CHAPTER I.

_THE FLOATING OF THE “DAYSPRING.”_

Preliminary Note.—Call for a Mission Ship.—A Brutal Captain.—Sun-Worshippers or Slaves?—The Lights of Sydney.—Thrown upon the Lord.—Mr. Foss’s Open Door.—Climbing into Pulpits.—Shipping Company for Jesus.—The Golden Shower.—Wanted More Missionaries.—Commissioned to Scotland.—Wayside Incidents of Australian Travel.—Lost in the Bush.—Sinking in the Swamp.—Put Through My Catechism.—“Do for the Parson!”—Crossing the Colony on Novel Conditions.—Pay-Day at a Squatter’s.—Three Days in a Public House.—A Meeting among the Diggers.—Camping Out.—A Squatter Rescued.—John Gilpin’s Ride through the Bush.

Strange yet gratifying news has reached me. Part First of my Autobiography has met with a wonderful response from the Public. Within three weeks of its appearance, a second edition has been called for.

At the Editor’s urgent appeal, therefore, and assured also that the finger of God is guiding me, I take up my pen to write Part Second, feeling that I am bound to do so by my promise at the close of the first volume, and by loyalty to the Lord, who seems thus to use my humble life-story to promote the glory of His Name both at home and abroad.

But, oh, surely never any man was called upon to write a book amid such distracting circumstances! Ceaselessly travelling from Church to Church and from town to town from one end of Australia to the other,—addressing a meeting almost every evening of the week, often also during the afternoons, and several Congregations and Sabbath Schools every Lord’s Day,—the following pages are the outpourings of a heart saturated with the subject, but bereft of all opportunity for quiet thought or studious hours.

Having thus far done my part, I leave all else to the careful Editorship of my dear brother, whose loving hand will put everything into shape for the public eyes. This only I can sincerely testify,—The Lord has called for it, and I lay on His altar the only gift that I have to offer, believing that He will both accept it and use it as He sees to be for the best.

* * * * *

Rescued from Tanna by the _Blue Bell_ in the Spring of 1862, I was landed on Aneityum, leaving behind me all that I owned on Earth, save the clothes upon my back, my precious Bible, and a few translations that I had made from it into the Tannese language. The Missionaries on Aneityum—Messrs. Geddie and Copeland—united, after repeated deliberations, in urging me to go to Australia in the interests of our Mission. In this appeal they were joined now by my companions in tribulation, Mr. and Mrs. Mathieson. A Mission Ship was sorely needed—was absolutely required, to prevent the needless sacrifice of devoted lives. More Missionaries were called for, and must somehow be brought into the field, unless the hope of claiming these fair Islands for Jesus was to be for ever abandoned.

With unaffected reluctance, I at last felt constrained to undertake this unwelcome but apparently inevitable task. It meant the leaving of my dear Islanders for a season; but it embraced within it the hope of returning to them again, with perhaps every power of blessing amongst them tenfold increased.

A _Sandal-wooder_, then lying at Aneityum, was to sail in a few days direct for Sydney. My passage was secured for £10. And, as if to make me realize how bare the Lord had stripped me in my late trials, the first thing that occupied me on board was the making with my own hands, from a piece of cloth obtained on Aneityum, another shirt for the voyage, to change with that which I wore—the only one that had been left to me.

The Captain proved to be a profane and brutal fellow. He professed to be a Roman Catholic, but he was typical of the coarse and godless Traders in those Seas. If he had exerted himself to make the voyage disagreeable, and even disgusting, he could scarcely have had better success. He frequently fought with the mate and steward, and his tyrannical bearing made every one wretched. He and his Native wife (a Heathen—but not more so than himself!) occupied the Cabin. I had to sleep on boards, without a bed, in a place where they stored the sandal-wood; and never could take off my clothes by night or day during that voyage of nearly fourteen hundred miles. The vessel was miserably supplied. Any food I got was scarcely eatable, and was sent to me in a plate on deck. There I spent all my time, except at night or in heavy rain, when I crept in and lay upon my planks.

The poor steward often came rushing on deck from the cabin, with blood streaming from his face, struck by the passionate Captain with whatever came to his hand. Yet he appeared to be a smart and obliging lad, and I pitied him exceedingly. Seeing no hope for redress, I took careful notes of his shocking treatment, and resolved to bide my time for exposing this base and cruel inhumanity.

On reaching Sydney, the steward was dismissed without wages,—the Captain having accused him to his employers of refusing to work on board. He found me out, and told me, weeping, that he cared more for his poor aged mother than himself, as his pay was all her support. On my advice, he informed the Captain that he would summon him, and that I had consented to appear in Court and produce my notes of what I had seen, day by day, on the voyage. He was immediately paid in full, and came to me big with gratitude.

One hesitates to dwell further on this miserable episode. But I must relate how my heart bled for some poor Islanders also, whom that Captain had on board. They knew not a word of English, and no one in the vessel knew a sound of their language. They were made to work, and to understand what was expected of them, only by hard knocks and blows, being pushed and pulled hither and thither. They were kept quite naked on the voyage up; but, when nearing Sydney, each received two yards of calico to be twisted as a kilt around his loins. A most pathetic spectacle it was to watch these poor Natives,—when they had leisure to sit on deck,—gazing, gazing, intently and imploringly, upon the face of the Sun! This they did every day, and at all hours, and I wept much to look on them, and not be able to tell them of the Son of God, the Light of the world, for I knew no word of their language. Perhaps they were worshippers of the Sun; and perhaps, amid all their misery, oh, _perhaps_, some ray of truth from the great Father of Lights may have streamed into those darkened souls!

When we arrived at Sydney, the Inspecting Officer of the Government, coming on board, asked how these Islanders came to be there. The Captain impudently replied that they were “passengers.” No further question was put. No other evidence was sought. Yet all who knew anything of our South-Sea Island Traders were perfectly aware that the moral certainty was that these Natives were there practically as Slaves. They would be privately disposed of by the Captain to the highest bidder; and that, forsooth, is to be called the _Labour_ Traffic.

About midnight we came to anchor in Sydney harbour. The Captain condescended to say, “I will not drive you ashore to-night, but you must be off by daylight.” His orders might have been spared. It was too great a relief to get away from such coarseness and profanity.

As we came to anchorage, I anxiously paced the deck, gazing towards the gas-lighted city, and pleading with God to open up my way, and give success in the work before me, on which the salvation of thousands of the Heathen might depend. Still I saw them perishing, still heard their wailing cry on the Islands behind me. I saw them groaning under blinding superstitions, and imbruing their hands in each other’s blood, and I felt as if crushed by the awful responsibility of my work and by the thought of all that hung upon its success or failure. But I felt also that there must be many of God’s dear people in Sydney who would sympathize with such work and help me, if only I could get access to them. At the same time, I knew not a soul in that great city; though I had a note of introduction to one person, which, as experience proved, I would have been better without.

