IT was practically my first journey on horseback through Brazil since my late conversion on a gold mine in the central-south of the republic, and things were very new and strange, as I had yet had no experience in Gospel work beyond scrubbing the mission floor. My knowledge of Portuguese was very meager at that time; it had sufficed to boss the niggers in the assay office, but was not enough to sell Bibles, which was the main object of my two American friends in their long ride from Ouro Preto to the sea. I felt thankful, however, to be permitted to accompany them at all, for I was young and active, keen on new experiences, and eager to do something for the One Who had done so much for me. Willing to abase or abound, it fell to my lot to look after the animals, to rub them down each night, and find provender for them, besides cooking the unfailing beans and rice, and washing up the dishes after each meal, what time my two friends sallied forth with bags in their hands, to engage in the more honorable and interesting work of selling Scriptures at every town or village which we passed or where we spent the night.
In this way several hundred miles had been covered when we found, to our concern, that the exchequer was becoming very low. Book sales had been few―far fewer than we had anticipated, and we were largely dependent on these sales to pay our way across country; but it seemed that I was spending more money on the animals and the cooking pot than my companions were earning through their colportage.
I had now become an expert cook, and my vocation seemed assured and permanent; but alas! there was no improvement in the daily income, and we had yet a long, long way to go. One morning our leader astonished me by exclaiming, “Look here, Glass, I think you had better try your hand at Bible-selling today, while I do the cooking. You may do better than we have done, for you cannot do much worse, so let us see how you succeed, anyhow, for we cannot go on like this.” Here was a to-do! My heart sank within me, and how willingly I would have evaded this call. I would not and could not say “No,” however; so, swallowing my feelings and a hasty meal, I saddled up, and with my saddlebags well stocked with books, I reluctantly set forth ahead of the more slow-going troop, to canvass the next town, a few miles away. I fully expected to make a fool of myself, as I coldly reflected that I had never sold a book in my life, nor anything else for that matter; and then, too, my Portuguese―and here I began feverishly trying to string a few words together that might serve me in the all-too-novel and difficult vocation of a Bible colporteur. I could make a fair assay and melt a gold bar, but bookselling seemed out of my line altogether. At last a town appeared in the distance, and what a very ugly look it had, to be sure! Soon I was picking my way through the fringe of the place, with a very queer feeling down the spine of my back, as though I were marching to my execution; and I never prayed so earnestly.
Pulling up in the central square of the town, I tied my horse to a post, and then fumbled nervously at my saddlebags to gain time. I hardly dared to look around, feeling that all the eyes of the city were upon me.
Endeavoring to shake myself together, and feeling it was a case of “now or never,” I grabbed a few Bibles and Testaments, and dived in at the open doors of the nearest shop. The owner looked up in some surprise at this unexpected visit, and set me all in a flutter by making some remark I could not understand. Plunging into the breach, I started in with the first of the three sentences I had been compiling en route. “Tenho aqui Senhor urn born livro” (“I have here a good book, sir”), and I handed the man a Bible. I did not feel at all proud of my phrase; it sounded too much like a copy book, but the shopkeeper seemed to have a lot to say about it, all of which was Dutch to me, and I could only smile back at him vacantly and produce my second linguistic masterpiece: “It is a very cheap book, sir.” This very simple remark produced another lengthy rejoinder, equally unintelligible, but to which I replied, emphatically, “It only costs two milreis.” The man stared at me in rather a surprised manner, and I wondered what was coming next, when to my utter astonishment he drew open his till and handed me the price of the book. I had sold my first Bible within ten minutes of my arrival in the town.
I hurried forth lest he might want his money back, and sought a hiding place in the shop next door. Here again I essayed to trot out my three classic remarks at convenient intervals, and smiled at the voluble comments they produced, when, to and behold, another Bible was disposed of in less time than the first. I was the most amazed person living. It seemed like a dream, as backwards and forwards I went to those saddlebags to replenish my armful of books, and long before the troop caught me up I had sold every copy of my stock. It certainly was not owing to my vast experience, to my Portuguese, or natural capacity of any kind, but just to the gift and power of the Spirit of God, to Whom be the glory.
My two friends were duly impressed by my story, and had only to peep into those saddlebags to confirm the truth of the miracle. “You certainly have the gift for selling Bibles,” said the leader of the party; “after today we will do the cooking and care for the animals, and you can be colporteur.”
I confess that I did not feel at all impressed by this new arrangement, but the fact remained that at the very next town the same thing happened, and at the next also, while little by little my vocabulary became more elastic. I began to feel more confident, and, eventually, had real joy in the work―a joy I have never lost, though I have never been quite able to throw off that cold feeling referred to when starting to canvass a strange city.
After the event related we had no more trouble with the exchequer, and finally reached the seaport of Victoria, opening a Mission station there, which I was enabled to support for a considerable period by my sales of Bibles and Testaments.
You can never tell what gift you may possess until the Lord brings you face to face with some such crisis and call as that which launched me out into the great and glorious ministry of sowing the seed.