Before We Say GoodbyeBefore We Say Goodbye
Here they remain over Sunday—the last Sunday in the old May's Lick church, in which Eneas Myall is a deacon,—the blacksmith who said when first hearing the news, "I am sorry to see you go, Ollie, but it seems providential!" The elders of the church, the same who were elders when Walter Scott preached there, ordained Oliver on that last Sunday at home. He was surrounded by old friends, tearful but exultant in their sorrow. There was one who could not come because, "I can't tell him goodby," he said. That was Oliver's hard task now, to say goodby to all, hardest of all to those of his father's house. But he had nerved himself for the ordeal. "I could tell them all goodby," he says, "until I came to my mother."
They go, according to their plans, straight to Maysville, across the county, to take boat for Cincinnati. Not alone do Mattie and Oliver make that journey. His mother is with them. News runs before; the Australian missionariesare coming! The word is quickly passed back and forth, that there will be services at the church. When Oliver arrives he finds the appointment made. He rises to preach. It is his last night in Kentucky. Before his vision stretches a long vista of uncertain years in a strange land; years among strangers for this man who is blessed with so many friends. But that sorrow is swallowed up in the deeper joy of presenting Christ to the people, showing forth his loveliness for the last time in the land of his birth.
That sermon is not preserved, for which we are, we believe, sufficiently thankful. If love in its fulness cannot be spoken, much less can it be read. There is a simplicity and an inner earnestness, that is altogether baffling to the snare of leaded type. Whatever the subject of that sermon, Christ was in it, and we care nothing for its divisions and its order. We are thrilled with joy by that sermon—we who never heard it,—because we see the preacher's mother step forth—at last!—and stand before them all like a beautiful dream come true—or rather, like a spirit of love, whose enkindled face flashes into the son's eyes the answer to his prayers.
Not in vain, as we have seen, were her lonely vigils, sewing far toward midnight in the sleep-enwrapped tavern, that her children might be clothed, toiling before break of day, the pale candle guiding her hands to heroic labor that her loved ones might be fed. Much does Oliver owe her, and much is now repaid, on this last night in Kentucky. He baptized her; and as she came up out of the water, with his arm so tenderly passed about her, she looked at him through her wonderful, new-found happiness. "If all were as easy to obey as baptism," she murmured, "it would be easy enough!"
And so,—the boat to Cincinnati where W. T. Moore's father-in-law, he who is later to become Governor Bishop of Ohio,—entertains the bridal pair in his home, and other friends assemble for goodbys,—the goodbys at Macomb, Illinois. And then to New York to set forth for Australia, by way of England. On board at last—and under a sullen sky they stand on deck, watching their native land fade—fade—till nothing is to be seen but a world of angry waves.
The voyage, begun on a rough sea, was continued over angry waves. For seven days the ship was beaten by the winds. It was the first time Oliver and Mattie had been outside of Kentucky. Added to the distress of seasickness was the thought that, after this passage to England, another voyage of almost three months awaited them before they could set foot upon the strange land selected for their missionary labors. No wonder as the bride was borne farther and farther across the uneasy Atlantic, her thoughts went constantly back to Kentucky—"That far-off land," she writes, "my beautiful, sunny Southland."
Since the wedding-day, there have been a marvelous succession of strange scenes—the trip to New York, the hurried visits to points of interest in New York and Brooklyn, the mingling with the rush and roar of Broadway, and, stranger than all these, this helpless tossing in the cabin, as the ship throbs and lifts dizzily in air—lifts to sink down and down, as if never to ride the sea again.
"That Twenty-Sixth day of March!" she writes in pencil with shaking hand. "It dawned so bright and beautiful. In its soft morning twilight I knelt before an altar, and laid thereon not only the heart of a bride, but all that I had best known in childhood and in girlhood: Home with all its tender associations, friendship whose face shone as the face of an angel—the sweet brier that shed its fragrance beneath my window, the birds that sang for me, the dear old 'big spring' over whose cooling-ripples I have so often stooped to drink"—she remembers all these, as the ship bears her farther from that America she may never see again.
