The Burden and Heat of the Day

“Carr down with typhoid fever. The Lord bless the means used and spare his life!” so closes 1888. Nursing in a place far removed from reliable medical help as Palamcottah was at that time, holds many an experience like the following, which occurred after forty days of unrelieved distress:

“I telegraphed at daybreak last Tuesday to the Trichinopoly doctor, asking if he could come at once. He replied: ‘Yes; can come by the night mail to-night.’ I wired back: ‘We shall expect you.’ On Wednesday, accordingly, we got all ready for him, and I went to the station to meet him. To my great disappointment he had not come, and shortly afterwards I got a telegram to say: ‘Unavoidably detained; may I come to-night? ‘I replied: ‘Yes; do come without fail; ’ and again we made preparations for him, and again I went to the station to meet the Thursday mail train. Once more he had disappointed us, and it required all our faith to believe that it was all right. However, a further telegram came: ‘Will come to-night without fail.’ Once more, yesterday, Friday, I went to meet the mail, and thia time he turned up. It seems that he had three cases of typhoid himself at Trichinopoly, and had great difficulty in leaving.”

“We do miss Carr so much,” he wrote to his sister, “for he is bright as a sunbeam when he is well.” On February yd there is a short glad journal entry: “How thankful we are to have him [E. S. Carr] able to join us in the breaking of bread again!”

From the midst of sick nursing he wrote to his mother on February 18, 1889, in reference to a local trouble:

“But I suppose it is the same all the world over. The whole world is more and more decidedly ’ taking sides.’ On the one hand there is more true missionary spirit and more out-and-out Christianity than ever there was, and on the other hand there is more open-mouthed infidelity. People are feeling that they must be either one thing or the other. There is no longer a middle path. It is good that it should be so. It is a sign of the times. It speaks of the coming end. ‘The darkness is passing away, and the true light is now shining.’ Darkness and light are beginning to be seen in the essential difference of their character, and to be more and more widely separated the one from the other. Soon the Kingdom of Light and Heaven shall be perfectly manifested. The great final conflict will come, and Satan shall be cast out and Christ shall triumph. ‘He must reign.’ Europe seems arming for war, but the Lord reigneth. All these kings and hosts are grasshoppers before Him. If He blows upon them, they will vanish away. All things progress towards the coming event. He that shall come will come.”

A few days later came suddenly the first great sorrow:

“February 28. — English mail; news of dear mother’s death. So unexpected. What a mother! How it takes me back to the morning when I left her for India; how gladly she gave me for the Master’s work. And now no more here, but There. Oh for grace through this blow for every one of her family. And we also bless Thy holy Name for all thy servants (especially for this Thy servant) departed this life in Thy faith and fear; beseeching Thee to give us grace so to follow their (her) good examples, that with them (yea! with her) we may be partakers of Thy heavenly Kingdom.

“March 1. — A day of terrible effort. Quite unstrung after yesterday’s mail. And now these long anxious weeks terminate in Carr’s departure for Madras. Last packing. [Details of seeing him off follow.] Back to Palamcottah. At 5.30 usual prayer-meeting. I spoke on Ezra i. — Call to missionary work. So relieved to get alone after the tension of the day.”

The first sorrow: no missionary ever forgets his first sorrow, borne, in spite of sympathy around, alone. Letters written to the scattered members of the family were some relief in the desolation:

“I should like to be with you all at this time,” he wrote to his elder sister.” It must have been terribly trying. But dear mother gave me gladly and unreservedly to that missionary

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work which admits of no opportunities to indulge private affections.

“And now, may the Father of mercies and God of all comfort Himself draw near to you all at this time. We are gathering homeward one by one. It is but a little way on before. The Lord sanctify us wholly and fit us for His glory.”