Unfortunately, I had not with me a copy of the Resolution of the Missionaries, commissioning me to plead their cause and to raise funds for the new Mission Ship. Again and again I had earnestly requested it, but the Clerk of the meeting, pressed by correspondence, or for some other reason, gave me instead that note of introduction, which proved more of a hindrance than a help in launching my work; except that it threw me more exclusively on the guidance of my Lord, and taught me to trust in Him, and in the resources He had given me, rather than in any human aid, from that day till the present hour.

That friend, however, did his best. He kindly called with me on a number of Ministers and others. They heard my story, sympathized with me, shook hands, and wished me success; but, strangely enough, something “very special” prevented every one of them from giving me access to his pulpit or Sabbath School. At length, I felt so disappointed, so miserable, that I wished I had been in my grave with my dear departed and my brethren on the Islands who had fallen around me, in order that the work on which so much now appeared to depend might have been entrusted to some one better fitted to accomplish it. The heart seemed to keep repeating, “All these things are against thee.”

Finding out at last the Rev. A. Buzacott, then retired, but formerly the successful and honoured representative of the London Missionary Society on Rarotonga, considerable light was let in upon the mysteries of my last week’s experiences. He informed me that the highly esteemed friend, who had kindly been introducing me all round, was at that moment immersed in a keen Newspaper war with Presbyterians and Independents. He had published statements and changes of view, which charged them with being unscriptural in belief and practice. They, of course, were rigorously defending themselves. This made it painfully manifest that, in order to succeed, I must strike out a new course for myself, and one clear from all local entanglement.

Paying a fortnight in advance, I withdrew even from the lodging I had taken, and turned to the Lord more absolutely for guidance. He brought me into contact with good and generous-souled servants of His, the open-hearted Mr. and Mrs. Foss. Though entire strangers, they kindly invited me to be their guest while in Sydney, assuring me that I would meet with many Ministers and other Christians at their house who could help me in my work. God had opened the door; I entered with a grateful heart; they will not miss their recompence.

A letter and appeal had been already printed on behalf of our Mission. I now re-cast and reprinted it, adding a postscript, and appending my own name and new address. This was widely circulated among Ministers and others engaged in Christian work; and by this means, and by letters in the Newspapers, I did everything in my power to make our Mission known. But one week had passed, and no response came. One Lord’s Day had gone by, and no pulpit had been opened to me. I was perplexed beyond measure, how to get access to Congregations and Sabbath Schools; though a Something deep in my soul assured me, that if once my lips were opened, the Word of the Lord would not return void.

On my second Sabbath in Sydney, I wandered out with a great yearning at heart to get telling my message to any soul that would listen. It was the afternoon; and children were flocking into a Church that I passed. I followed them—that yearning growing stronger every moment. My God so ordered it, that I was guided thus to the Chalmers Presbyterian Church. The Minister, the Rev. Mr. McSkimming, addressed the children. At the close I went up and pleaded with him to allow me ten minutes to speak to them. After a little hesitation, and having consulted together, they gave me fifteen minutes. Becoming deeply interested, the good man invited me to preach to his Congregation in the evening. This was duly intimated in the Sabbath School; and thus my little boat was at last launched—surely by the hand of the dear Lord, with the help of His little children.

The kindly Minister, now very deeply interested, offered to spend the next day in introducing me to his clerical brethren. For his sake, I was most cordially received by them all, but especially by Dr. Dunsmore Lang, who greatly helped me; and now access was granted me to almost every Church and Sabbath School, both Presbyterian and Independent. In Sabbath Schools, I got a collection in connection with my address, and distributed, with the sanction of Superintendents, Collecting Cards amongst the children, to be returned through the teachers within a specified date. In Congregations, I received for the Mission the surplus over and above the ordinary collection when I preached on Sabbaths, and the full collection at all week-night meetings for which I could arrange.

I now appealed to a few of the most friendly Ministers to form themselves into an Honorary Committee of advice; and, at my earnest request, they got J. Goodlet, Esq., an excellent elder, to become Honorary Treasurer, and to take charge of all funds raised for the Mission Ship. For the Public knew nothing of me; but all knew my good Treasurer and these faithful Ministers, and had confidence in the work. They knew that every penny went direct to the Mission; and they saw that my one object was to promote God’s glory in the conversion of the Heathen. Our dear Lord Jesus thus opened up my way, and now I had invitations from more Schools and Congregations than I knew how to overtake—the response in money being also gratifying beyond almost all expectation.

It was now that I began a little plan of interesting the children, that attracted them from the first, and has since had an amazing development. I made them shareholders in the new Mission Ship—each child receiving a printed form, in acknowledgment of the number of shares, at sixpence each, of which he was the owner. Thousands of these shares were taken out, were shown about amongst families, and were greatly prized. The Ship was to be their very own! They were to be a great Shipping Company for Jesus. In hundreds of homes, these receipt-forms have been preserved; and their owners, now in middle years, are training _their_ children of to-day to give their pennies to support the white-winged Angel of the Seas, that bears the Gospel and the Missionary to the Heathen Isles.

Let no one think me ungrateful to my good Treasurer and his wife, to Dr. and Mrs. Moon, and to other dear friends who generously helped me, when I trace step by step how the Lord opened up my way. The Angel of His Presence went before me, and wonderfully moved His people to contribute in answer to my poor appeals. I had indeed to make all my own arrangements, and correspond regarding all engagements and details,—to me, always a slow and laborious writer, a very burdensome task. But it was all necessary in order to the fulfilment of the Lord’s purposes; and, to one who realizes that he is a fellow-labourer with Jesus, every yoke that He lays on becomes easy and every burden light.

Having done all that could at that time be accomplished in New South Wales, and as rapidly as possible, my Committee gave me a Letter of Commendation to Victoria. But there I had no difficulty. The ministers had heard of our work in Sydney. They received me most cordially, and at my request formed themselves into a Committee of Advice. Our dear friend, James McBain, Esq., now Sir James, became Honorary Treasurer. All moneys from this Colony, raised by my pleading for the Ship, were entrusted to him; and, ultimately, the acknowledging of every individual sum cost much time and labour. Dr. Cairns, and many others now gone to their rest, along with several honoured Ministers yet living, formed my Committee. The Lord richly reward them all in that Day!

