A GOOD map of South America is one of the best textbooks of modern missionary enterprise. The more it is studied in its tremendous scope and varied aspects, the greater grows its fascination and its lure for the man on the look out for the most neglected and needy fields of the earth. The writer has a great weakness for maps of any kind, more especially for those concerning the great land of Brazil. The sheer immensity of this field dismays one, and glancing here and there, at this state or at that remoter region, or at the other great water way, one sometimes wonders: “When will the Gospel Message reach so far?” At last, maybe, comes the desired opportunity and the long-considered and dreamt of field is visited, perhaps only to discover that the Lord’s work has gone marching on, though out of sight of human ken, for “God is working His purpose out,” although churches or societies may sometimes fail to catch the vision or hear the cry.
Maranhão is the sixth largest state of the Republic, and its area is equal to that of Great Britain and Portugal. Its northern extremity is but one degree south of the equator, and it extends to ten degrees in the same direction. It seemed too far and too uncertain for a troop journey, and too venturesome and expensive for a motor trip; yet there came a day when a sequence of circumstances and providences seemed to force one’s hands, and so, in our car, laden with Bibles, pioneer tools, and billy-cans, my son Charles, Colporteur Antão, and I set out prospecting in this new region.
Little canvassing was done in the first week of travel, but, striking a small, bizarre country fair by the wayside, just when we were pressed for time, we stood up in our car and offered our books in cheap-jack style, drawing all the show―so to speak― and selling quite a good number of books in about half an hour. The usual farmhouse meetings were held nearly every night. We held an open-air meeting in the chief square of a very decadent and drowsy-looking little village, on the borders of Ceará, arousing attention by driving our car round about the place, and sounding the horn, until they must have thought that the circus had arrived, or that we were the “new revolutionaries.” When we dropped our car hood and started singing, perched up on the seats, a good crowd gathered, and we had a fine meeting.
Our first Sunday out from home was spent under a large spreading tamarind tree in a tiny village well within the state of Piauhy. The folk were very friendly, and we sold a few books, and on Sunday night we drew out the whole village to a Gospel lantern address, the white wall of the Catholic chapel serving admirably as a screen. few days later, after we had crossed a b mountain range, and had ferried the car across the swift waters of the Parnahyba River on two leaky canoes tied together―a nerve-racking experience―we soon found ourselves immersed in the lovely forests of the state of Maranhao. The thin trail carried us through extraordinarily beautiful palm forests, with attractive little huts every mile or so, built entirely of palm leaves. Their inhabitants earn a good living by collecting the nuts of the babassu palm, from which valuable oil is extracted and carried to the coast. We had an interesting time among these simple, clean-living folk, and they loaded us with gifts of fruit and eggs. Good seed was sown in these forests. A day or two later travel became very heavy, and the ax and pick were in constant use for several weeks. In one day we had to repair no less than fourteen crude bridges in order to render them comparatively safe to cross, while several broke up behind us as we cleared them at a run; and twice we were hung up perilously with two wheels through. It was often hair-raising work, especially for chauffeur Charles, but a way of escape was always at hand. When trying to cross a large river, it proved deeper than we had expected; we stopped in the middle, with water up to our feet in the car and a rainstorm well in sight. However, all the available men of a nearby village swarmed down the banks, and dragged us high and dry, and seemed well satisfied with a Gospel each for their trouble. When nearing our farthest northerly point, we struck a short stretch of about sixty miles of dense forest which took us sixteen hours of hard ax work to cut through, and that while perishing with thirst. We literally bowed down the forest before us, and the noise was terrific. There was one dreadful moment when the car stopped― it seemed for good―but with patience, perseverance, and prayer, through we went―in spite of the gloomy prophets.
It was the rainy season in that part of Brazil, and a tropical thunderstorm in a forest jungle is not pleasant, especially when it may compel one to pass a cramped night’s rest, mixed up with baggage, books, and provender.
Nevertheless, it was glorious! We soon forgot our troubles, and the many compensations filled our hearts with joy and gratitude Again and again we proved the power of prayer. When occasionally the car refused to move without visible reason: when a hill seemed unsurmountable when we broke a vital piece of mechanism, and it looked like the end of all things: when we lost our way, ran out of water, or sank into the terrible sands of the valley of the Tocantins River―then we found that God always answered prayer, and generally instantaneously!
Eventually we entered the important central city of Barra do Corda, to the music of a terrific thunderstorm. Here, to my astonishment, I found a Gospel work which has been carried on for thirty years by an unknown man from Toronto, Canada, named Perrin Smith. Without help of any kind from church or society, he has been used of God to accomplish almost the finest piece of pioneering evangelistic work I have met with in Brazil.
Drawn by what he had heard of the dire needs of North Brazil, he abandoned his visions of China’s millions, and realizing what property he possessed, he set out alone to the land of his choice, and found his field right in the heart of the state of Maranhão. Soon he was engaged in an intensive evangelization of a great area, calling for long and arduous journeys on horseback, over difficult and little-known trails. Everywhere the Message was given, in farmsteads, villages, and towns, and nearly always in the open air, as is still his custom. His labors have been so abundant and so blessed that now he can make journeys of many weeks’ duration, yet every night he can rest in the home of some believer or other. His visible resources exhausted, he supported the work for some time by engaging in Bible colportage, and I found the country well sown with the Word of God. At present he is able to carry on, and to support several native workers, by selling milk and honey in the city of Barra, where he is now highly respected, being once asked to become mayor of the town, an offer which he declined.