During all the intervals of life, whenever opportunity offered, Tamil study was continued as strenuously as in the first year. Among the books of the year were the Mahdbharata, a great legendary heroic poem in classical Tamil, and the Kurral, also in classical Tamil, a book full of delightful old-world wisdom, often quoted in later days. Soon Sanskrit was added, as of value in understanding Indian thought, and in helping to win a way into the fastnesses of Hinduism. And always something in English was on hand — missionary biography, scientific treatise, history, travel, or poetry. But beyond all, at all times without a break, whether in camp or journeying, there was daily deep digging into the inexhaustible mine of Holy Scripture.

Camp was, as always, full of the usual:

“Tried by servant’s remissness on the top of a bad night. Brahmans would have none of Christ. Crowd of Vellalars heard fairly well. Pallars said that to become Christians would bring trouble, so they must risk the trouble in store after death. Farther on little groups of Vellalars and others heard us gladly. Admitted truth of Christ, but tried to excuse themselves on ground that God had not given them believing minds. Much interrupted by an irrepressible man who first said God was not One but many; then, beaten there, said finally that God, not we, is responsible for sin. Poor man, thought he was so clever, not knowing how wicked.”

Then, with sudden shifting of the scenes not uncommon in a district which has seen mass movements in the past:

“Here about sixteen houses, after being in Christian Church ten to twenty years, have just lapsed into heathenism. Cause, some business about mission land. Turns out that they have had idolatry quietly going on in their houses all the time without any mission agent’s discovering it. Mixed marriages a great cause of weakness here. Had long talk with pastor about it all. Need of much stronger discipline.”

In pleasant contrast to this we have a later note about another congregation:

“We formed in procession and marched with singing to a neighbouring village. Good open-air preaching, two of congregation taking part. Afterwards marched back singing to village headman’s house, where in courtyard a large company assembled for prayer-meeting. I spoke on need of individual consecration, and then a member of congregation spoke on preaching to heathen. He used an amusing but good illustration, likening European missionaries to first cock crowing; catechists and schoolmasters to neighbouring cocks which take up the cry; and ordinary Christians to the cock world at large, joining in the chorus of preaching to the heathen.”

There were often visitors to the tent, followers of one or other of the ancient philosophical systems of India, each requiring separate study and sympathetic approach. There are no notes of these conversations, doubtless because they were too prolonged and too intricate for a journal which deals in brevities; but there was never any doubt in the mind of its writer as to the importance and, divinely speaking, possibility of winning these who are the hardest of all to be won. “Some visitors — young caste men convinced of the truth, but afraid of taking up the cross,” is an entry which paints a picture at a stroke. “Where are the Corneliuses of India?” Some were found, two in that second year, and both were laid hold upon in open-air street-preaching; but the greater number of such won for Christ in this land have been, as he always affirmed, first influenced in Christian schools and colleges; and he had the fullest sympathy with such when the work was truly spiritual and the winning of souls kept first.

“He was very quick at giving replies that silenced the opponent.” This is a reminiscence from Kev. H. Schaffter of the C.M.S. Tinnevelly College.” A very conceited young I.C.S. man seated next to him at a dinner said in a bumptious way, ‘You missionaries are needed only among savages; these Hindus are far too civilised for you.” Can you be unaware that Greece was at the very pinnacle of this world’s civilisation and learning when St. Paul preached the Gospel there? ’ was his reply.

Considering that the young man (now knighted and an M.P.) particularly prided himself on his classics, Walker’s ‘Can you be unaware? ’ kept him quiet for the rest of dinner.”

He did not much care about answering a fool according to his folly, but was sometimes driven to it; a stock argument, built upon an illustration according to familiar Indian fashion, is this:

“Here is a filter, a large earthen vessel pierced at the bottom with holes through which the water drops. The holes are many: the water is one. So religion is one: the holes — Christian, Hindu, and so on — are many.”

To this he replied — and there was no answer to the question:

“But the water I see coming from your hole is dirty; the water that comes from my hole is clean. If the water in the filter is all the same water, how do you account for that?” For however sympathetically the subject be approached, no one can honestly affirm that the complex compound now known as Hinduism issues in anything comparable to a flow of pure water. Those who so regard it cannot know much of the nature of its various ingredients. The Hindu at least, if he is sincere and thoughtful, is dumb before the fact which he finds himself unable to contradict.

