Chapter 17: Light and Shade

ONE day I set out alone to visit the once prosperous Indian city of Mossamedes.
About ten miles from the city of Goyaz, most of the way through the sheltering shades of the forest, I began to climb the steep ascent of the celebrated Dourada Mountain range, at a little known but most interesting section of its great length of several hundred miles.
Emerging from the forest, after another mile or two the path became so steep, impeded with rocks and loose stones, that I dismounted and made the rest of the climb on foot, pulling the horse up after me. The sun was baking hot, so that by the time I reached the summit I experienced a most delightful thirst — that is to say, in view of the pleasure I experienced in finding a little streamlet of cool, crystalline water, one of the small beginnings of the mighty Araguaya, born amongst the topmost crags of the mountain.
In the fourteen countries I have visited is have never seen such a marvelous view as spread out on every hand.
Below me, to the north, east, and west, as far as the eye could reach, for about one hundred miles in each direction, stretched out an amazing panorama of forests, hills, and mountain ranges. To the right, sixteen miles away, could be seen the small city of Goyaz, the capital of a State four times the size of Great Britain; otherwise, with the exception of one or two little farmhouses visible here and there, there seemed no signs of human habitation whatever. Yet I knew that hidden away, scattered among those forest-clad hills and dales, could be found hundreds of humble little homesteads, and among them a few of the Lord’s own people, not lost to sight with Him.
Continuing my journey to the top of the range I found a plateau nearly a mile wide. About halfway across, rather in the form of an Amphitheatre, one suddenly comes upon what at first glance appears like the prehistoric remains of some huge city of the Giant Age. Tier above tier on every hand rise rocks resembling the massive ruins of mighty fortresses, cathedrals, and castles, some perfectly geometrical in structure and alignment, others of a most grotesque shape; whilst here and there it seems as though the head of some antediluvian monster peers down at you from the top of stratified rock or column, piled up, stone upon stone, forty feet above you. In another place, amongst remains that look like part of some vast cathedral, one can easily imagine one sees the uncanny gargoyles so appreciated in a certain style of ecclesiastical architecture.
It was an amazing sight; and though I could not delay, as a thunderstorm was gathering, and only glanced at a tithe of these wonderful works of God, yet it filled me with awe and gave me an odd, other-world feeling. Were this remarkable geological formation nearer the coast it would doubtless soon become a kind of national wonderland of Brazil.
The descent on the southern side was easier, and within two hours I, for the first time, rode into the Little mountain and forest-girt village of Mossamedes. Mossamedes was originally, and up to about a hundred years ago, a large settlement of Indians of the Caiapo tribe, there being as many as seven thousand at one period. Very little of the original Indian village remains, however, beyond the large massive church building, which was so well constructed by the Redskins that it has far outlived many a comparatively modern and more pretentious structure of the white man; while the Indians themselves have vanished back into their old haunts, nobody knows where. At present there are only about forty or fifty houses in the place, which, in point of progress and activity, may well be compared with the antediluvian rocks just described.
And yet Mossamedes is a very religious place. Ignorance is a handmaid of the Pope, and that fanatical and evil Romish order, “The Sacred Heart,” has here a great hold on the inhabitants, especially upon the women, as is usually the case.
I soon found this out when I began to look for a place in which to preach that night. One room was granted for the purpose by some young men, but when I began to invite the people to the meeting the consent was withdrawn, at the instigation of a woman whom I vainly tried to mollify. A word with one and another of the villagers soon convinced me that I need expect no help or co-operation on their part; so as evening was drawing on I resolved upon another plan, and filling my pockets with tracts set out to visit every house in the place.
Very few accepted the tracts, only about six people being able to read, but I managed to preach a little sermon in nearly every house, concluding with a cordial and pressing invitation to attend a service which would be held after sunset on the front steps of the old Church.
This idea seemed to impress the people favorably, and one old lady who happened to be quite blind, when I had concluded my little homily and invitation, very respectfully asked me if I were the bishop!
At seven o’clock punctually I took my seat on the top of the steps referred to and waited for my congregation, but nobody appeared.
I had miscalculated the moonrise, and twilight deepened into dusk, yet no one ventured near. A few lights appeared at the open windows of the houses which surrounded the Church square; a rather sardonic laugh would occasionally ring out from certain unfriendly quarters, while from another house close by broke forth the unwelcome sound of a melodeon playing a lively dance tune. Meanwhile there sat the dreadful Protestante all alone on the Church steps.
I had no doubt whatever that God was going to arrange a good meeting, in spite of these seeming discouragements, and was not surprised when about fifteen minutes after time a young man emerged from the darkness and sat at my side.
It was now almost dark, and I could not see to read, so I asked my congregation if he would mind trying to buy me a candle; and for another ten minutes I was again left in solitary darkness.
Finally the young man returned with a tallow dip and lighting up, I began to sing, “In the Cross I glory,” while my congregation held the candle with one hand and with the other shielded it from the gusty wind.
My voice seemed especially clear that night, and the big Church front served as a fine sounding board, co that the hymn could be heard all through the village; and ere I had concluded there were about twenty men standing round — and the melodeon, too, had stopped its unmelodious air.
Then I sang a second hymn, and the congregation increased to about forty, including a few women whom I dimly perceived on the outskirts of the group. Nearly the whole male population of the village was present. Some of them seated themselves on the steps all around, while others stood about or squatted on the grass.
After prayer I sang, “Come, Holy Ghost,” explaining Who was meant, and that it was not the gaudy banner that bears His Name, and which when blessed by the priest is worshipped by these poor deluded souls, but rather the mighty Searcher of hearts and Transformer of lives.
Then I began to preach, and what a strange and inspiring scene it was — the dim, flickering light of that candle faintly reflected on the serious, upturned faces around me. Only these faces — pale and dusky — were visible, the rest was lost in the surrounding darkness. It was a far more wonderful and beautiful scene than those glorious rocks and entrancing views already spoken of.
I spoke for over half an hour on the latter part of Luke 7. The lost soul; rejected by the Church, despised by the seeming friends of Jesus, yet loved by God. The Master knew all about her, as He knows each one of us, too; there is nothing hid from Him. She did not go to Peter, but to Jesus Himself, and He did not cast her out. The simplicity of salvation demonstrated; without money, without penance, without Mass, without priest; yea, without one audible prayer even. Who could fathom her shame and anguish as she entered that room? Who could measure her joy as she went away with His peace in her heart?
Not a face moved, not a sound broke the stillness, and I knew there were listeners at the windows around. When I concluded there was no nervous haste to get away from such heretical proceedings.
Then it began to brighten and the candle went out, but ere the bright full moon rose over the scene a new light had assuredly arisen in some of those dark hearts around me that neither priest nor “Holy Mass” wilt over put out.