It was good to be able to strengthen the hands of this man of God in this isolated spot, and we pray that practical and lasting good may result from our visit. The work looks far too heavy for one man’s shoulders, and he is in the decline of life and strength.
Pushing on in a westerly direction, we passed a wonderland of many extraordinary, mushroom-topped hills that could never have been trodden by man since the Flood, some seeming to be several square miles in area, and rising two or three hundred feet sheer out of a level sandy plain of vast extent, probably the ancient bed of the river we were approaching.
There appear to be about a dozen tribes of Redskins in the state of Maranhão, and we had the honor of meeting two out of some six fine young Britishers, missionaries of the “U. F. M.” who are doing a very noble and self-sacrificing work among this most interesting race, a work comparable to that attempted by David Brainerd in his day. Real missionary heroes, and full of enthusiasm for their work, they are on the eve of great results.
Our entrance into the old-fashioned and very interesting city of Carolina, on the east bank of the mighty Tocantins, created a mild sensation among the people, for to them we seemed to have come from another world. We must have presented a curious aspect, with our travel-worn appearance, with the bonnet of our car off, and with the broken mechanism held in place by wooden forks and wire.
Here, again, we found a fine Gospel work of an independent character being carried on by two brave young Britishers, who are also attempting to run a Bible Training Institute for the young converts who may feel a call to service. At present the Institute is a crude palm hut, but better things are in view. During our stay we had several fine meetings, the open-air lantern service being greatly appreciated by a large and most attentive crowd of all classes of the community, who brought their own stools. Half an hour’s paddling carried us across the majestic Tocantins, and we sold a few Scriptures in the Goyaz town of Philadelphia ere returning. Charles felt especially proud, as he was born in the capital of Goyaz State, two thousand miles to the south.
Bidding a reluctant farewell to beautiful Carolina, we turned homeward by a more westerly course, but far and near I found that the name of the little, gray-headed Canadian gentleman was known and respected by friend and foe. One morning at daybreak, just as we were leaving the outskirts of a village where we had spent the night, I noticed a large group of men and women standing in the pathway ahead. I thought it was one of the usual groups we often met, who were anxious for a glimpse of the rarely seen world’s wonder, a motor car, and I was surprised when an old man in the group held up his hand, and called on us to stop.
Still more did I wonder when he addressed me, asking if we were “believers.” On my replying in the affirmative, the old man exclaimed with evident joy: “And so are we all here.” A little roadside meeting followed, with prayer and a word of encouragement, and they broke the impressive silence that ensued by spontaneously striking up a hymn which under the circumstances moved me profoundly. The refrain was: “Oh, make me brave to confess Thee, Lord Jesus, and to trust in Thy love evermore.” There was a true Gospel shine about the brave little band, one of the results of the ministry of Perrin Smith. A few more words, an embrace all round, and we were soon buried in the forest again.
As we neared our state of Pernambuco, we heard that the celebrated bandit, Lampião (pronounced Lamp-pea-yong), the worst scourge of his kind that Brazil has ever known, was again on the warpath, and murder and robbery were daily occurrences. We were right across his track, and discussed the possibility of an encounter, for I had long desired to meet this man. Imagine, then, our surprise, on riding into Floresta, to find that the very fine young missionary couple, Mr. and Mrs. Virgil Smith, had fallen into his hands a few days before, and had a wonderful story to tell us of their escape from death.
It seems that when only a few miles from home they were surrounded by this awful band, who had already murdered eight people that day. The bandit chief demanded a ransom of one hundred pounds, and threatened Mrs. Smith with the murder of her husband if it were not forthcoming! A message was sent to missionary friends, but only six pounds could be raised to meet the demand, and the gravest fears prevailed―but not in the hearts of the captives, to whom God gave, in answer to prayer, absolute calm and confidence. On the bearer returning with the small sum, the bandit showed no wrath, but handed back half of the sum (as it was in coin, which he could not carry), though he demanded their two horses. Evidently impressed by the unusual calm shown by his captives, and their seeming indifference to his dreaded presence, he turned to Smith and said: “Are you angry with me?” “No!” replied his prisoner, “I wish you well here, and happiness hereafter. But you have been an evil man and a great sinner before God. So, too, was I at one time, but God in His mercy forgave me, and cleansed my heart and made me a new man. Jesus Christ can save you, too, and forgive everything, if you trust Him!” While the missionary continued for a short time in this strain, the bandit stood with bowed head and downcast eyes, and said not a word, and also received and pocketed several Gospel tracts, given by probably the first man who had dominated the devil in him. When our brethren reached their home a few hours later, they were received as from the dead by the whole fear-stricken inhabitants of the city.
We still had some hardships to face, naturally, and the sight of some of the hills we were compelled to climb would make home friends stand aghast; but it had been a great time―we had sold nearly all our books, and were homeward bound!
Christmas was at hand, so we pressed forward, driving well into each night, and at 5:30 p.m. on Christmas Eve we arrived home safe and well, with two shillings and sixpence in hand after covering nearly three thousand miles through the far northwest, Only the goodness and strong hand of our God made it possible.