“To my cheer and joy Harcourt turned up and joined me,” is an entry in March; and together the friends worked in the towns and villages under the Western Ghauts, then, as now, wholly given up to idolatry. Again the Sunday record, written in the now familiar Dohnavur bungalow, is full of the restfulness of that little place of peace: “Happy day. Quiet, helpful, a delight.” But in a town near by a great heathen festival was in progress, and the streets of the town were crowded with castemen dragging the temple car through the streets by huge ropes; while the dust-filled air rang with the shouts of the excited population. At such times the people are too much taken up with their own affairs to listen; but booklets can be given away, and sometimes there are chances for quiet talks on the outskirts of the crowd. A day or two later, the Brahmans of that always friendly, though entirely unmoved, town, listened obligingly; but claimed at the end of the preaching that all religions were good — theirs for them, ours for us. The next day was spent in the market town of Vallioor, near Dohnavur, where a crowd, “though rather a restless one,” gathered. But though some listened there was not much spiritual response, and he writes from that little market town to his sister:

“I look out from my tent here on thoroughly Eastern scenes. On one side is a rock into which a temple is built, confronted by a large square tank into which broad flights of stone steps dip. Here the people come to bathe and wash and beat out their garments. On the other side is a threshing-floor. The oxen are treading out the corn, with unmuzzled mouth, and going round and round in small circles. The straw is piled up in stacks close by. Everything is so different from England; while the hot sun makes one feel broiled, or rather stewed, for the skin is all wet with perspiration.

“Everywhere we find sad indifference to spiritual things. There seems so little desire for the holy and the true. The people who do become Christians are often influenced by secondary motives. They think that to become Christians will raise their position. Yet often people, who have come at first from such considerations, become afterwards true Christians.

“To-day is market day here; some of us are going out soon to preach to the marketers. The other day we saw one of the famous Hindu car processions. After the car, and following in its track, two men were performing penance: one was dragging himself on his chest over the path the car had taken for a very considerable distance; the other one was rolling from side to side over every inch of the ground. The people make vows to do this kind of thing to remove sickness, etc. I wish I could think that it was under a sense of sin, as we read in missionary books. But I can’t. In fact, my opinion is that sense of sin is a very rare article indeed in India. It is merely with the idea of removing sickness or averting disaster.”

“I wish I could think ... but I can’t.”

“The face of things appeareth not the same
Far off, and when we scan them nigh at hand.”

If Euripides had been a missionary, could he have expressed a missionary truism better?

Journal and letter of this missionary, as of many another, show the invisible tracks of that messenger of Truth whose first duty to the novice is to show him the truth. For, however sincerely he has tried to understand the conditions of his field before he entered it, and however disinclined he may have been by nature to dress up facts in fiction, the new missionary usually finds (unless he is in one of those rare places where things happen as one wishes they would) that he has all unawares nursed some illusions; and these bright babes of the imagination have to be disinherited before he gets far on his road. Eventually, if he is made of the right stuff, he becomes keener than ever; but something has gone and something has come. His adjustments are different from those of a year or two ago. The call he hears now, sounds with another voice, less sweet but far more insistent. He knows now, knows it intensely, that the call of a land is not its conscious desire, but its awful need of God. The sound of his brother’s blood crieth unto God from the ground; he has stood in the secret place with his God and heard that cry from the ground. But the letters only tell what letters may — never the innermost:

“You complain about the deadness of souls and work at home? How would you not complain here, where all the influences are against you as a spiritual worker, and where men’s consciences seem to be utterly dead to holy things. In England at least you have the satisfaction of knowing that the conscience even of the most ungodly is speaking on the side of the truth which you teach; but here there seems little or no conscience to touch. However, that is God’s part of the work. Ours is simply to witness in faith....