"Our blessed land of liberty," she says, "proud, beautiful, glorious America!" Truly, the war is over; and as she steams ever farther away from America, its states seem to melt magically into one another, and North and South blend, and become an indissoluble Union.
One day, less stormy than the rest, the young husband crept from his berth, hoping to find relief from days of nausea by greeting the keen wind. He went upon deck, and was presently engaged in conversation with a stranger.
He found that his companion was an Englishman who, for some time, had been in business in Chicago. He was much interested in the young man's missionary plans; the shrewd merchant read aright the intense zeal which shone upon the Kentuckian's face, and which trembled in his voice. "I have a brother living in London," he said; "when you go there, you must go to his house. I am on my way to visit him now, and I'll meet you there."
Oliver Carr had no intention of going to test the hospitality of a stranger, and, when he gave Mr. Murby his card, he supposed the incident closed. On the eighth day out the ship touched at Queenstown. Mr. and Mrs. Carr—we must no longer call them "Oliver" and "Mattie,"—took a ride on a Jaunting Car—in which one sits sidewise, while one's driver sparkles with Irish wit. A woman came to sell them fruit, and offered to toss pennies for the difference between what she wanted and they were willing to give. It was a jolly crowd that surrounded them, and every Irishman had a funny tale to tell the travelers. Before the ground ceased its semblance of rocking to and fro, they were again on board.
When they landed in Liverpool, everythingseemed new and strange. They "found cabs instead of busses;" but doubtless the difference was most marked because they found Englishmen instead of Americans. At the hotel they were visited by G. Y. Tickle and other members of the church, and in the afternoon they crossed to Berkinhead to visit other Christians. On April 29th the train pulled out at 9 a. m. for London. Mrs. Carr took a few notes, as she looked upon Mrs. Browning's world—the world of "Aurora Leigh."
"Corn—undulating lands—rural improvements—daisies and primroses. Hedges—winding roads, and footpaths. Drains in the lowlands. Winding brooks and brooklets, through daisied meadows. Fir-clad hills."
Out of this primrose England, the car glides into the smoke and fog of London. London at last—how far away from the Lancaster and Stanford of one's girlhood! How far, indeed, even from the dreams of one's girlhood, this city that rises up, solidly real before the young woman's eyes! It seems pulsing with the thoughts of those who represent, to her mind, the highest peaks of literature; Dickens and Thackeray, George Eliot and Robert Browning, Bulwer Lytton and Macaulay and Carlyle andDe Quincy—all are living; one might meet them any moment on Oxford or Regent streets, where "I took a promenade," she says; "I find they surpass Broadway in all but dress."
At 2:30, they are installed at the hotel; at three, they take luncheon and at four they have a visitor. It is the brother of the Chicago merchant. The merchant has written about the missionaries, and asked that they be looked up—doubtless, suspecting that the overtures must come from the English side. So this brother has come, a Mr. Murby of some distinction; for does he not edit the music department of theCornhill Magazine?
He insists on the young bridal pair going to his own home; for O. A. Carr, in honor of the honeymoon, has selected a hotel of much pretention. "You must go with me," says Mr. Murby. "It is too expensive, staying at a hotel like this; you shall make your home in my house. My wife will take no refusal. She will entertain you as well as she can—we have one baby in the cradle, and another three years old. I've brought the wagon for the trunks."
All this from a man and woman one has never seen before, and never heard of, except from a chance fellow-passenger; a man and awoman who do not belong to one's church and has never heard of one's friends! But, after all, is it so strange? If one travels through the world with eyes open for primroses, and finds them growing along the wayside, why should not eyes that seek brotherly kindness, find it blooming in many a stranger's heart?
Away go the trunks, and the hotel knows our friends no more. Two weeks are to be spent in England, before sailing for the opposite side of the globe; and while they are in England, Mrs. Murby leaves the baby in the cradle, and acts as guide for the Americans. In their hurried visit, they could have seen little without her. She takes them to ride in the underground railroad, shows them the wonders of the waxworks, at the entrance of which stands George Washington with extended hand, and lingers with them in the British Museum.