As in New South Wales, I made all my own engagements, and arranged for Churches and Sabbath Schools as best I could. Few in the other Denominations of Victoria gave any help, but the Presbyterians rose to our appeal as with one heart. God moved them by one impulse; and Ministers, Superintendents, Teachers and Children heartily embraced the scheme as their own. I addressed three or four meetings every Sabbath, and one or more every week-day; and thus travelled over the length and breadth of Victoria, Tasmania, and South Australia. Wheresoever a few of the Lord’s people could be gathered together, thither I gladly went, and told the story of our Mission, setting forth its needs and claims.

The contributions and collections were nearly all in very small sums. I recall only one exception,—a gift of £250 from the late Hon. G. F. Angus, South Australia, whose heart the Lord had touched. Yet gently and steadily the required money began to come pouring in; and my personal outlays were reduced to a minimum by the hospitality of Christian friends and their kindly conveying of me from place to place. For all this I felt deeply grateful; it saved money for the Lord’s work.

Each of my Treasurers, to whom all contributions were sent direct, kept me duly posted as to sums received from time to time. The progress made soon led on to the resolution to aim at a Ship three times the size of that originally proposed. We set apart the sum of £3,000 as necessary for it; and I vowed, in my solitude, that if God sent an additional £800 within a given time, that would be my Gideon’s fleece, and would warrant me in going home to Scotland to secure more Missionaries for the Islands. By this time, I had heard of the death of my dear fellow-labourers, Mrs. Mathieson on Aneityum, and shortly thereafter Mr. Mathieson on Maré. I alone was now left to tell the story of the planting of the Standard on Tanna,—our Mission numbered then only four agents in the field,—and the thought arose, Why keep a Mission Vessel for so few? The resolution was, therefore, taken in God’s Name to get more Missionaries too. But this, as yet, was betwixt my own soul and the Lord.

The work was unceasingly prosecuted. Meetings were urged upon me now from every quarter. Money flowed in so freely that, at the close of my tour, the fund had risen to £5,000, including special Donations of £300 for the support of Native Teachers. Many Sabbath Schools, and many ladies and gentlemen, had individually promised the sum of £5 yearly to keep a Native Teacher on one or other of the New Hebrides Islands. This happy custom prevails still, and is largely developed; the sum required being now £6 per annum at least—for which you may have your own personal representative toiling among the Heathen and telling them of Jesus.

Returning to Melbourne, the whole matter was laid before my Committee. I reported how God had blessed the undertaking, and what sums were now in the hands of the several Treasurers, indicating also what larger hopes and plans had been put into my soul. Dear Dr. Cairns rose and said, “Sir, it is of the Lord. This whole enterprise is of God, and not of us. Go home, and He will give you more Missionaries for the Islands.” My ever-honoured friends, Dr. and Mrs. Inglis, had just returned to Melbourne from Britain, where they had been carrying the complete New Testament in Aneityumese through the press. Dr. Inglis was present at that meeting, and approved warmly of my going home for more Missionaries, especially as from want of time and opportunity he had not himself succeeded in getting any additions to our Missionary staff.

Melbourne held a Farewell meeting. The Governor, Sir Henry Barkley, took the chair. The Hall was crowded; and the Governor’s sympathetic utterances arrested public attention and deepened the interest in our Mission. The fact was emphasized that this work, lying at their very doors in the Pacific Seas, had peculiar claims on the heart and conscience of Australia.

Thence I hasted to Sydney, and reported myself also there. The New South Wales Committee gave their cordial approval to our larger plans. A Farewell was held there too; and the Governor, Sir John Young, took the chair. The meeting was a great success. His presence, and his excellent speech, again helped to fix the eyes of all Australians on the peculiar claims of the New Hebrides. This was _their_ work, more than that of any other people on the face of the Earth. The awakening of this consciousness, and intensifying it into a practical and burning faith, was a great and far-reaching achievement for Australia and for the Islanders. It is one of the purest joys of my life, that in this work I was honoured to have some share, along with many other dear servants of the Lord.

Of the money which I had raised, £3,000 were sent to Nova Scotia, to pay for the building of our new Mission Ship, the _Dayspring_. The Church which began the Mission on the New Hebrides was granted the honour of building its first Mission Ship. The remainder was set apart to pay for the outfit and passage of additional Missionaries for the field, and I was commissioned to return home to Scotland in quest of them. Dr. Inglis wrote, in vindication of this enterprise, to the friends whom he had just left, “From first to last, Mr. Paton’s mission here has been a great success; and it has been followed up with such energy and promptitude in Nova Scotia, both in regard to the Ship and the Missionaries, that Mr. Paton’s pledge to the Australian Churches has been fully redeemed. The hand of the Lord has been very visible in the whole movement from beginning to end, and we trust He has yet great blessing in store for the long and deeply degraded Islanders.”

Here let me turn aside from the current of Missionary toils, and record a few wayside incidents that marked some of my wanderings to and fro in connection with the Floating of the _Dayspring_. Travelling in the Colonies in 1862-63 was vastly less developed than it is to-day; and a few of my experiences then will for many reasons be not unwelcome to most readers of this book. Besides, these incidents, one and all, will be felt to have a vital connection with the main purpose of writing this Autobiography, namely, to show that the Finger of God is as visible still, to those who have eyes to see, as when the fire-cloud Pillar led His People through the wilderness.

Twenty-six years ago, the roads of Australia, except those in and around the principal towns, were mere tracks over unfenced plains and hills, and on many of them packhorses only could be used in slushy weather. During long journeys through the bush, the traveller could find his road only by following the deep notches, gashed by friendly precursors into the larger trees, and all pointing in one direction. If he lost his way, he had to struggle back to the last indented tree, and try to interpret more correctly its pilgrim notch. Experienced bush-travellers seldom miss the path; yet many others, losing the track, have wandered round and round till they sank and died. For then, it was easy to walk thirty or forty miles, and see neither a person nor a house. The more intelligent do sometimes guide their steps by sun, moon, and stars, or by glimpses of mountain peaks or natural features on the far and high horizon, or by the needle of the compass; but the perils are not illusory, and occasionally the most experienced have miscalculated and perished.

An intelligent gentleman, a sheep farmer, who knew the country well, once kindly volunteered to lift me in an out-of-the-way place, and drive me to a meeting at his Station. Having a long spell before us, we started at midday in a buggy drawn by a pair of splendid horses, in the hope of reaching our destination before dusk. He turned into the usual bush-track through the forests, saying,—

“I know this road well; and we must drive steadily, as we have not a moment to lose.”

Our conversation became absorbingly interesting. After we had driven about three hours, he remarked,—

“We must soon emerge into the open plain.”

I doubtfully replied, “Surely we cannot have turned back! These trees and bushes are wonderfully like those we passed at starting.”

