow the reigning prince of this world, and to set his captives free. We are rebels in the eyes of Apollyon, as well as in the estimation of his subjects of Vanity Fair. Years before my conversion on a Brazilian gold mine, I find that this same spirit of revolt was in action, as the following will manifest.
Only a few weeks before sailing to Brazil for the first time, though such a possibility was as yet undreamt of, I found myself in camp for the Easter maneuvers as a private of the 2nd Essex Volunteers. We were at Brentwood, training with the regular forces of the Army.
On the morning of Good Friday there came a break in the program, and we all formed up for church parade, marching to the barracks chapel with the regulars. After the usual beautiful and impressive service of the Church of England, the chaplain climbed up into the pulpit to preach―what a sermon! Though an unconverted man, I had an instinctive knowledge of the Truth, believed in the Bible, and strove for the faith that was in me. While working as an apprentice in a big locomotive works, I had endured much scorn and contempt because of my belief in God’s Word, unenlightened as I was, and as now I listened to the pompous, proud preacher, I knew he was untrue, and felt a hot indignation that these fine men were being given so unfair, unlovely, and untrue a representation of the message of Good Friday. Such men as this chaplain are as much a shame to the Gospel of Jesus Christ as any Roman Catholic priest could be.
The service over and the “dismiss” pronounced, it was natural for the men to discuss the parson, and to my added disgust I found that this representative of Christianity was cordially detested by the rank and file, especially as some had been put in prison at his instigation, for sleeping under his dreary discourses. To me it seemed so terrible that these soldiers were being trained to look upon Christianity as the worthless thing it seemed to be in that pulpit. I tried to be fair, however. “Perhaps he has no idea of how he is hated and despised,” I thought, “and thinks he is doing his best, nobody having the courage to open his eyes.” There and then I sat down in the barracks reading room and wrote him a letter. I don’t remember what I said, except that I gave him my own impressions of the service, spoke of the pity of it, mentioned the unbelief of the soldiers, and expressed a desire to have a talk with him at his convenience―all written in a studiously respectful manner. The letter finished, there came the moment to sign my name―and I hesitated. I remembered the bread and water, and the “solitary.” Then I thought of the chaplain’s red face, and the hard tones, and finally signed a “nom de guerre.” At the same time I indicated how he could let me know if he wanted to have a talk with me. Very cautiously I passed the letter through several hands to the sergeant of the guard, knowing that in due course the chaplain would receive it without being able to trace it back to me―somewhat cowardly, I admit―but then I was young and lacked the power of a regenerated life.
The rest of that day, and all Saturday, we marched and counter-marched over those Essex hills, and many were the hypothetically “killed and wounded;” yet, in the heat and fury of the fight, I could not forget that letter. At last Easter Sunday dawned on the camp, and there had been no reply, though I had cautiously inquired in safe quarters.
Once more the bugle called to church parade, and again we filed into the large barracks chapel, occupying one half of the building with our volunteer battalion, the regulars taking the rest of the space. The chapel had been seasonably decorated for the occasion with flowers and shrubs, and looked very attractive; while the commanding Colonel and the whole military staff were present in full uniform, as well as the officers wives―an imposing scene. The service passed off well, and the ventured choir sang an appropriate Easter anthem. Then came the sermon.
As the chaplain began to mount the pulpit steps an ominous presentiment came over me, and I felt as though I had become raised in my seat, or as if it were in far too prominent a position. At last the preacher came in view at the pulpit top, and I thought his face looked harder and certainly redder than ever. He paused, and his eyes roamed over the congregation. Was he looking for me? Had my letter not been in vain? Then he quietly gave out his chosen text. Again came a long pause, and a searching glance, what time he grew redder and redder, and in my imagination he seemed to swell. He opened his mouth several times, grew visibly more excited, and then―exploded! In all the years of his professional duties he had have improved his reputation. Another day of sham fighting followed, and then we disbanded and returned to our different occupations, but I resolved to continue the revolutionary correspondence as a private citizen. However, God had other plans for me, and within a few weeks I had signed a three-years’ contract with a foreign railway company, and had sailed away to Brazil.