Mrs. Carr's notes of her travels are meager in the extreme; she was too busy observing and studying, to write about what she saw; but the necessary enlargement of thought resulting from extended travel was to take its own part in developing her personality. "Chelsea Hospital for old soldiers—Buckingham Palace, the Queen's residence—Eaton Square—Nationalschool teachers trained for public schools—Duke of York's school—Geological exhibit—rock crystal—wood carving—Porcelain plate, 1585, Francesco de Medici—Venetian wine glass—Danish drinking-horn—Paul preaching at Athens—Christ changing the water into wine—Peter and John at the Beautiful Gate—Hogarth's Marriage a la Mode—Mrs. Siddons as Actress—Rosa Bonheur—Edwin Landseer—Hyde Park—House where the Duke of Wellington died—Parliament—Retiring Room—Her Majesty with Mercy and Justice in sculpture—Portrait of Kings and Queens—House of Lords—Throne—Queen's chair on the right—Prince of Wales on the left—The Prince Consort—Woolsack, seat for Lord Chancellor in front of Queen—Table on which are laid all petitions—books beneath—just behind the table, the bar—gallery for peeresses, above—Peers' Robing Room—Moses descending from the Mount—Lobby—Embarking of Pilgrim Fathers—Charles erecting Standard at Nottingham—Central Hall—Four windows—Lobby—Pictures—Square Hall—Commons Speaker's Chair—gallery—Each side of entrance, seats for liberals and tourists—St. Stephen's—Marble walls and floors—On each side, six stained glass windows,representing scenes in life of Stephen—On the Thames—Somerset House—Waterloo Bridge."
Thus we might follow her from spot to spot, as she hastily jots down the names of pictures, and of the illustrious dead, amidst a catalogue of wonders seen at the Crystal Palace, the India Museum, the National Gallery. "St. Paul—Whispering Gallery—Sculptor above—Scenes in the Life of Paul—Monument of Sir John Howard, Joshua Reynolds—geometrical stairway—Crypt—Newgate Prison for all offenders within the city's limits—Christ's Hospital, founded by Edward VI.—Boys' dress in the costume of that day—Yellow stockings, leather breeches—Former palace of Henry VIII. and Cardinal Wolsey—Post Office; just across the street, Returned Letter Office—Clock with two bells, one 'Time,' the other 'Death'—Publishing House belonging to the Religious Tract Society, built over the place where the martyrs suffered under Bloody Mary—Guild Hall—for public dinners—Grand dinner given to the Sultan—gold array—The Lord Mayor conducts trials—His Residence—Monument to Nelson.
"May 5th, the Tower—Gateway—Entrance, moats—Bell Tower—Bloody Tower, porte cullis--WhiteTower, 15 feet thick—Built, time William the Conqueror—Norman spear used by him—Dress of 1665—Gun taken by French at Malta and afterwards recaptured by English—Sir Walter Raleigh imprisoned 12 years—Lady Jane Grey—Queen Elizabeth on Horseback—Fire, 1841—Indian armor, 1750—Chamber from which Hastings was ordered to execution—Anne Boleyn's prison in the Tower—Beauchamp Tower." And so on, and on, from one spot of historic interest to another, the travelers absorbing all with thirsty minds, the hostess tireless, or at least uncomplaining—and at night the profound sleep of the sight-seer's utter exhaustion.
Mr. and Mrs. Murby took the stranger-guests to their hearts, and treated them like long-lost friends. The perfume of their gracious hospitality invested London with a tender aroma for these wanderers, to such a degree that whenever they afterward thought of England, they thought of disinterested kindliness. On one of Mrs. Carr's diary-pages, is to be seen a faint brownish stain, above which is written: "Found by Mrs. Murby on the streets of London—this primrose." The flower has long since slipped away and crumbled todust, since it was placed there in the spring of 1868; I should like to think that it blooms again on my page, in honor of that quick and loving eye that discovered the primrose in the London streets, and the gold in the strangers' hearts.