He laughed, and made me feel rather vexed that I had spoken, when he said, “I am too old a hand in the bush for that! I have gone this road many a time before.”

But my courage immediately revived, for I got what appeared to me a glint of the roof of the Inn beyond the bush, from which we had started at noon, and I repeated, “I am certain we have wheeled, and are back at the beginning of our journey; but there comes a Chinaman; let us wait and inquire.”

My dear friend learned, to his utter amazement, that he had erred. The bush-track was entered upon once more, and followed with painful care, as he murmured, half to himself, “Well, this beats all reckoning! I could have staked my life that this was impossible.”

Turning to me, he said, with manifest grief, “Our meeting is done for! It will be midnight before we can arrive.”

The sun was beginning to set, as we reached the thinly timbered ground. Ere dusk fell, he took his bearings with the greatest possible care. Beyond the wood, a vast plain stretched before us, where neither fence nor house was visible, far as the eye could reach. He drove steadily towards a far-distant point, which was in the direction of his home. At last we struck upon the wire fence that bounded his property. The horses were now getting badly fagged; and, in order to save them a long round-about drive, he lifted and laid low a portion of the fence, led his horses cautiously over it, and, leaving it to be re-erected by a servant next day, he started direct for the Station. That seemed a long journey too; but it was for him familiar ground; and through amongst great patriarchal trees here and there, and safely past dangerous water-holes, we swung steadily on, reached his home in safety, and had a joyous welcome. The household had by this time got into great excitement over our non-appearance. The expected meeting had, of course, been abandoned hours ago; and the people were all gone, wondering in their hearts “whereto this would grow!”

At that time, in the depth of winter, the roads were often wrought into rivers of mire, and at many points almost impassable even for well-appointed conveyances. In connection therewith, I had one very perilous experience. I had to go from Clunes to a farm in the Learmouth district. The dear old Minister there, Mr. Downes, went with me to every place where a horse could be hired; but the owners positively refused—they would sell, but they would not hire, for the conveyance would be broken, and the horse would never return alive! Now, I was advertised to preach at Learmouth, and must somehow get over the nine miles that lay between. This would have been comparatively practicable, were it not that I carried with me an indispensable bag of “curios,” and a heavy bundle of clubs, arrows, dresses, etc., from the Islands, wherewith to illustrate my lectures and enforce my appeals. No one could be hired to carry my luggage, nor could I get it sent after me by coach on that particular way. Therefore, seeing no alternative opening in my path, I committed myself once more to the Lord, as in harder trials before, shouldered my bundle of clubs, lifted my heavy bag, and started off on foot. They urged me fervently to desist; but I heard a voice repeating, “As thy days, so shall thy strength be.” There came back to me also the old adage that had in youthful difficulties spurred me on, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” And I thought that, with these two in his heart, a Scotchman would not be easily beaten.

When I found the road wrought into mire, and dangerous, or impassable, I climbed the fence, and waded along in the ploughed fields—though they were nearly as bad. My bundle was changed from shoulder to shoulder, and my bag from hand to hand, till I became thoroughly tired of both. Pressing on, however, I arrived at a wayside Public House, where several roads met, and there I inquired the way to Learmouth, and how far it was. The Innkeeper, pointing, answered,—

“This is the road. If you are on horseback, it might be three to four miles just now, as your horse is able to take it. If you are in a conveyance, with a good horse, it might be six miles. And if you are walking, it might be eight or ten miles, or even more.”

I said, “I am walking. How many English miles is it to Mr. Baird’s farm?”

He laughingly replied, “You will find it a long way indeed this dark night, considering the state of the road, fenced in on both sides so that you cannot get off.”

I passed on, leaving my Job’s comforter; but a surly watch-dog got upon my track, and I had much difficulty in keeping it from biting me. Its attacks, renewed upon me again and again, had one good effect,—they stirred up my spirits and made me hasten on.

Having persevered along the Learmouth road, I next met a company of men hastening on with a bundle of ropes. They were on their way to relieve a poor bullock, which by this time had almost disappeared, sinking in the mire on the public highway! They kindly pointed me to a light, visible through the dusk. That was the farm at which I was to stay, and they advised me to clear the fence, and make straight for that light, as the way was good.

With thankful heart, I did so. The light was soon lost to me, but I walked steadily on in the direction thereof, to the best of my judgment. Immediately I began to feel the ground all floating under me. Then at every step I took, or tried to take, I sank deeper and deeper, till at last I durst not move either backward or forward. I was floundering in a deadly swamp. I called out again and again, and “coo-ee-d” with all my strength, but there came no reply. It grew extremely dark, while I kept praying to God for deliverance. About midnight, I heard two men conversing, apparently at no very great distance. I began “coo-ee-ing” again, but my strength was failing. Fortunately, the night was perfectly calm. The conversation ceased for a while; but I kept on crying for help. At length, I heard one voice remark to the other,—“Some one is in the swamp.” And then a question came, “Who’s there?”

I answered, “A stranger. Oh, do help me!”

Again a voice came through the darkness, “How did you get in there?”

And I feebly replied, “I have lost my way.”

I heard the one say to the other: “I will go and get him out, whoever he may be. We must not leave him there; he’ll be dead before the morning. As you pass by our door, tell my wife that I’m helping some poor creature out of the swamp, and will be home immediately.”

He kept calling to me, and I answering his call through the darkness, till, not without peril, he managed to reach and aid me. Once I was safely dragged out, he got my bag in his hand and slung my clubs on his shoulder, and in a very short time landed me at the farm, dripping and dirty and cold. Had God not sent that man to save me, I must have perished there, as many others have similarly perished before. The farmer heartily welcomed me and kindly ministered to all my needs. Though not yet gone to rest, they had given up all hope of seeing me. I heard the kind servant say to his mistress,—

“I don’t know where he came from, or how far he has carried his bundles; but I got him stuck fast in the swamp, and my shoulder is already sore from carrying his clubs!”

A cup of warm tea restored me. The Lord gave me a sound and blessed sleep. I rose next morning wonderfully refreshed, though arms and shoulders were rather sore with the burdens of yesterday. I conducted three Services, and told the story of my Mission, not without comfort and blessing; and with gratifying results in money. The people gave liberally to the work.

One day, after this, I was driving a long distance on the outside of a crowded coach. A grave and sensible-looking Scotchman sat next me. He had inquiringly marked me reading in silence, while all around were conversing on matters of common interest. At last, he queried,—“Are you a Minister?” I answered, “Yes.”

“Where is your Church?”

“I have no Church.”

“Where are you placed?”

“I am not placed in any charge now.”

“Where is your home?”

“I have no home.”

