[Illustration:
_Courtesy of Ralph A. Felton_
AT THE AMERICAN UNIVERSITY OF BEIRUT, SYRIA
The schools and colleges founded by missionaries believe in an
all-round education which includes athletics.]
UNDER MANY
FLAGS
BY
KATHARINE SCHERER CRONK
AND
ELSIE SINGMASTER
NEW YORK
MISSIONARY EDUCATION MOVEMENT
OF THE UNITED STATES AND CANADA
COPYRIGHT 1921 BY
MISSIONARY EDUCATION MOVEMENT OF THE
UNITED STATES AND CANADA
CONTENTS
PAGE
I A BAKER BY NECESSITY 1
Cyrus Hamlin of Turkey: statesman
and educator
II THE MAN WITH A MILLION BIBLES 16
Hugh Tucker of Brazil: Christian
social service leader and agent of
the American Bible Society
III THE STORY OF POIT 31
Barbrooke Grubb of Paraguay: explorer
and general missionary
IV TREE-NOT-SHAKEN-BY-THE-WIND 48
Fred Hope of West Africa: industrial
expert
V WHEN MARY WAS AFRAID 67
Mary Slessor of Nigeria: teacher
and the "White Queen of Okoyong"
VI THE BOY FOR WHOM NO ONE CARED 84
David Day of Liberia: general missionary
VII UNDER TWO FLAGS 99
Jennie Crawford of China: nurse
VIII SIXTY-SIX DAYS WITH BANDITS 116
Albert Shelton of the Tibetan Border:
pioneer and physician
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Athletics at Beirut University _Frontispiece_
Robert College 7
Hugh C. Tucker 19
Playground in Rio de Janiero 29
Chaco Indian girls 35
Barbrooke Grubb and Indians 43
The village drum in Africa 53
Chair making in Africa 59
Fred Hope 65
An African village 73
Dr. Day's mission and coffee industry 91
Jennie Crawford at work 109
Travel in Tibet 117
Dr. Shelton at work 121
Dr. Shelton and friends in Tibet 131
FOREWORD
In olden days kings and emperors sent their armies to conquer weaker
nations. As soon as the victory was won, the flag of the vanquished was
torn down, and the flag of the victor was raised.
Two thousand years ago a new king sent his army into the world. It
was a small army with no guns and no battleships, and in it were only
twelve men. They were commanded to go first to the lands nearest to
them and then out "into all the world."
They were not to tear down any flags, but they were to raise the banner
of their Leader above all other flags. There was on it a new device, a
Cross, which signified that the king was a King of Love. His commands
were such as no other conqueror had ever given:
TEACH ALL NATIONS
HEAL THE SICK
CLEANSE THE LEPER
FEED THE HUNGRY
CLOTHE THE NAKED
PREACH THE GOSPEL
The enemies against whom His soldiers were to fight were not human
beings, however wicked and depraved they might be, but ignorance and
poverty and superstition and hunger, which made people wicked.
The army did not long number only twelve men; it soon grew to hundreds
and thousands. Of the soldiers some were shipwrecked, some were stoned,
some faced lions and tigers and poisonous serpents; but they all did
the King's work. They preached the gospel, not only from pulpits,
but in schools and hospitals and on the farm. They taught men how to
make better homes, and to raise more food; they healed the sick and
comforted the dying by telling them of Heaven. Under many flags they
fought, but by their lives and their teachings they lifted the flag of
their Leader above all.
It is of a few of these brave men and women that this book tells. The
authors hope that the boys and girls who read it will enlist in this
army.
K. S. C.
E. S.
_March, 1921._
I
A BAKER BY NECESSITY
It was muster day in Maine, and little Cyrus Hamlin was about to start
from the farm on which he lived with his mother and brother to town
where he would see the regiment hold a sham battle. He had expected his
brother to go with him, but he was ill. As Cyrus started away alone,
his mother said:
"Here are seven cents to buy gingerbread with. Perhaps you will put a
cent in the missionary box as you go by Mrs. Farrar's house."
Cyrus thought he had a great deal of money. Seven cents in those days
were as much as fifty now, and they would buy a good deal for a small
boy. He could easily spare a little for the missionary box.
As he went along he tried to decide whether he should put one cent or
two into the box, and he wished his mother had said definitely either
one cent or two and had not given him a choice. Finally he decided on
two. Then a voice within him said,
"Well, Cyrus! Five cents for yourself and only two for the heathen!"
He decided that he would put in three cents. By this time he came to
Mrs. Farrar's house and there was the box. Was it right to keep three
cents for himself and give only four to the heathen? He stood staring
and thinking, thinking, thinking. At last he grew tired trying to
decide, and what do you suppose he did? Into the missionary box went
every penny!
All day long he trotted round watching the soldiers, listening to the
bands, and having a good time. But he didn't go near any refreshment
tables. Late in the afternoon he made for home and burst into the house
crying out:
"Mother! I'm as hungry as a bear! I haven't had a mouthful today."
His mother was astonished.
"Did you lose the money I gave you?"
"No," said Cyrus. "But you didn't give it to me right. It wouldn't
divide equally, so I dropped it all in."
"You poor boy!" said Mrs. Hamlin, half laughing, half crying. "Just a
minute and you shall have your supper!"