Conway Castle, N. WalesConway Castle, N. Wales
Beaumaris Castle, N. WalesBeaumaris Castle, N. Wales
On Sunday, they went to hear Spurgeon preach. It was a very ordinary sermon; his statements had been made thousands of times before, and to none who listened, were they new. His manner was untheatrical, his flow of eloquence was not intense. Everything was the essence of simplicity. He began by holding up a rose. He said that on his way to the tabernacle, a woman had given it to him. He spoke of his happiness caused by this simple gift, then of the beauty of flowers, and of giving; and, as the audience of 3,000 listened, they were melted to tears. His subject was the Accessibility of Christ. It was thetendernessin his words and voice that wrought the charm. The singing was general; it seemed that each of the 3,000 took upon himself the responsibility of carrying the song through to its conclusion.
In Birmingham, the Carrs visited David King, editor of theHarbinger; he was the most prominent member of the ChristianChurch in England, of his day. It was his custom to question the preachers who passed through his country, to find out if they were "sound." It was from him that Mr. Carr discovered the British objection to the American custom of extending an invitation to the unsaved at the conclusion of the sermon. It was also Mr. King who went to the office to buy the Carrs their tickets up to London, fearing they would not get second-class ones. "Only fools and noblemen ride first-class in this country," was his dictum; "the second class is just as good and costs half as much."
The following brief notes show us that Mrs. Carr is in Scotland: "Holyrood—Rezzio's Slaughter—Residence of bygone monarchs—where Lord Murray held his Council—Residence of Mary Queen of Scots—where Her Majesty stops, when in Edinburg—Castle of Craigmillar—where Mary sometimes held her court—Lochleven Castle."
She was particularly interested in Wales: "Canarvon Castle, built by Edward I.—First Prince of Wales born here—April 25, 1284—Chamberlain Tower, occupied by the Lord Chamberlain—Eagle Tower, so called because of the Eagle Sculpture on its turret. Prisoner,or Dungeon Tower. It is supposed this castle was never completed. The banqueting hall, entirely destroyed—In this castle the present Prince and Princess of Wales were entertained during their visit to Canarvon, April 24. On this occasion, Wellington Tower was magnificently decorated.
"North Wales—across the straight of Angelsey; lodgings here. Ebb and flow of the tide—Hawthorne—a beautiful lodge, the entrance to a residence—Suspension bridge over the Menia Strait—Castle—Model village, Bethesda, near the slate quarries—20 galleries, each 60 feet high—the deeper the quarry, the better the slate—Tunnel and railways with round rails and grooved wheels, working with rope—Blasting signal, first a red flag, then the bugle. Each gallery one mile around the rail—1,200 feet from lowest gallery to top—300 men employed. Total wages per month, 1,200 pounds.—Penryln Castle, 16 years building, completed 30 years ago—Main entrance, heavy iron gate, swinging on massive pillars of stone, with imposing ivy-clad arch above; winding roads and bypaths; through rare shrubs and gorgeous flowers of innumerable species—Main entrance to Castle yard, a massive orchid gateway—Mainentrance to Castle, massive cross-barred iron doors in base of tower—Four towers with the ivy, beautiful emblem of trust, clinging to them all—Interior; entrance hall, billiard room, innumerable lobbies with rare ceilings, main stairway, bedrooms with antique furniture, drawing-room, dining and breakfast rooms, library, chapel for family worship, minor stairways, etc.—Family of 10 children, two married and now in London—will return here in July. Culinary apartments; cook's sitting-room, where he writes the bill of fare."
All these sights, crowded as they are into a few days, delay the departure for Australia; moreover, the travelers have decided to take a sailship. They have sufficient knowledge of the deathly throb of the steamer, the quiver that sends unutterable faintness and nausea to those susceptible to seasickness. The sailship, they are told, skims the waves like a bird—one hardly knows he is afloat, or knowing, feels himself lightly carried through the air.