“Where have you come from?”

“The South Sea Islands.”

“What are you doing in Australia?”

“Pleading the cause of the Mission.”

“Are you a Presbyterian?”

“I am.”

Having gone through this Catechism to his satisfaction, a most interesting and profitable conversation followed. When the time came for the payment of fares, nothing would please but that I must allow him to pay for me—some twenty-two shillings—which he did with all his heart, protesting,—

“A joy to me, Sir, a great joy; I honour you for your work’s sake!”

Thereafter, a Schoolmaster drove me a long distance across the country to Violet Town, where for the night we had to stay at an Inn. We had a taste of what Australian life really was, when the land was being broken in. A company of wild and reckless men were carousing there at the time, and our arrival was the signal for an outbreak of malicious mischief. A powerful fellow, who turned out to be a young Medical, rushed upon me as I left the conveyance, seized me by the throat, and shook me roughly, shouting,—

“A parson, a parson! I will do for the parson!”

Others with great difficulty relieved me from his grips, and dragged him away, cursing as if at his mortal enemy.

After tea, we got into the only bedroom in the house, available for two. The Teacher and I locked ourselves in and barricaded the door, hearing in the next room a large party of drunken men gambling and roaring over their cards. By-and-by they quarrelled and fought; they smashed in and out of their room, and seemed to be murdering each other; every moment we expected our door to come crashing in, as they were thrown or lurched against it. Their very language made us tremble. One man in particular seemed to be badly abused; he shouted that they were robbing him of his money; and he groaned and cried for protection, all in vain. We spent a sleepless and most miserable night. At four in the morning I arose, and was glad to get away by the early coach. My friend also left in his own conveyance, and reached his home in safety. At that period, it was not only painful but dangerous for any decent traveller to stay at many of these wayside Inns, in the new and rough country. Every man lived and acted just as he pleased, doing that which was right in his own eyes; and Might was Right.

After this, I made a Mission tour, in a somewhat mixed and original fashion, right across the Colony of Victoria, from Albury in New South Wales to Mount Gambier in South Australia. I conducted Mission Services almost every day, and three or more every Sabbath, besides visiting all Sunday Schools that could be touched on the way. When I reached a gold-digging or township, where I had been unable to get any one to announce a meeting, the first thing I did on arriving was to secure some Church or Hall, and, failing that, to fix on some suitable spot in the open air. Then, I was always able to hire some one to go round with the bell, and announce the meeting. Few will believe how large were the audiences in this way gathered together, and how very substantial was the help that thereby came to the Mission fund. Besides, I know that much good was done to many of those addressed; for I have always, to this hour, combined the Evangelist’s appeal with the Missionary’s story, in all public addresses, whether on Sabbath or other days. I tried to bring every soul to feel personal duty and responsibility to the Lord Jesus, for I knew that then they would rightly understand the claims of the Heathen.

Wheresoever railway, steamboat, and coach were available, I always used them; but failing these, I hired, or was obliged to friends of Missions for driving me from place to place. On this tour, having reached a certain place, from which my way lay for many miles across the country where there was no public conveyance, I walked to the nearest squatter’s Station and frankly informed the owner how I was situated; that I could not hire, and that I would like to stay at his house all night, if he would kindly send me on in the morning by any sort of trap to the next Station on my list. He happened to be a good Christian and a Presbyterian, and gave me a right cordial welcome. A meeting of his servants was called, which I had the pleasure of addressing. Next morning, he gave me £20, and sent me forward with his own conveyance, telling me to retain it all day, if necessary.

On reaching the next squatter’s Station, I found the master also at home, and said,—

“I am a Missionary from the South Sea Islands. I am crossing Victoria to plead the cause of the Mission. I would like to rest here for an hour or two. Could you kindly send me on to the next Station by your conveyance? If not, I am to keep the last squatter’s buggy, until I reach it.”

Looking with a queer smile at me, he replied,—“You propose a rather novel condition on which to rest at my house! My horses are so employed to-day, I fear that I may have difficulty in sending you on. But come in; both you and your horses need rest; and my wife will be glad to see you.”

I immediately discovered that the good lady came from Glasgow, from a street in which I had lodged when a student at the Free Normal College. I even knew some of her friends. All the places of her youthful associations were equally familiar to me. We launched out into deeply interesting conversation, which finally led up, of course, to the story of our Mission.

The gentleman, by this time, had so far been won, that he slipped out and sent my conveyance and horses back to their owner, and ordered his own to be ready to take me to the next Station, or, if need be, to the next again. At parting, the lady said to her husband,—

“The Missionary has asked no money, though he sees we have been deeply interested; yet clearly that is the object of his tour. He is the first Missionary from the Heathen that ever visited us here; and you must contribute something to his Mission fund.”

I thanked her, explaining, “I never ask money directly from any person for the Lord’s work. My part is done when I have told my story and shown the needs of the Heathen and the claims of Christ; but I gratefully receive all that the Lord moves His people to give for the Mission.”

Her husband replied, rather sharply, “You know I don’t keep money here.”

To which she retorted with ready tact and with a resistless smile, “But you keep a cheque book; and your cheque is as good as gold! This is the first donation we ever gave to such a cause, and let it be a good one.”

He made it indeed handsome, and I went on my way, thanking them very sincerely, and thanking God.

At the next Station, the owner turned out to be a gruff Irishman, forbidding and insolent. Stating my case to him as to the others, he shouted at me, “Go on! I don’t want to be troubled with the loikes o’ you here.”

I answered, “I am sorry if my coming troubles you; but I wish you every blessing in Christ Jesus. Good-bye!”

As we drove off, he shouted curses after us. On leaving his door, I heard a lady calling to him from the window: “Don’t let that Missionary go away! Make haste and call him back. I want the children to see the idols and the South Sea curios.”

At first he drowned her appeal in his own shoutings. But she must have persisted effectually; for shortly we heard him “coo-ee-ing,” and stopped. When he came up to us, he explained: “That lady in my house heard you speaking in Melbourne. The ladies and children are very anxious to see your idols, dresses, and weapons. Will you please come back?”

We did so. I spent fifteen minutes or so, giving them information about the Natives and our Mission. As I left, our boisterous friend handed me a cheque for £5, and wished me great success!

The next Station at which we arrived was one of the largest of all. It happened to be a sort of pay day, and men were assembled from all parts of the run, and were to remain there over night. The squatter and his family were from home; but Mr. Todd, the overseer, being a good Christian and a Scotchman, was glad to receive us, arranged to hold a meeting that evening in the men’s hut, and promised to set me forward on my journey next day. The meeting was very enthusiastic; and they subscribed £20 to the Mission—every man being determined to have so many shares in the new Mission Ship. With earnest personal dealing, I urged the claims of the Lord Jesus upon all who were present, seeking the salvation of every hearer. I ever found even the rough digger, and the lowest of the hands about faraway Stations, most attentive and perfectly respectful.