“Books and reports give you but little idea of the real state of things. You need to be behind the scenes and to view things in their proper light. Occasional visitors cannot do that, and so they give expressions to strong utterances either for or against missionary work. Some people look out only for the bright side, and others only for the dark side. The reality is generally a fair combination of the two.”

And again from the heart of a Hindu town:

“We find them everywhere so indifferent to their souls’ interests. One is tempted to ask, Can these bones live? and driven back upon the old prayer, Come from the four winds and breathe upon these slain, that they may live. The Hindus have a deep-rooted objection to anything foreign in the way of religion. They are so proud of their own, that they will not see the folly of it, and, alas! one must say, the filth of it. You find intelligent men worshipping gods whose history, according to their own books, is one tissue of sin and crime. It is the old story, The god of this world hath blinded the minds of them that believe not. It is partly, I think, that they have lost all sense and conception of what true holiness means. To them wisdom, so called, is everything. I have often noticed that where we should use the word ’ holiness ’ in Christian phraseology, the Hindu uses ‘wisdom.’ We say, ‘Without holiness no man shall see the Lord.’ But the Hindu philosopher says, ‘Without attaining high wisdom no man shall be absorbed in Brahma.’ What is sin with us is only ’ ignorance ’ with them. And, I take it, that is one reason why they don’t loathe sin and long for the religion of salvation and holiness.”

On, and still on; scores of places are mentioned; on through the glittering heat of March, April, May, for there was no going to the hills this year, the weeks spent in sick-nursing being, he considered, sufficient holiday; on, in some degree of relief after the light rains of June began, till July, when “A little tired; very tired; dead tired; not diligent; feeling of weariness and lassitude” tell what it must have been: for missionary endeavour is not a picnic, but sheer hard work.

Still the Star of Sunday is welcomed: “Right welcome! Who would not call the Sabbath a delight?” Then, in a different vein:

“Brahmans heard well and in numbers, also others. Very hot ride. Evening; Brahmans came in crowds to hear, but at last interrupted and spoke ungraciously. Conversation followed, and trust it was not in vain. The flesh does rebel at being accused of preaching for pay. Have need of patience. Feeling anxious about the preaching, and not up to much. First to the Brahman quarters; a large crowd, but some objected and it got noisy. By a mistaken idea of ours, some of our friends got too near their temple [hence the disturbance], and the scene was getting noisy when I called off my friends. Then planted ourselves at top of public street hard by. Some of the younger

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Brahmans followed and started rival meeting, following us and speaking at a little distance, raising noisy cries. We quietly kept to our own work and our own message, and after awhile they desisted. Oh for wisdom and patience and love!”

A note written at this time in a small mud room where, even between meetings, privacy was quite impossible, and the clamour and chatter of voices seemed to intensify the heat, says simply:

“Not much time for Bible-reading; but rest and peace like a sweet calm in one’s soul.” Rest, peace, and sweet calm were needed for that work. The next entry is: “On way here pained to the heart by blasphemous words about the Lord Jesus, uttered in derision in the streets. Contradiction of sinners.”

But no one who has not heard such words, and seen the look of scorn on the clever faces, can realise to the full the poignancy of that pain.

“To God be the praise for a quieter and freer course for our witness” is a happy entry on the next page, but followed soon by “So tired.” For another week the fight was fought to which there could be but one end. Then:

“Carried in chair by bearers to Ambasamudram [an experience of physical misery never forgotten], thence by bandy to Palamcottah. After frightful jolting reached Palamcottah about 7 a.m. Doctor pronounced it fever — proved to be typhoid. Every one kindness itself, but Mrs. Harcourt more than kind; nursed me till we got a nurse (a fortnight’s delay), and afterwards too, giving up all her time to me. The good Lord reward her.”

This, in shaky handwriting, written after recovery had set in, covers the weeks.