Mrs. Murby finds her new acquaintances have not left, and writes to Mrs. Carr at Liverpool, on May 15th, "I was very much pleased to receive your letter yesterday; I had supposed you would be far away from Old England by thistime. I just wish you had stayed with us longer! There are lots of places besides the British Museum, I could have taken you to see. You say you are to leave on Saturday, the 19th, but the 19th is Tuesday, so we can hear from each other if we cannot meet. If I can find that church in Camden Town, for your sakes I will visit it. The few days we spent together will always be remembered by us with pleasure. I sincerely trust we may all be spared to meet again; you may rest assured of a hearty welcome. In the meantime we can correspond with each other. I went to sit for my portrait yesterday; it will be ready for me to-morrow, and I will send it to you before you leave Liverpool."
So writes the editor's wife—she who finds primroses in the streets of London; and her letter comes as a last voice of love to one about to embark upon a sea-voyage of more than a hundred days.
The long voyage was made on the Oriental, Captain Myles. Mrs. Carr was the only lady who had taken first-class passage. There was a rich young man on board, who had been put under the care of a Scot of mature years; the young man was peculiarly susceptible to the temptation of strong drink, but the Captain reassured his sisters with the declaration that there would be no drinking aboard his vessel! The young man wished to visit Australia, one of the few countries he had never seen, and Duncan, the Scot, had undertaken his charge that he, too, might have the treat of foreign travel.
England had not faded from sight before the corks were flying.
Mrs. Carr found herself associated with a class of men who were far from corresponding to the degree of their tickets. She felt the need of woman's society, since her husband was the only man present who possessed that refinement and moral instinct which had been the breath of her life. She was unable to hide herdisapproval of the drunken orgies which the officers of the crew shared, and it was particularly distressing to her to witness the deliberate ensnarement of the rich young man, the evident scheme to make him drink that he might be fleeced at the card-game.
She and her husband put their sentiments into words of remonstrance, which resulted in the Captain's making slighting remarks, as they sat at table. He took a spiteful pleasure in boasting in their presence that he wouldn't employ a "teetotaler on his ship."
The first Sunday out Mr. Carr was asked to conduct the religious services. He read the First Psalm and made remarks relative to the godly and ungodly. Captain Myles was enraged. "I supposed we would have the Church of England Service," he said at the conclusion; "we will have it after this; I will read it, myself." And so he did, when he was not too drunk; in that case, he had the ship's physician read it.
Mrs. Carr sought relief in the association of the other women on board, but this was peremptorily stopped. "If she wants to keep company with second-class people," said theCaptain with a sneer, "let her buy a second-class ticket."
The ship had not been many days from the British Isles before the crew was almost completely demoralized. Drinking, gaming, coarse songs marked the hours of the night. The sailors were at the mercy of the winds. The vessel drifted over to the coast of Africa. It was becalmed two weeks under the intolerable heat of the sun's vertical rays, while not a breath of air came to relieve the hot glare of the Equator.
One day the Captain exclaimed with the air of one who has made a terrible decision, "If we don't get wind to-morrow, I will jump overboard!" The morrow came, and there was no wind. Of course the threat of the Captain resulted in nothing more dangerous than a cooling bath in the peaceful waters, but the effect of his words, and of his sudden leap from the deck, were hard upon sensitive nerves.
Mrs. Carr being denied the companionship of women, found what relief from the monotony she might, in writing letters, and especially in writing in her commonplace-book many quotations from the poets. She beguiled the time, also, in composing poetry which deals ratherwith themes of home, than with those of distant scenes. The ship was wafted toward South Africa, but it did not weigh anchor. "The only view we had of South Africa consisted of some monkeys in the trees." When the Cape Verde Islands were sighted, Captain Myles was anxious to exhibit his skill by passing within a stone's throw of one on either side. Mrs. Carr, rejoicing at the sight of something more human and picturesque than monkeys in trees, took extensive notes:
"June 18. The Captain caught a large dolphin—change of color in dying. Breakfasted on flying fish.