To the honour of Australia I must here record, that anything like uncivil treatment was a rare exception in all my travels. Sometimes, indeed, I have suspected that people were acting as if to say, Let us treat him kindly, do as little for his cause as we can, and get rid of him as quickly as possible! But, as a rule, almost without an exception, I have met with remarkable kindness, hospitality, and help from all the Ministers and people of Australia. Scarcely ever, at any place visited, was I without one or more invitations to be guest of some of the Lord’s people; and I was there treated as a dear friend of the family, rather than a passing stranger. Colonials, indeed, are proverbial for the open door and the generous hand to pilgrims by the way. May the Divine Master grant them evermore of His own Spirit, with His ever-enriching blessings on their Souls and in their homes!

Disappointments and successes were strangely intermingled. Once I travelled a very long way to conduct a meeting at a certain township. I had written pleading with the Minister to make due intimation; but he had informed no person of my intended visit, neither had he written to me, which he could easily have done. When I arrived, he met me on horseback, said, “I have arranged no meeting here,” and instantly rode away. Only two coaches weekly passed that way, so I had to remain there at a Public House for the next three days. Drinking and noise, of course, abounded; but they kindly gave me a small back room, as far away as possible, and looking out into a quiet garden. It was to cost me thirteen shillings and sixpence per day; and there I sat patiently and somewhat sadly working up my heavy correspondence. The district was rich, and I knew that there were pious as well as wealthy people there, who could have been interested in our Mission and would have helped me,—hence my keen disappointment.

On the afternoon of the second day, I saw a beautiful garden from my bedroom window, wherein a considerable party of ladies, gentlemen, and handsomely dressed children were disporting in happy amusements. Thinking that they were growing tired, and might not object to a little variety, I summoned courage to walk up and ask for the gentleman of the house. I told him that I was a Missionary from the South Sea Islands and had come here to address a meeting, and how I had been disappointed; that I was staying at the Public House till the next Mail passed inland, and that I had there some Heathen idols, clubs, dresses, and “curios,” which perhaps the ladies and children would like to see, and to hear a little about the Lord’s work on the Islands. I explained also that I asked no money and received no reward, but only wished an opportunity of interesting them in this work of God. He consulted the company. They were eager to see what I had got, and to hear what I had to say.

On returning with my bundle of “curios,” I found them all arranged under the verandah, and a chair placed in front for me and my articles of mystery. They eagerly examined everything, and listened to my description of its uses. I gave them a short account of the Islanders and of our efforts to carry to them the Gospel of Jesus. I pressed on them the blessings and the advantages of the great Redemption, and the peace and joy of living for and walking daily with God here, in the assured hope of eternal glory with Him hereafter; and I urged one and all to love and serve the Lord Jesus. Having stated how I came to be there, and how I had been disappointed, knowing that many would have sympathized with and helped my Mission if only I could have addressed them, I intimated that I would not ask any contributions, but I would leave a few of the Collecting Cards for the new Mission Ship; and if, after what they had heard, they chose to do anything, all money was to be sent to the Treasurer at Melbourne.

Some offered me donations, but I declined, saying, “I am a stranger to you all. The Minister has cast suspicion on me by refusing to intimate any meeting. In the circumstances, I can in this case receive nothing. But I will rejoice if you all do whatever you can for the precious work of our Lord Jesus among the Heathen, and send it on to Melbourne, whence every penny will be acknowledged in due time.”

Many took cards and became eager collectors for the Mission; and I knew, ere I returned to the Public House that day, that the Lord’s finger was here also, and that the trial of disappointment through the Minister was being already over-ruled for good.

This was even more remarkably manifested on the evening of that same day, and within the said Public House itself. A very large number of men were assembled there, some at tea, and others drinking noisily, on their return from a great cattle market and show. I tried to get into conversation with some of the quieter spirits, and produced and explained to them the idols, clubs, and dresses, till nearly all crowded eagerly around me. Then I told them the story of our Mission, in process of which I managed to urge the Gospel message on their own hearts also; and invited them to ask questions at the close. The rough fellows became wonderfully interested. Several took Collecting Cards for the _Dayspring_ fund. And the publican and his wife were thereafter very kind, declining to take anything from me either for bed or meals—another gleam out of the darkness!

It is my conviction that in these ways the Lord helped me to gain as much, if not, more for the Mission than all that was lost through lack of a meeting; and it is certain that I thus had opportunity of speaking of sin and salvation, and of setting forth the claims of Jesus before many souls that never could have been reached through any ordinary Congregation. Again I learned to praise the Lord in all circumstances—“Bless the Lord _at all times_, O my soul.”

A lively and memorable extemporized meeting on this tour is associated in memory with one of my dearest friends. The district was very remote. He, the squatter, and his beloved wife were sterling Christians, and have been ever since warmly devoted to me. On my arrival, he invited the people from all the surrounding Stations, as well as his own numerous servants, to hear the story of our Mission. Next day he volunteered to drive me a long distance over the plains of St. Arnaud, his dear wife accompanying us. At that time there were few fences in such districts in Australia. The drive was long, but the day had been lovely, and the fellowship was so sweet that it still shines a sunny spot in the fields of memory.

Having reached our destination about seven o’clock, he ordered tea at the Inn for the whole party; and we sallied out meantime and took the only Hall in the place, for an extemporized meeting to be held that evening at eight o’clock. I then hired a man to go through the township with a bell, announcing the same; while I myself went up one side of the main street, and my friend up the other, inviting all who would listen to us to attend the Mission meeting, where South Sea Island idols, weapons, and dresses would be exhibited, and stories of the Natives told.

Running back for a hurried cup of tea, I then hasted to the Hall, and found it crowded to excess with rough and boisterous diggers. The hour struck as I was getting my articles arranged and spread out upon the table, and they began shouting, “Where’s the Missionary?” “Another hoax!”—indicating that they were not unwilling for a row. I learned that, only a few nights ago, a so-called Professor had advertised a lecture, lifted entrance money till the Hall was crowded, and then quietly slipped off the scene. In our case, though there was no charge, they seemed disposed to gratify themselves by some sort of promiscuous revenge.

Amidst the noisy chaff and rising uproar, I stepped up on the table, and said, “Gentlemen, I am the Missionary. If you will now be silent, the lecture will proceed. According to my usual custom, let us open the meeting with prayer.”