* * * * *
Several years later Cyrus thought earnestly about another problem. He
and his brother had all they could do to keep the farm going. There
was no money to buy new farm implements, no money even to keep them
in order. Gradually they wore out, and after a while the yoke for
the oxen went to pieces. The making of an ox-yoke is a very difficult
matter for a grown man and almost impossible for two boys thirteen and
fifteen years old. But Cyrus and his brother examined the old yoke and
looked at each other and then back at the yoke.
"We can't buy one," said the brother.
"We'll make one!" said Cyrus.
They cut down a birch tree and set to work. They did not have the
proper tools, but they borrowed them—and you may be sure they returned
them in good shape,—and they put in all their spare time for days.
By and by the yoke was hewn out, and they scraped it with glass and
polished it with a dry stick. But alas, when they bored the holes for
the bows to fit into, they put them in the wrong place!
Did this discourage them? Only for a minute. They knit their brows,
they looked at each other and then at the ruined yoke, and they went
and cut down another tree. This time they succeeded in making a perfect
yoke, and when it was painted a bright red, they were the happiest boys
in Maine.
* * * * *
Still another time Cyrus set his mind on an interesting problem. He
was now almost a man; he had determined to be a missionary, and he was
studying in the Academy six miles from home. Every other Saturday he
walked home around Bear Pond and across Hawk Mountain. He carried his
gun with him, and as he went along, he sometimes shot game to take to
his mother. Once he met a bear, but the bear got away.
The view from the top of the mountain was wonderful, and Cyrus had an
eye for beauty. One day as he turned from a look at the distant woods
and fields, his eye fell upon an object near at hand. At his feet the
precipice dropped suddenly a hundred feet and on the very edge hung a
large boulder.
He looked at this boulder with interest. One Fourth of July the young
men in the neighborhood had gathered to see whether they could push it
over, but had failed. Cyrus suddenly forgot everything but this rock.
Could anything in the world be more delightful than to shove the great
thing off and hear it go crashing down? It couldn't do any harm, and it
would be better than any Fourth of July celebration ever staged.
He not only stared at the rock, he examined it carefully, and then he
thought again. The boulder rested on gravel, and if that could be cut
out, down it would fly. He hurried home to tell his brother.
The next Saturday the two Hamlins and a friend met on the mountain and
dug away at the sandy bed on which the rock lay, but it did not move.
The next Saturday they came again. At supper time it seemed as though
they would have to give up all hope of finishing that day, and they
were dreadfully afraid that some one would come and complete the work
and get the credit.
"Let supper wait!" said they.
Again they set to work, and presently one of them shouted, "It's
moving!"
With a wild leap the boys got out of the way. The rock moved slowly at
first, then faster and faster and in the end it plunged down, striking
sheets of fire as it flew. Bang! it struck the granite cliff and burst
into three great fragments. Swish! it rushed down on its way to an open
field below.
Never were there three happier boys. They went home to supper in the
twilight, hearing the echo of the terrific crash and knowing that the
great boulder had had to yield to their strength and persistence.
* * * * *
But the time came when Cyrus Hamlin faced problems a thousand times
more serious than making an ox-yoke or moving a boulder. He became a
missionary as he had intended and was sent to Constantinople. There he
taught Armenian boys in Bebek Seminary, and it became the dream of his
life to build a college.
"Education is the way to peace and enlightenment," he would say. "If
we could found Christian institutions where we could train young men
in all professions, then they could go out to set an example to their
fellow countrymen and be their leaders."
He never walked through the narrow streets or crossed the Golden Horn
without looking all round for a suitable location, and he had already
about twenty in mind. But his dream did not come true. In the first
place, there was no money. In the second place, he had to fill with
other work all the time he might have spent planning for a college. He
had to be textbook as well as teacher, and he had to make all his own
apparatus.
When he moved into a house, he had to repair it; when his poor Armenian
students and their families were without clothes, he had to find a way
to cover them. When they were refused work by the cruel Turks, he had
to find work for them. He taught them how to make and sell stoves and
stove-pipes and various useful articles.
One poor man became insane when he had no way of supporting himself
and his family and believed that he was turned to stone. Just as soon
as Dr. Hamlin gave him work, he was cured. Dr. Hamlin suggested to him
that it was best to make an article for which there was a demand.
[Illustration:
_Courtesy of Robert College_
ROBERT COLLEGE, CONSTANTINOPLE
This picture taken in Turkey in Asia looks across the Bosphorus, a mile
wide at this point, to Turkey in Europe and the site chosen by Cyrus
Hamlin for his college. The modern buildings "rub elbows" with towers
six hundred years old.]
"If there are thirteen hundred thousand inhabitants in Constantinople,
there are thirteen hundred million rats," said he. "Make rat traps!
I'll show you how!"
Soon the man had to have assistants to sell his traps.
Still more Armenians came for help, and Dr. Hamlin had to stop dreaming
about his college and plan how he could feed them. An idea had occurred
to him vaguely; now it grew into a well-developed scheme. He would
teach them to make bread. Everybody needed bread, and in Constantinople
the bread was not good and all the work was done by horse-power. He
would bake by steam.
The fact that he had never made bread did not trouble him in the least.
He had never made an ox-yoke, or rolled a boulder down a mountain until
he tried.