"June 19. Sighted Antonio and St. Vincent islands—passing between them. Cape de Verde Islands, possessions of Portugese. Antonio with its innumerable rocky points, some losing themselves far above the clouds. The white haze peeping behind, lights up the acute angles of the points—the heights are dark, frowning and barren, with white bowlders at the feet. The gray terraces in the distance look like leaping waters, rushing onward to the ocean, to kiss the breakers. The shores are dotted with little villages whose houses are small and white, with red tiled roofs. Aroundthese villages are spreading greens along the shore, and extending up the heights that, through the glass, are seemingly inaccessible. Yet these heights are laid out, far up, with hedges into green fields and waving orchards. The shore is indented with innumerable little bays, and the magnificent ravines to which they point, fill the soul with awe.
"St. Vincent is inhabited by the Portugese, yet there is not a spring, or well of fresh water, or a blade of grass in the whole island. There are the signs, far up the island, of the washing of the waves. What a glorious sight they would present in a storm! Here and there, far up the heights are solitary rocks and vast strata left bare by the washing of rains and waves, and blackened by the elements. Signals are hoisted opposite Porte Grande in order that the Oriental may be reported in Liverpool in 12 days. Two sailing ships are in the harbor. The Oriental passed between St. Vincent and Shell Island."
One day the discovery was made that there was a stowaway on board; it was a young man with a crippled arm, who had slipped into a hiding-place as the Oriental lay at the Liverpool dock. Captain Myles was all the morefurious because he found himself helpless to rid himself of the unfortunate youth. He compelled the stowaway to do the meanest labor, and the hardest his crippled state would allow. When the sailors encountered him, they greeted him with oaths, if they greeted him at all. He was set to scour the decks, and it was a task that had no ending.
The Oriental drifted at last into the arms of the Trade Winds which sent it whirling around the Cape of Good Hope. A furious storm came on. The sea was lashed into mountain-peaks and was hurled in rushing torrents over the decks. Those sailors who were obliged to remain above, walked waist-deep in water. The man at the wheel was tied to his post—the Captain was up all night; but not, now, at cards and drink. The rumor spread among the passengers that the crew expressed their doubts of weathering the gale. The rumor was founded upon truth; the outcome was extremely doubtful. There was the usual scene preceding a probable capsizing; curses and prayers, the sudden scream of agonized fear, or of desperate appeal. "But we committed ourselves to the care of the All-wise and Almighty, and went to sleep."
Morning came to show under its dim light a battered ship, doors broken open, cabins inundated from the seas that had poured down the hatchways, and spars swept away. But suddenly the ocean grew calm, the wind became fair, and the vessel headed straight for Australia.
They were at table when the cry arose above, "Man overboard!" Captain Myers started up with an oath and went growling and storming to see into the matter. It was the stowaway, who had been cast dizzily from the life-boat he was trying to paint by a sudden lurch of the vessel. The Captain himself threw him a life-preserver and shouted, "Stop for him, he's too crippled to swim to it. Ship about! Man the life-boat!" In that boat brave sailors went down out of sight in the angry sea, then like a bird sat on the crest. Our ship "across sea" rolled fearfully and the Captain commanded the passengers to leave the deck. The sailors in the boat returned, but the poor crippled boy could not be found. And so the fair wind bore them on their way and the youth who had come from the unknown into our story, droppedback again into the unknown. Was there any one to care?[7]
One hundred and four days on the deep, during which period, land had been sighted only three times. Mrs. Carr continued to remember, and to write poetry. We find this, "Written on board the Oriental, South Atlantic, August, 1868:
Homeland, dearest, gentle homeland,Dearest now art thou to me—Dearest, for between us stretches,Dark and grim, the cruel sea.I have left thee, home and homeland,I have bade thy joys adieuBut, my heart, my heart is with thee,For I know thy heart is true.Now I know how great thy soul is,Know its depths, so deep, so mild.Dear and tender home and homeland,Pray, pray for your wandering child.So I smile—the Father's callingTo a land beyond the sea,To the weary heavy-laden,Who are groaning to be free.Yield I? Yes, I once was weary,Heavy-hearted and oppressed;Yield because Christ died to save me,Yield because he gave me rest.With such glorious love to lead meCan my heart its thrilling tell?Home and homeland, I have left you;"Dear and tender, fare you well!"