“The worst of it was I could not pray,” he said long afterwards. [” But little drawing of heart after holy things,” the poor journal confesses in its weak handwriting.]” I could not think of a single word; and I don’t know what I should have done if it had not been for the prayers that came with out effort into my mind. Every night the beautiful Third Collect came; how it comforted me! ‘Lighten our darkness, we beseech Thee, 0 Lord; and by Thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night, for the love of

Thy only Sou, our Saviour, Jesus Christ.’ It said everything I wanted to say, and said it perfectly.”

“He lives in my memory,” writes Mrs. Harcourt; “his was a unique personality. Though of a quiet and retiring disposition, he was a man of no mean abilities, and he soon acquired the Tamil language; and when he delivered his Master’s message, he spoke with a fluency and earnestness that attracted attention and went to the hearts of his hearers. They could not but feel he had sat at the Master’s feet and been imbued with His Spirit. I had the privilege of nursing him through an attack of typhoid fever. I say privilege, because I valued the quiet talks we had together during the time when he was convalescent; it made me feel it was good to be there, raising one’s mind to higher and holier things.”

The next few entries in the journal show him just as he was, ill or well:

“September 8. — Surprised by a letter from Peel [O.M.S. Secretary at Madras] refusing to sanction my Coonoor plan, and requiring me to go to Madras a [plan which might end in being ordered to England to recruit]. Hope I may be led aright.

“September 9. — Wrote protest and appeal to Peel; must now wait quietly for leadings.

“September 11. — Telegrams sanctioning my going to
O/onoor.

“September 16. — On way to Coonoor (Nilgiri Hills). Scenery up Ghaut lovely. Tonga pace very rapid, horses changed every few miles, and as soon as fastened in shaft off with a rush and a plunge. May I be a witness here!”

It had been a trial to leave Bishop Sargent in weak health:

“He will not be able to work on much longer, but he is one of those who will die in harness. They are the right kind after all, whatever people are pleased to say about them: they love not their lives to the death.”

“October 8. — Out of gear through telegram announcing that Bishop Sargent is sinking rapidly, and I am away and useless.

“October 9. — Telegrams about Bishop Sargent.

“October 11. — News of Bishop Sargent rallying.

“October 12. — Telegram announcing Bishop Sargent’s death. Have not realised all it means yet, but for him it is glory.”

“Thank God for His mercies to me on these hills,” is the last journal word as the hills are left. “A day’s march nearer work” ends the first day’s journey towards the plains.

It was sorrowful to find the Bishop’s old bungalow deserted, stripped inside, and empty without him. It was thereafter occupied by the Rev. and Mrs. Kember, who lived there until “that blameless missionary,” as he used to call Mr. Kember, went to behold his Master’s face in brightness.

The November journal tells of settling into a new bungalow: “Ardill kindly came to stay a little and cheer my loneliness.” The care of all the churches began to press heavily: “Many anxieties about the Tamil Christians.” These had been anticipated: “In my last talk with Bishop Sargent I asked him what he felt about things in general. ‘I’m not sanguine. I’m not sanguine,’ was all he said, shaking his head sadly. He would never say much.” This, from a later conversation with one who asked concerning past history, is sufficient to show there was cause for anxiety in the hearts of those who watched for the spiritual good of the Church. The anxiety was shared by the C.M.S. Committee at home, and the Rev. John Barton came to Tinnevelly towards the close of 1889 to co-operate with those on the field in reorganising the work.

A home letter of December 20th refers to this event:

“There are many changes ahead, and each one needs careful consideration. They do not affect me much personally, as my own wish to be free for directly spiritual and evangelistic work is pretty well known and understood. But still I have to help with advice and co-operation in settling plans for the future conduct of the mission. Mr. Barton is firm enough in one direction — to promote the spiritual work at any cost; and there he just hits off what I have long felt about Tinnevelly. We want less of policy and more of downright, straightforward Gospel work in reliance on the Spirit of grace.”

41 The one thing that shone out among the tumult of my thoughts was a lively sense of God’s goodness.”

FRANCOIS COILLARD, On the Threshold of Central Africa.

1890]