His fellow-missionaries laughed at him, but they couldn't laugh him
out of his plans, and he ordered his machinery from America. The
difficulties were many, some were serious and some funny; but in
the end the engine and the boiler were set up and everything was in
order. The dough was mixed, the oven heated, the loaves were moulded;
but alas, the bread was sour and could not be eaten. Dr. Hamlin
experimented again and again until one morning he had delicious loaves
of bread to sell.
Now he smoothed out his forehead. The bakery was successful, the poor
Armenian Christians had work; again he could devote his time to his
teaching and could think of his college.
But he was mistaken. England and Russia went to war, and to Scutari
on the other side of the Bosphorus were brought the wounded English
soldiers. Dr. Hamlin looked across the water and thought of the
suffering boys and hated war. He did not think of any effect upon
himself. But he was to be seriously affected.
One day an orderly came to the door of the Seminary and asked him to
come to the hospital at the invitation of the chief physician, Dr.
Mapleton.
"And what does he want with me?" asked Dr. Hamlin. "I'm very busy."
"He wants to see you about bread."
"About bread!" repeated Dr. Hamlin, and obeyed, wondering.
In the hospital he found himself in the presence of a busy man, so
burdened by responsibilities that he hardly had time to look up.
"Are you Hamlin the baker?" he asked.
"I'm Hamlin the missionary."
Dr. Mapleton lifted his head. "That's just like everything in this
country," he said irritably. "I send for a baker and get a missionary!
Thank God, I'm not a heathen that I should want a missionary!"
Dr. Hamlin laughed. "But I'm the baker," he said.
"You, the baker!" repeated Dr. Mapleton.
Dr. Hamlin explained how he had been forced into the baking business.
"Then will you bake bread for our hospital? What we get is not fit to
eat. Our poor invalids won't touch it; they can't. We're in a tight
place."
Dr. Hamlin stood with knitted brows.
"You will, won't you?" said the physician, earnestly.
Dr. Hamlin uttered a fateful "yes." One couldn't refuse such a plea
as this! In a few minutes the contract was signed. He promised to
furnish two hundred and fifty loaves a day. But as he left the hospital
he looked around. Two hundred and fifty loaves a day! They would not
go far if all these beds were to be filled by patients. It looked as
though the whole British army were expected.
Alas, the beds were all needed. First fifty a day, then a hundred a
day, the soldiers were carried in from the hospital ships, sick, dying,
with dreadful wounds. Dr. Hamlin could neither teach his Armenians nor
dream about his college when he had six thousand, then twelve thousand
loaves of bread to make each day. He thought of nothing but baking.
The poor patients had almost no nursing, and his heart ached. He
offered to organize a corps of nurses for the night when there was no
one to take care of the helpless invalids, but he was refused by the
brutal officers.
Then one morning he went to the hospital and heard a strange piece of
news. A soldier told him, his eyes almost popping from his head in his
astonishment:
"Fancy, Mr. Hamlin! Some _women_ have come to this hospital. Did you
ever hear of such a dreadful and improper thing?"
"What women?" asked Dr. Hamlin.
"A Miss Florence Nightingale with a force of assistants."
"Good for her!" said Dr. Hamlin. "It's time that somebody should come
here and do something."
That morning he kept his eyes wider open than ever. The Hamlin family
were famous hero-worshipers; Cyrus's grandfather had named six of his
boys for heroes. They were Africanus, for Scipio Africanus, Hannibal,
Cyrus, Eleazer, Isaac, and Jacob, and the other three, one might
mention incidentally, were Americus, Asiaticus, and Europus. Here, Dr.
Hamlin saw, was a real live hero, in the bud at least.
He watched Florence Nightingale moving quietly about in the scene of
misery and horror. The poor lads spent no more lonely nights. Every
want was attended to. The death-rate went steadily down. It was one of
the great achievements of history, and he had a part in it; he baked
the only bread Florence Nightingale would let her sick boys have.
But still his dream had not come true, and in the confusion it seemed
to grow more and more dim. The war went on, bread had to be baked every
day, new ovens had to be built, thousands of pounds of flour had to be
bargained for.
Presently he had a new occupation—he set up a laundry. The clothes of
the wounded men were filthy, and he offered to have them washed. But
they were so filthy that the women feared to handle them, badly as they
needed work. The brain which had studied the making of an ox-yoke and
the pushing off of a boulder and the making of bread worked quickly.
Out of an empty cask Dr. Hamlin made a washing machine, and the
vermin-filled clothes did not have to be touched by hand until they
were clean—a new problem was solved! His friends had told him that he
had sixteen professions, and now he had another,—that of laundryman!
He did not suspect that all the time he was baking bread and washing
clothes there was coming nearer and nearer the fulfilment of his dream.
He had prayed and hoped that some day a rich man would come and see the
good that might be done by a Christian college. Now that good man was
at hand, Christopher Robert, an American merchant.
Mr. Robert was traveling in the East, and one day as he was crossing
the Bosphorus he saw a boat loaded with loaves of bread.
"What in the world does this mean?" he asked his friends. "That looks
like American bread. Who bakes it?"
"A missionary named Hamlin," was the answer.
"A missionary who bakes bread!" repeated Mr. Robert.
"He baked it first to give work to his Armenian Christians, and when
the hospital was opened he was persuaded to bake it for the patients.
