Chapter 7: A Great Deliverance

The average priest of South America has very few scruples as to the methods he may adopt to keep the Bible from the people. It is a life or death matter with him, especially as he dare not read it himself. His influence and power and the lucrative capacity of his ecclesiastical wares depend on his keeping the people in absolute ignorance of apostolic teaching, therefore the Bible must be exterminated at all costs, so he tells them it is the fount of all heresy. There are few things at which the priests are so skillful as they are at ferreting out Bibles, and that by subtle methods in which the confessional and the children are favorite tools. By fair or foul means the books are filched from the people, and ever and again an auto-da-fe is held, in which many copies of God’s Word are publicly burnt with execrations and cursing’s. If they do not burn believers, too, it is only because the laws of the land do not permit it, even in South America.
The hired assassin is still at their command, and occasionally these “ministers of Satan” use such means to silence the mouth of the colporteur or evangelist. In Brazil nearly all the murderous attacks made on Gospel preachers and believers alike are directly traceable to the priests. This is a well-known fact, and I can give innumerable instances of it occurring in different parts of Brazil.
With few exceptions they shun open discussion or controversy of any kind, especially if they know the people have any Bibles. In one place where I stayed several months, and where many conversions were taking place, the visiting priest used to storm at me from his pulpit and make sensational charges against me and the books I circulated. This went on for some time. At last I wrote him a letter saying that I had heard of his attacks against me from the place of privilege, where I was unable to answer him, and asking him to dare to repeat the same in any place where I could be present to refute his accusations, as I was fully prepared to do. I also challenged him to a public discussion in the open village square, leaving it to him to choose the subject or doctrine to be debated, provided that the “approved” Bible of the Roman Church be used as a basis for the same. To emphasize the matter I wrote out a copy of the challenge in bold writing and nailed it to a door in the center of the village for all to see, and this naturally aroused considerable interest among the inhabitants.
At daybreak next morning I saw the priest stealthily riding out of the village, alter having threatened all kinds of future terrors, including a visit from his bishop. I never saw him again, but soon after I heard that while celebrating mass in a neighboring town he was stricken with smallpox, being the first case ever known in the State of Goyaz, and he disappeared from that part of Brazil.
On another occasion when, together with two companions, I rode into the little town of San Francisco, in the State of Minas, we found the people very hostile towards us — rather an unusual experience.
The local priest had evidently been notified of our Bible work in other towns on our cross-country route, and he had so poisoned the minds of the people against us with lying words that doors were slammed in our faces without our being allowed a hearing. Some ran away as we approached, while others openly threatened us with sticks and stones. We visited this priest, who received us smoothly, and, avoiding any discussion, said nothing against our books. In the whole afternoon’s work we only succeeded in selling two or three Testaments and half a dozen Gospels.
Tired out and somewhat disheartened, we retired for the night to a rough mud hut, about a mile from the town, this being the best accommodation we could obtain.
It was nearly eleven o’clock, and we had just finished packing our books and trappings, ready for an early start next morning for the next town, when we were startled by a sharp knock at the door. On opening it a young man stepped into our midst, pale and agitated and very much out of breath, as though he had been running.
“Have you any guns?” he exclaimed.
“Guns!” we replied with astonishment. “No, we do not carry such things. Why do you ask?”
“Because,” said he, “the priest has collected a mob of the worst characters of the town and has filled them with rum, and they are now on their way here to murder you. As this place you are in belongs to my father I felt I ought to try to protect you, but if you have no guns it’s hopeless,” and with these words he disappeared into the night.
We looked at each other significantly and listened. All was quiet, not a sound could be heard, and it was beautiful, clear moonlight. There was no mistaking the look on that young man’s face, however, so we went in and, kneeling down, commended ourselves to Him who is able to deliver.
Ere we rose to our feet we heard the horrible sound of the approaching mob, who seemed more like demons than human beings. We closed the door and shutters, and lay back in our hammocks. The country was still open to us on one side; we could have escaped, but there were all those books — God’s books, and there were all our saddlery and other things. Should we run away and leave these things to be destroyed? No, we never seriously entertained the idea; it would have sounded too much like defeat.
The noise increased, and we could distinguish what our assailants said. Murder was in their hearts, and this with ecclesiastical approval. Our retreat was now cut off, for the place was surrounded While the first blows were falling on our frail door and shutters we closed our eyes and quietly awaited what now seemed inevitable. A few moments, I thought, and all will be over. Yet I felt no great perturbation or fear; God met my need of courage with His grace.
Just when we seemed as dead men we noticed some kind of counter-commotion going on outside, a hotly contested discussion was proceeding. It appears that at the last moment our friend had returned with a revolver, and after vainly expostulating with these would-be assassins he exclaimed, “You shall only get in over my dead body!” and leveled his firearm at the head of the ringleader, who bolted at once. Then another young man jumped to his side and drew his knife, and before the courage of these two the mob wavered, hesitated, and broke up in disorder, returning to the town — and we were saved.
Then we heard knocks at the door and voices exclaiming, “Open the door! Open the door! It’s all right now! You are quite safe!”
On opening the door, by the bright moonlight we saw a group of young men looking very excited anti strange.
“What does all this mean?” one exclaimed. “Why is the priest so furious? What’s in these books you are selling that has so stirred him up against you?”
Then, lighting the candle, one of us picked up a New Testament and simply read off passage after passage of its precious message into their astonished ears.
“I don’t see anything wrong with that,” said one “I should like one of those books myself,” said another. So we disposed of half a dozen New Testaments among them, and then turned in to rest, weary, but very grateful to God.
Within half an hour my companions were sound asleep, but I felt restless arid uneasy; and just about midnight I heard that horrible sound again. The exasperated priest had plied the people with more liquor and had sent them back.
But again the Lord preserved us. They made such a noise that by the time they had reached our hut quite a band of men had been drawn to the spot, ready to oppose them on our behalf; and after a wordy war the ruffians gave way, returning a second time the way they had come.
By three o’clock in the morning we had rounded up all our animals, and were loaded, saddled, and away within an hour―just in time, as we heard Afterward, to escape a third attack.
So that, without raising a anger in our own defense, the Lord saved us three times in that one eventful night.