The hush that fell was such a contrast to the preceding hubbub, that I heard my heart throbbing aloud! Then they listened to me for an hour, in perfect silence and with ever-increasing interest. At the close I intimated that I asked no collection; but if, after what they had heard, they would take a Collecting Card for the new Mission Ship, and send any contributions to the Treasurer at Melbourne, I would praise God for sending me amongst them. Many were heartily taken, and doubtless some souls felt the “constraining love,” who had till then been living without God. Next morning, I mounted the Mail Coach, and started on a three days’ run, while my dear friend returned safely to his home.

It was really very seldom, however, that I found myself thus driven to extemporize my meetings. Some Christian friend, if not the Minister of the place, arranged all, and advertised my coming. And the Lord greatly helped me in carrying on the burdensome correspondence thereanent, and keeping it always three weeks ahead.

I travelled thus over the length and breadth of New South Wales, Victoria, Tasmania, and South Australia, telling the story of our Mission, and delivering the Lord’s message, not only in great centres of population, but in almost every smaller township; and not only thereby Floating the _Dayspring_, but sowing, by God’s help, seeds of far-reaching blessing, whose fruits will ripen through the years to come. Blessed be His holy Name!

And here let me recall what happened at Penola, a border town between Victoria and South Australia. In the flooded, swampy country and bad bush-track between it and Mount Gambier the roads were impassable, and the coach broke down. The Mail was sent forward on horseback. I had waited for nearly a week, in the hope of getting to the Mount for the Sabbath Services that had been arranged. At length I succeeded in engaging a man, with a pair of horses and a light spring cart, to drive me there for £4 10_s._ He declared the horses to be fresh, and able for the journey. We started about mid-day; but, ere many miles had been covered, he began to whip them severely. The horses looked utterly exhausted, and the truth at once flashed on me. I was pleading with him not to flog them so, when, on reaching a higher piece of ground, he pulled up, and said,—

“I am ashamed to tell you that my horses are done! They had just come off a journey of forty miles when we started. I have told you a lie; but I hope you will forgive me. I was sorely in need of the hire, and I deceived you. There is no help for it now. We must camp out for the night on this dry ground. I do hope you won’t catch cold. You shall sleep in the cart; I can rest under it. I will set fire to this large fallen tree to keep us warm. I have brought a loaf of bread, and a billy (= a bushman’s can for boiling water). We can have some tea; and, rest assured, I shall land you there in time for the Sabbath Morning Service.”

So saying, while I listened dumbfounded, he turned aside, unyoked the horses, “hobbled” them, and let them go upon the grass. He made the black tea which bushmen drink, and appeared to enjoy it. The conveyance was drawn near to that burning tree, and I got located into it, and was expected to rest. I sat there wide-awake during weary hours! Time passed at a dreadfully slow pace, and sleep refused to come near me. Kangaroos, wallabies, with other nameless wild creatures and screaming birds, kept loud festival all around; and mosquitoes tortured me, apparently in thousands. Towards midnight I saw a light in the distant bush, and, awaking my companion, inquired if he could say what it might be. He had heard that a Wesleyan farmer from near Adelaide had come into that region to take up a sheep and cattle Station there, as in that swampy country the grass was excellent. It might be their light, or it might be that of some benighted party camping out like ourselves. He assured me that he could find our way to that light, and back again to our burning tree, and, partly to pass the time, I resolved to try.

We found the Wesleyan farmer there, living in a large bush-shed, surrounded by a still larger enclosure wherein horses, cattle, and sheep were kept for the night all together upon the dry ground, awaiting the erection of houses and fencing, with which they were busily engaged. Unseemly as was our hour of call, the dogs had loudly announced our approach, and we got a cordial greeting, being immediately surrounded by all the family. They eagerly listened to everything about the Mission. We had worship together. They gave us a hearty tea, besides a loaf of bread and a jug of milk for our breakfast next morning—the jug to be left by us beside the burning tree, whither they could send for it after we departed. Their regrets were genuine and profuse that their circumstances prevented them from offering us a bed, but we exceedingly enjoyed our intercourse with them, and felt them to be dear Christian friends. How delightful and responsive is the communion of those who love the Lord Jesus, wherever they meet; and oh, what will it be in Glory, when, made like unto the Saviour, we shall “see Him as He is!” At daybreak we were off again on our weary journey, and reached the destination safely and in good time. A hearty welcome awaited us from dear Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell, who had long since despaired of my appearing. All the Services were largely attended, and the Lord led the people to take a deep interest in our Mission, many generous and devoted friends to it arising there, where the Minister and his wife struck the right key-note, and were so highly and justly esteemed.

Returning to Penola, we found that the Mail coach would not try to run for some time. I had to reconcile myself to wait there for several days. Every day I beheld a man staggering about at all hours under the influence of drink. I learned that he had been a wealthy and open-handed squatter, had lost everything, had recently laid his wife in the grave, and now, followed about by his three little girls, was trying to drown his sorrows in whisky. Overcome with irresistible pity, I followed him day after day, and again and again remonstrated with him on the madness of his conduct, especially appealing to him for his children’s sake. At last he turned upon me, with an earnest gaze, and said, “If you take the pledge with me, God helping me, I will keep it for life.”

We entered the house together, signed a pledge, and solemnly invoked God in prayer to enable us to keep it till death. For his sake, I renewed the vow of my youthful days; and he, by my sympathy, took this vow for the first time, and, by God’s help, he kept it. He left Penola next day, shaking off old associates, and started a humble business where he had once owned much of the land. He became a Christian out and out, and has been an Elder of the Church for many years. I have often been laughed at by whisky drinkers, and also by so-called “temperance” men, for being a Total Abstainer; but even one case like that (and, thank God, there are many) is an eternal reward, and can sustain us to smile down all ridicule.

Dear reader, can you measure the effect of the example which you are setting? Are you to-day amongst the ranks of the moderate drinkers? Remember that from that class all drunkards have come; and ask yourself whether you would not act more nobly and unselfishly to abstain, for the interests of our common Humanity, for loyalty to our Lord Jesus Christ, and for the hope of leading a pure and unstained life yourself, as well as helping others to do so, whom Jesus died to save?

The crowning adventure of my tour came about in the following manner: I was advertised to conduct Services at Narracoort on Sabbath, and at a Station on the way on Saturday evening. But how to get from Penola was a terrible perplexity. On Saturday morning, however, a young lady offered me, out of gratitude for blessings received, the use of her riding horse for the journey. “Garibaldi” was his name; and, though bred for a race-horse, I was assured that if I kept him firmly in hand, he would easily carry me over the two-and-twenty miles. He was to be left at the journey’s end, and the lady herself would fetch him back. I shrank from the undertaking, knowing little of horses, and having vague recollections of being dreadfully punished for more than a week after my last and almost only ride. But every one in that country is quite at ease on the back of a horse. They saw no risk; and, as there appeared no other way of getting there to fulfil my engagements, I, for my part, began to think that God had unexpectedly provided the means, and that He would carry me safely through.