It's the best and also the cheapest bread ever seen in this part of the
world."
"I should like to meet that man," said Mr. Robert.
"That will be an easy matter," said his friends.
But when Mr. Robert met Dr. Hamlin, he heard only a little about bread
and a great deal about another matter. Though no record of their
conversation has been kept, it must have been something like this:
"I'm very much interested in your bread-making, Dr. Hamlin."
"I had no idea what I was getting into," was Dr. Hamlin's probable
reply. "But it had to be done. What I'm chiefly interested in is the
founding of a Christian college here in Constantinople."
"It must have been a tremendous work to bake all this bread."
"It was, but oh, Mr. Robert, what wonderful work we could do if we
could have a college to train young men!"
"And your laundry enterprise, Dr. Hamlin, that must have been the
greatest blessing to the sick."
"It made them more comfortable. If we could have a Christian college
here, it would leaven the whole empire."
"How did you learn so many trades, Dr. Hamlin?"
"Oh, I picked them up. You see, Mr. Robert," Dr. Hamlin repeated his
favorite sentiment, "education is the way to peace and enlightenment.
If we could found a large Christian institution where we could train
young men in all professions, then they could go out to be the leaders
of their people."
It is likely that at this point Mr. Robert gave up trying to get
information about bread-making and laundering and said, with a twinkle
in his eye, "Well, tell me about your college!"
Dr. Hamlin took a long breath and began. How long he had waited! But
here, please God, was a hearer with a receptive heart and a large purse.
Mr. Robert listened earnestly and his heart was moved. What better use
could one have for one's money than to bring enlightenment to this
dark corner of the world? In a few minutes he was not only listening,
but helping Dr. Hamlin to plan, and within a few years Robert College
crowned the hill which Dr. Hamlin selected as the best site he had
considered.
Mr. Robert was a generous man and he would undoubtedly have put his
money to good use somewhere, but Robert College would not be shining
like a star in a dark sky if he had not seen Dr. Hamlin's boat-load of
bread crossing the Bosphorus on its way to Florence Nightingale's sick
boys.
II
THE MAN WITH A MILLION BIBLES
It was a hot summer day. The people of the city of Paracatu in Brazil
were standing or lounging in groups about the doors of their little
houses, which were built close together.
Children with scant clothing played about in the streets. Their bare,
brown feet were used to the hot pavements. Mothers sat squatted in the
doorways making lace. One woman was beating _mandioca_ for her family's
_almoco_, or lunch, while another woman fanned a fire of coals on a
little round, iron stove.
Suddenly the children ran back out of the street. The women looked up
and saw a procession of nine mules coming into the city. Many trains
of mules passed by their doors, but this one was different from the
others. The man who rode on the foremost mule had a very fair skin.
Riding behind him were three Brazilian men whose faces were dark like
the faces of the women who sat in the doorways and the children who
played in the streets. Five of the mules carried packs loaded with a
tent, some cooking pots and pans, and books. There were books not only
in the packs on the backs of the mules, but more books in the pockets
of the four men.
As the procession passed out of sight, the women looked curiously to
see where the men were going to stop, and wondered why they had come
and what books they carried.
Towards evening one of the women went about among her neighbors to tell
the news she had heard.
"The man who rode at the head of the mule train is Dr. Hugh Tucker. He
comes from North America. Tonight he is going to speak in the public
square. There are many people who say that it is the book which he has
that has made his country great and free."
In the evening a crowd came to the public square to hear Dr. Tucker.
They asked him many questions. Some who had money, or who could read,
bought Bibles so they could learn more for themselves of the things he
told them. He gave Bibles to those who had no money.
Dr. Tucker's business was to give the Bible to the people of Brazil.
For years that was what he had been doing. In the beautiful city of Rio
de Janeiro he had a great store to which people came by the hundreds to
buy Bibles and from which Bibles were sent by mail and by colporteurs
in all directions.
These colporteurs, or Bible men, went through the cities of Brazil
and far into the country. Sometimes they walked, sometimes they rode
on mules, and sometimes they traveled in ox-carts. Dr. Tucker himself
often rode with them, as he did on this trip when they stopped at
Paracatu. This journey through towns and open country lasted for six
weeks.
There were few houses along the rough and hilly roads. Now and then
long-legged ostriches ran across the path before the mules. Gaily
colored parrots perched on branches of the trees; monkeys chattered in
the vines beside the small streams; and here and there a fox or a tatou
ran past. Sometimes the prairie with its waving grass stretched before
them like an ocean. At night they pitched their tent beside small
streams where the grass grew fresh and green.
One Sunday morning as they rested in front of their tent, an ox-cart
stopped before them, and a man jumped out and asked for a cup of
coffee. As he drank the coffee, Dr. Tucker read to him from the Bible.
"Go on, go on," the man called to his driver. "I'll follow later. Never
in all my life have I heard such strange things as this book tells."
The next morning the colporteurs were up at three o'clock. The moon
lighted their way as they rode. They stopped at a house for breakfast,
and Dr. Tucker took out a Bible and read from it to their host.
[Illustration: HUGH C. TUCKER
Not only did he put the Bible into the pulpits and bookcases of Brazil,
but its spirit of love and service found expression in the hearts of
the people, in parks, schools, and playgrounds.]
"No, no, don't stop!" said the man, when Dr. Tucker started to help
load the mules. "Read more. Let the others load the animals while I
call my neighbors, that you may read to them, too, and tell them what
these things mean, for they are new and strange to us."
Every day they met people who asked, "Where are you going, and what is
this new book you carry with you?"
"How can these things be?" said one man. "Is it true that so long as
two thousand years ago such wonderful things happened and today I hear
of them for the first time and even yet my friends have not heard? You
are slow about giving the Bible to my people!"
Now Dr. Tucker had thought he was giving the Bible to the people of
Brazil just as fast as he could, but he redoubled his efforts. He sent
out still more colporteurs. They gathered the people in the public
squares of the cities and read and preached to them, and the people
listened gladly. Sometimes the colporteurs started out with sacks
filled with Bibles and came back with their sacks full of the images
the people had been worshiping and had cast away when they read, "I am
the Lord thy God. Thou shalt have no other gods before me."
Dr. Tucker has given more than a million Bibles to Brazil. He presented
a Bible to President Prudenti Moraes on his inauguration day. He has
found many ways of giving the spirit of the Bible in addition to
putting the book into the hands of the people. He does not wish anyone
to think that this is a magical book, and that it is enough merely to
have it.
When he took Bibles to the sick boatmen down in their poor little mud
huts by the river-side, he found they had no one to care for them
properly,—there are many thousands of sailors coming into the port of
Rio every year,—so Dr. Tucker became the "seamen's friend." He rented
a house and made it a Seamen's Home. In one year more than ten thousand
sailors came to his Home. Most of them were glad to pay for their meals
and beds, but he did not turn any away if they were ill or had no
money. There were free beds and free meals for those who needed help,
and doctors to care for those who were sick, and employment found for
those who were out of work.
While he was preaching in the slums of Rio he found many people who
were poor and sick, as there are in all great cities. He went to a
young Brazilian doctor and asked him to visit the homes of the poor
people in the slums.
The young doctor came back and said, "Why, Dr. Tucker, it is almost
enough to make anyone ill just to go into these homes and see how the
people live. There are so many dark rooms and so little sunlight, and
the houses are very dirty. In almost every home someone is sick." Dr.
Tucker remembered how the multitudes came to Jesus and were healed, and
so he thought one of the best ways to give more of the Bible to the
people was to help those who were sick.
He had stereopticon pictures made which showed how tuberculosis might
be prevented. Then he went to the United States Ambassador and to the
mayor of Rio and to the president of the Board of Health and to other
great men who could help him and told them he was going to give a
lecture and wanted them to come and sit on the platform. He sent cards
out all over the city telling how many people had tuberculosis and what
they should do to be cured and inviting people to his meeting.
Those who came were so much interested in the pictures, that the city
officials arranged for him to show them to the children in the public
schools. Then they had him talk to the people who gathered in the
public squares of the city. The government gave him money to fight
tuberculosis, and he started a hospital where sick people without money
could be treated and where they could hear and read about Jesus the
Great Physician.
Next he started a school for poor children. The children wanted to come
to school, and Dr. Tucker was very happy until he saw how strangely
they behaved.
"What can be the matter with them?" he asked. "They sit with their
hands folded. They don't want to study or even to play. Their eyes are
dull."
He asked the children questions and visited their homes to find out why
they did not want to study or to jump about and play.
"No wonder my school children sit with their hands folded," he said
when he came back. "They are half starved. Some of them have nothing
but a cup of coffee and a pickle to eat all day."
He remembered how Jesus had fed those who were hungry, so every day
he provided a lunch of whole wheat mush with milk and sugar. Soon the
hollow cheeks of the children began to get round and rosy, their eyes
began to shine, and they wanted to run and jump and play.
"I wish we could feed all the hungry children in Rio," said Dr. Tucker
one day. He knew he could never get them all in his little school, but
he thought of another plan—he started a cooking school to teach the
mothers to cook good meals at home. He told the gas company about his
plan, and they gave him the stoves he needed. The mothers came with
their children, and while the children learned reading and writing and
arithmetic, the mothers learned how to prepare food that was better for
children than coffee and pickles. Dr. Tucker had found another way to
give the Bible to Brazil.
One day he said, "The Bible tells us to clothe the naked, but how can
we ever get clothes enough for all of the poor people of Brazil!"
Presently he walked into the office of a sewing machine company and
told the manager about his plan to clothe the naked.
"That would be fine!" the manager said. "Of course the only way to
clothe all the poor people is to teach them how to make their own
clothes."
He sent sewing machines to Dr. Tucker's school, and soon the mothers
were learning to sew. Dr. Tucker had found still another way to give
the Bible to Brazil.
Now his school children were well and happy. Their cheeks were round
and rosy, for they had a lunch at school and their mothers gave them
good food at home. Their clothes were neat and clean, their eyes were
bright and shining, and they were ready to study and play. But where
should they play? There was no trouble about a place to study. They
could study at school or at home, but when they wanted to play there
was no place at all. Rio is one of the most beautiful cities in the
world, and many of the people are very wealthy and live in beautiful
homes, but Dr. Tucker's poor little children in the slums lived in
houses that were built close together right on the street.