I accepted the lady’s kind offer, and started on my pilgrimage. A friend showed me the road, and gave me ample directions. In the bush, I was to keep my eye on the notches in the trees, and follow them. He agreed kindly to bring my luggage to the Station, and leave it there for me by-and-bye. After I had walked very quietly for some distance, three gentlemen on horseback overtook me. We entered into conversation. They inquired how far I was going, and advised me to sit a little “freer” in the saddle, as it would be so much easier for me. They seemed greatly amused at my awkward riding! Dark clouds were now gathering ahead, and the atmosphere prophesied a severe storm; therefore they urged that I should ride a little faster, as they, for a considerable distance, could guide me on the right way. I explained to them my plight through inexperience, said that I could only creep on slowly with safety, and bade them Good-bye. As the sky was getting darker every minute, they consented, wishing me a safe journey, and started off at a smart pace.

I struggled to hold in my horse; but seizing the bit with his teeth, laying back his ears, and stretching out his eager neck, he manifestly felt that his honour was at stake; and in less time than I take to write it, the three friends cleared a way for us, and he tore past them all at an appalling speed. They tried for a time to keep within reach of us, but that sound only put fire into his blood; and in an incredibly short time I heard them not; nor, from the moment that he bore me swinging past them, durst I turn my head by one inch to look for them again. In vain I tried to hold him in; he tore on, with what appeared to me the speed of the wind. Then the thunderstorm broke around us, with flash of lightning and flood of rain, and at every fresh peal my “Garibaldi” dashed more wildly onward.

To me, it was a vast surprise to discover that I could sit more easily on this wild flying thing, than when at a canter or a trot. At every turn I expected that he would dash himself and me against the great forest trees; but instinct rather than my hand guided him miraculously. Sometimes I had a glimpse of the road, but as for the “notches,” I never saw one of them; we passed them with lightning speed. Indeed, I durst not lift my eyes for one moment from watching the horse’s head and the trees on our track. My high-crowned hat was now drenched, and battered out of shape; for whenever we came to a rather clear space, I seized the chance and gave it another knock down over my head. I was spattered and covered with mud and mire.

Crash, crash, went the thunder, and on, on, went “Garibaldi” through the gloom of the forest, emerging at length upon a clearer ground with a more visible pathway. Reaching the top of the slope, a large house stood out far in front of us to the left; and the horse had apparently determined to make straight for that, as if it were his home. He skirted along the hill, and took the track as his own familiar ground, all my effort to hold him in or guide him having no more effect than that of a child. By this time, I suspect, I really had lost all power. “Garibaldi” had been at that house, probably frequently before; he knew those stables; and my fate seemed to be instant death against door or wall.

Some members of the family, on the outlook for the Missionary, saw us come tearing along as if mad or drunk; and now all rushed to the verandah, expecting some dread-catastrophe. A tall and stout young groom, amazed at our wild career, throwing wide open the gate, seized the bridle at great risk to himself, and ran full speed, yet holding back with all his might, and shouting at me to do the same. We succeeded,—“Garibaldi” having probably attained his purpose,—in bringing him to a halt within a few paces of the door. Staring at me with open mouth, the man exclaimed, “I have saved your life. What madness to ride like that!” Thanking him, though I could scarcely by this time articulate a word, I told him that the horse had run away, and that I had lost all control.

Truly I was in a sorry plight, drenched, covered with mud, and my hat battered down over my eyes; little wonder they thought me drunk or mad! Finally, as if to confirm every suspicion, and amuse them all,—for master, mistress, governess, and children now looked on from the verandah,—when I was helped off the horse, I could not stand on my feet! My head still went rushing on in the race; I staggered, and down I tumbled into the mud, feeling chagrin and mortification; yet there I had to sit for some time before I recovered myself, so as either to rise or to speak a word. When I did get to my feet, I had to stand holding by the verandah for some time, my head still rushing on in the race. At length the master said, “Will you not come in?”

I knew that he was treating me for a drunken man; and the giddiness was so dreadful still, that my attempts at speech seemed more drunken than even my gait.

As soon as I could stand, I went into the house, and drew near to an excellent fire in my dripping clothes. The squatter sat opposite me in silence, reading the newspapers, and taking a look at me now and again over his spectacles. By-and-bye he remarked, “Wouldn’t it be worth while to change your clothes?”

Speech was now returning to me. I replied, “Yes, but my bag is coming on in the cart, and may not be here to-night.”

He began to relent. He took me into a room, and laid out for me a suit of his own. I being then very slender, and he a big-framed farmer, my new dress, though greatly adding to my comfort, enhanced the singularity of my appearance.

Returning to him, washed and dressed, I inquired if he had arranged for a meeting? My tongue, I fear, was still unsteady, for the squatter looked at me rather reproachfully, and said, “Do you really consider yourself fit to appear before a meeting to-night?”

I assured him that he was quite wrong in his suspicions, that I was a life-long Abstainer, and that my nerves had been so unhinged by the terrible ride and the runaway horse. He smiled rather suggestively, and said we would see how I felt after tea.

We went to the table. All that had occurred was now consummated by my appearing in the lusty farmer’s clothes; and the lady and other friends had infinite difficulty in keeping their amusement within decent bounds. I again took speech in hand, but I suspect my words had still the thickness of the tippler’s utterance, for they seemed not to carry much conviction,—“Dear friends, I quite understand your feelings; appearances are so strangely against me. But I am not drunken, as ye suppose. I have tasted no intoxicating drink, I am a life-long Total Abstainer!”

This fairly broke down their reserve. They laughed aloud, looking at each other and at me, as if to say, “Man, you’re drunk at this very moment.”

Before tea was over they appeared, however, to begin to entertain the idea that I _might_ address the meeting; and so I was informed of the arrangements that had been made. At the meeting, my incredulous friends became very deeply interested. Manifestly their better thoughts were gaining the ascendancy. And they heaped thereafter every kindness upon me, as if to make amends for harder suspicions.

Next morning the master drove me about ten miles further on to the Church. A groom rode the race-horse, who took no scathe from his thundering gallop of the day before. It left deeper traces upon me. I got through the Services, however, and with good returns for the Mission. Twice since, on my Mission tours, I have found myself at that same memorable house; and on each occasion a large company of friends were being regaled by the good lady there with very comical descriptions of my first arrival at her door.