There was a very beautiful park, with lovely green grass, but the
superintendent of parks was very proud of his green grass and had
a fence of iron rails around it with a sign, "Keep off the grass"
wherever a child could get in.
Every time Dr. Tucker saw that park, his eyes looked like the eyes
of his school children when they were hungry. But one day as he went
through the park, his eyes began to twinkle. He clapped his hands and
said to himself, "I'll do it!" At once he walked up boldly to the mayor
of Rio and the superintendent of parks.
"The children have no place to play," he said. "Why don't you open up a
part of the city park for a public playground?"
The mayor and the superintendent of parks were so shocked they could
scarcely say a word. They were so proud of their beautiful park, they
had never let people even walk on the grass; and now this bold man
actually dared to propose that they should put swings and teeter
boards and tennis courts right where the grass was most beautiful!
But they could not forget what he said about happy children being worth
more than beautiful grass, and one day they drove to Dr. Tucker's door
in a fine automobile and invited him to ride with them. They did not
ask him where he wanted to go, but drove straight to the park.
"We have decided to do what you ask and let you make your playground on
one condition," announced the mayor.
"Good!" said Dr. Tucker, "What's the condition?"
"That you get all the equipment for a first-class playground," answered
the superintendent of parks.
Dr. Tucker was thinking very fast. "Equipment for a first-class
playground" meant swings and bars and teeter boards and tennis nets
and footballs and ever so many other things boys and girls love in a
playground. With the same twinkle that was in his eyes when he looked
at the park and said, "I'll do it," he said now, "All right, I'll take
you up."
He did not have a single cent in his pocket to buy all these things and
he did not know where he was going to get so much money, but he said to
himself:
"I'll look around a bit and see what I can see."
The first thing he saw was some men tearing up an old street-car track.
He went to the manager of the street-car company. "What are you going
to do with those old rails?" he asked. "May I have them?"
"Yes, I guess so," answered the manager.
Dr. Tucker said "Thank you" very politely and then added, "I'll have to
have them shaped a little differently and a few holes bored in them.
Would you mind doing this in your shop?"
The manager said he would do that, too. When Dr. Tucker said "Thank
you" very politely again and turned to go, the manager asked: "What in
the world do you want those old rails for?"
"For swing supports and all sorts of equipment for the playground."
He told the manager about his ride with the mayor and the
superintendent of parks and all about the things he was going to make
for the playground and athletic fields out of those lovely old rails.
"Nonsense, man!" said the manager. "Those old rails aren't good enough.
Why you ought to have the best stuff money can buy for Brazil's first
public playground."
"Of course we ought," said Dr. Tucker, "but since we don't have the
money to buy them with, I propose to see what we can make."
"What would you buy if you did have the money?" asked the manager.
"Think it over and let me know."
Dr. Tucker went home and got a catalog of a New York store. A few days
later he went into the manager's office with the catalog in his hand.
The manager was so busy he scarcely had time to look up.
"Are you too busy to look at the things we need for the playground?"
asked Dr. Tucker.
"Yes, I am," replied the manager. "You just take that catalog and mark
what you need, and when I go to New York perhaps I can get it for you."
Dr. Tucker's eyes twinkled twice that time. He felt as if his fairy
godmother had shown him a wonderful palace and told him to help
himself. He sat down and marked in that catalog the things he knew the
boys and girls of Rio would have marked if they had held his pencil.
The manager took the catalog to New York with him and bought every
single article that had a mark before it. He paid for them with
dollars—seven hundred and forty of them—out of his own pocket.
[Illustration:
_Courtesy World's Sunday School Association_
A PLAYGROUND IN RIO DE JANEIRO
On the grounds of an old private park the children of the city now
swing and slide and bat and jump.]
When the swings and bars and outfits came and were set up in the park,
the opening day was announced. The people came in crowds from all over
the city. The band played, and the flag of Brazil was raised. The mayor
made a speech, and the children cheered, and then they scampered off to
swing and slide and bat and jump; and the first public playground of
Brazil was open.
That evening Dr. Tucker walked down the street. He thought of his
million Bibles, and he thought of his school and his playground which
put the love of God into visible form.
"The Bible is coming into Brazil," he said to himself. "Not only into
the pulpits and into bookcases, but its spirit of love and service is
coming into the parks and schools and the streets and, best of all,
into the hearts of the people." And his own heart was glad.
III
THE STORY OF POIT
In the interior of South America, with the rivers Parana and Paraguay
to the east, with Argentine to the south, and Bolivia to the west,
there is a vast, low country called the Gran Chaco, about as large
as the state of Texas and inhabited by Indians. The country is flat
and there are grass-lands, swamps, and forests of palm trees. There
are many different animals with which the children of the North are
not familiar but of which they may have seen pictures, among them the
tapir, the marsh deer, the otter, the peccary, and the armadillo. There
are some savage animals such as the jaguar, the puma, and a very large
wolf with a long mane.
There are also some of the queerest animals in the world, especially
the ant-eater, a bow-legged creature seven feet long from the tip of
his snout to the tip of his hairy tail. There is a queer little opossum
about the size of a mouse, with enormous black eyes, fan-like ears,
and a long tail, which runs about in the trees like a squirrel. Most
interesting of all is the lungfish which can live either in the water
or in the air. In the wet season he stays in the swamps and eats
and eats, and when the dry season comes and the swamps disappear, he
burrows in the ground and lives without eating anything, by using up
the fat he has stored.
There are many birds both large and small, from great ostriches
down to tiny hummingbirds, and there are insects of all kinds, ants
and crickets and mosquitoes and beetles and locusts, and there are
twenty-four different kinds of frogs, each with a different croak.
For many weeks no rain falls, and the Indians have a hard time to get
along; then when the rain comes they have more than they need to eat,
water-birds, fish, and, by-and-by, their harvests. They do not mind
having to tramp round in deep water, because wet weather brings plenty.
Among the Indians in this strange country was a young man named Poit.
One morning in December Poit awoke with a frightened, anxious heart.
It was not because he was too warm, though in December in Chaco the
mornings are hot, nor because he had not slept comfortably on his bed
on the ground nor because he was hungry; it was because he plotted a
wicked deed. Today Poit planned to do the most dreadful thing anyone
can do, he was going to kill his best friend, the missionary.
Though these Indians lived so uncomfortably, they did not want to
change their ways, and they killed everybody who came to explore their
country or to search for silver or to tell them of the love of God.
Even soldiers sent to conquer them by force failed because they were so
fierce and cunning.
The chief reason for their resistance and their cruelty was not
wickedness, but ignorance and dreadful fear. They were afraid of
spirits and afraid of witches and wizards. They were so afraid that
the souls of the dead might come and annoy them that whenever anyone
died they destroyed the village and went to another place to live.
This wasn't very difficult because their houses were made of boughs
stuck into the ground. They were especially afraid of people unlike
themselves, and this was the reason they killed foreigners.
In spite of their objections, a little mission had been established
among them. It was situated on the banks of the Paraguay River and its
influence did not extend very far inland, but it was a beginning. The
first missionary died as a result of his hard work, and there arrived
one day a new missionary, a tall, slender young man, hardly more than a
boy in years, whose name was Barbrooke Grubb.
Mr. Grubb was not satisfied to stay along the river where he could see
only a few of the Indians, he determined to travel to the interior
villages. He knew perfectly well that the undertaking was dangerous.
He had heard of the explorers and the missionaries whom the Indians
had murdered; he knew that a poor white man who had strayed from his
companions and had taken refuge with them had been slain; he knew that
if sickness broke out while he was staying in a village, he would be
held responsible and be killed. He knew that if an Indian had a bad
dream about him, he might kill him.
Nevertheless, he not only visited the interior of the country, but he
lived with the Indians for months at a time, staying in their villages,
eating their strange food, hunting and fishing with them, so that he
might learn all about their ways and help them. He went unarmed and
unprotected, saying that he was a messenger of peace.
He had many thrilling experiences, and some that were very funny. Of
course he did not know the language well at first and he mistook the
word "evil" for the word "good," and assured the people that he was a
friend of the "evil spirit."
[Illustration:
_Courtesy of Samuel Guy Inman_
GIRLS OF THE CHACO MISSION SCHOOL
They are not having a picnic, but have just eaten their noonday meal,
and the kettle of maize is nearly empty.]
He had many amusing encounters with the witch-doctors. You would not
think from the picture of a Chaco witch-doctor that they could frighten
anybody, but these natives lived in deadly fear of them. Mr. Grubb
proved how foolish it was to have faith in them. When a witch-doctor
claimed to have a charm against bullets, Mr. Grubb said:
"All right; you stand over there and I'll shoot at you, and you won't
mind a bit."
The witch-doctor wouldn't hear of this trial, and the Indians laughed
at him.
Once Mr. Grubb heard that a witch-doctor was taking needles out of his
patients' bodies, and he proved that the witch-doctor bought all the
needles from him and that the cure was a pretense.
Some of the Indians were very smart. There was one called Pinse-apawa,
who came into Mr. Grubb's tent one day just as Mr. Grubb was taking
some medicine. This medicine had an alcoholic smell though it had a
dreadfully bitter taste, so bitter that you could hardly swallow it.
Pinse-apawa smelled the odor of liquor.
"Ah!" he said. "You won't let us drink liquor, but when you are here
alone you take it yourself!"
"Have some," invited Mr. Grubb.
Poor Pinse-apawa took a big swallow and after that he knew the
difference between liquor and medicine.
* * * * *
Now Poit, who opened his eyes on a warm December morning intending to
murder Mr. Grubb was not a witch-doctor; he was a clever, intelligent
Indian, and when he was good, he was a great help. We do not like to
call him a bad Indian, even though he was to do such a dreadful deed.
Though he had had every chance under Mr. Grubb's teaching to learn to
be good, he had not met him until he was a grown man, and then it is
very hard to change your heart.
By this time Mr. Grubb had been in the Chaco for seven years, and the
work he had done was truly wonderful. At the mission station there was
a settlement where the people lived in permanent houses instead of
wandering from place to place. Strangers could go about unarmed and in
safety. The Indians had been taught to work, not only at odd moments,
but steadily. They had been taught to take care of sheep and cattle and
to raise vegetables.
They had learned to distrust the witch-doctors and to take precautions
against contagion. They had learned to respect the law and to live at
peace with their neighbors. They had built several hundred miles of
cart tracks. They had axes, knives, hoes, scissors, and many other
possessions which Mr. Grubb had had shipped from England to help them
to live more comfortably and to earn their living more easily. Some
could even read and write.
They had learned still more important lessons. Mr. Grubb had taught
them that it was unspeakably wicked to kill the poor little babies as
they had been doing, and equally wrong to bury alive sick people whom
they thought would soon die. He had taught them also that it was wrong
to drink liquor because it made them frantic and wicked. Though they
did not always do what was right, hundreds of them knew what was right,
and had begun to try to be good.
They knew also—and this was most important of all—about God and
Jesus, and, though none had openly become Christians, the seed of
Christianity had been planted in their hearts.
Now Poit had a special chance to learn what was right because he was
constantly in the company of Mr. Grubb who had brought about this
wonderful transformation. He was very bright and Mr. Grubb depended
upon him, and he seemed very faithful and Mr. Grubb trusted him. He
could hunt and set traps, and steal quietly up to the ostriches and
capture them, and find his way through the woods, and make bows and
arrows, and do other useful things.
When Mr. Grubb had been in the Chaco for seven years he went home to
England for a vacation, the first vacation he had had. Other young men
had come to help him, and the mission was so well established that it
would not suffer in his absence.
Before he went away, he planned carefully for his return. He intended
then to visit a distant tribe called the Toothli, to which Poit
belonged, and he had already built a bullock road in that direction.
He sent Poit to a distant settlement with seventeen head of cattle
and other goods and told him that he was to settle down there and
make friends with the people. He was not to sell the cattle to people
who would use them for food, but only to those who would raise other
cattle, because Mr. Grubb was very anxious for the natives to learn to
care for stock.
Poit was to tell the Toothli that the missionaries would come and live
with them if they would do certain things. They must give up making
beer, and they must not hold feasts which lasted more than three days.
They must work when they were called upon for the good of the whole
settlement, and they must help to build the cart track and keep it
clear. They must live at peace with their neighbors, and above all they
must cease at once the killing of little children.
Poit had done so well, that this important work was entrusted to him
and off he went with his cattle and his goods. He was very proud and
at first he obeyed Mr. Grubb's directions. But alas, his pride in Mr.
Grubb's confidence and his feeling of responsibility did not continue.
He forgot what he had learned; he convinced himself that Mr. Grubb was
gone for good; and he took possession of the property which Mr. Grubb
had given him. He began to sell the cattle to people who used them for
food, and he took the money for himself.
When Mr. Grubb came back, Poit was terrified. He had not believed Mr.
Grubb's promise nor had he understood in the least how devoted Mr.
Grubb was to his work. Now the money had to be paid over, and he had to
give an account of the cattle, and he had spent a part of the money,
and the cattle had been eaten. In order to cover his crime, he stole
money from the missionaries. He was so clever that they did not at
first suspect that he was the thief. But he could not bring the cattle
back to life and soon he realized that discovery was at hand; Mr. Grubb
would learn that he had not been faithful.
Mr. Grubb prepared at once to fulfil his promise to visit the Toothli
people, and so little did he suspect Poit of wrong-doing that he made
him the leader of the six Indians whom he took with him.
It was so hot that the party traveled by night to avoid the sun. They
had a pretty comfortable track to walk on, but on both sides were
thickets of trees and vines in which the twenty-four kinds of frogs
croaked in twenty-four different notes, and everywhere were mosquitoes
which flew out hungrily when they heard human beings approaching.
Suddenly Mr. Grubb looked round and saw that, of all his company, only
Poit was in sight. He sent him back at once to find out why the others
lingered. In a little while Poit reappeared and reported that one of
the bearers had a thorn in his foot, and his companions were extracting
it. They would all be along, he said, in a few minutes.
But the few minutes passed and the Indians did not come. Poit had
wickedly told them that Mr. Grubb did not need them and that they might
return toward the mission. He had dreamed that when his disobedience
was found out, Mr. Grubb had killed him, and he had decided in terror
that he must kill Mr. Grubb as soon as possible. He meant to go on for
a few days until they had reached the Toothli country and then he would
do the deed. He believed that the people of his tribe would help him to
hide his crime.
Mr. Grubb noticed that Poit seemed downcast, but he did not dream what
he had in his heart. The two went on alone, and still the other Indians
did not overtake them. Poit suggested that perhaps they had gone home
because they did not approve of the journey. Still Mr. Grubb did not
suspect his evil intention, and they traveled on, arriving presently at
the village which was Poit's home.
Here Mr. Grubb inquired about the cattle, but everybody was in league
with Poit and helped him conceal his theft, and still Mr. Grubb was
deceived. The people said that the cattle had merely strayed away, and
he gave orders that they be collected before his return.
For two days he and Poit journeyed toward the distant settlements,
and at last Poit decided that he could postpone the murder no longer.
His heart was depressed when he woke, because in his sleep he had
understood more clearly than when he was awake what a fearful thing it
was to kill a man who had shown such love for those who would gladly
have been his enemies.
As he moved about, his courage revived; he ceased to be downcast and
became cheerful. So cold-blooded was he that he sat beside Mr. Grubb
on the ground while he sharpened the long iron arrow with which he
intended to kill him.
[Illustration: BARBROOKE GRUBB
Unarmed and unprotected, he was a messenger of peace to the Indians of
Paraguay.]