Homeland, dearest, gentle homeland,Dearest now art thou to me—Dearest, for between us stretches,Dark and grim, the cruel sea.
I have left thee, home and homeland,I have bade thy joys adieuBut, my heart, my heart is with thee,For I know thy heart is true.
Now I know how great thy soul is,Know its depths, so deep, so mild.Dear and tender home and homeland,Pray, pray for your wandering child.
So I smile—the Father's callingTo a land beyond the sea,To the weary heavy-laden,Who are groaning to be free.
Yield I? Yes, I once was weary,Heavy-hearted and oppressed;Yield because Christ died to save me,Yield because he gave me rest.
With such glorious love to lead meCan my heart its thrilling tell?Home and homeland, I have left you;"Dear and tender, fare you well!"
Thus after her varied experiences, we find the young bride's poetic fancy slipping past the grandeur of the ocean life, its terrible storm and its terrible calm; she remembers not now the beautiful castle with its orchid gate, nor thinks of the family of ten who are to return to their peasantry in the stately rural life of Old England; nor of the wonders of the British Isles; it is Kentucky that claims her deepest love and sincerest tribute—And if her ears ring to the melody of "Old Kentucky Home," a voice seems to speak, breaking its way through the music with—"Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature."
At last, the Oriental casts anchor in Hobson's Bay. The voyage is ended, the experiences in a foreign land are to begin. TheCarrs are urged by many of the second-class passengers to report the conduct of Captain Myles, but they let his insolence to them pass with the passing of unfavorable winds that have so long delayed the ship. At this entrance into a new life, they are saddened to discover that the Captain has persuaded the rich young man to go back with him—to refuse even to land. He has not yet been completely stripped at the gambling table, and he is so valuable and tractable a victim, that all arts are employed to feed his vanity and alienate him from his guardian. It is a fearful disappointment to the sturdy Scot, Duncan, to be deprived of his travels in Australia, but he will not leave his weak-minded charge; so he turns his back on the land to see which, he has endured contumely and abuse, and sails away to do all he can to save his ward from the Captain's rapacity—thus furnishing the Carrs with an example of fidelity to his promise made to the sisters of the unfortunate man, which they treasure in their hearts.
A hundred members of the church have come from Melbourne to Hobson's Bay, to welcome the missionaries. Among them, the happiestis Oliver's fellow-student at Harrodsburg, G. L. Surber.
"For many months we have been waiting to hear if some sacrificing ones would leave the United States for this country—" as he and Gore had left, a few years before. "Then at last," he writes, "we were rejoiced to hear that Brother O. A. Carr and wife had left Liverpool for Melbourne. Our anxiety was to see them in health. For a fortnight we read the daily papers eagerly, hoping to hear from them. At last our suspense was relieved by a telegram—the Oriental had entered the Head, which constitutes the entrance to the port of Melbourne, about 45 miles from the city. When I heard the news, I felt as I never felt before. Now, I thought, my long loneliness is to end, and the cause of Christ can be more fully met! I could not help weeping, but it was the weeping of a rejoicing soul. My brethren in America do not appreciate their blessings. What wonder that I, cast, as it were, upon a distant island, almost alone, should rejoice at the coming of a co-laborer!"
He continues: "After receiving the telegram, September 2nd, a number of brethren with myself went to the port, and took a skiffand went out to meet them. After rowing about till nearly sunset, we learned that the Oriental wouldn't cast anchor till the next day. So early the next morning we again made our way to the landing; by this time the brethren had begun to gather from all parts of the city and suburbs. At eight o'clock that spring morning, we went aboard—" It must be borne in mind that the Australian spring begins in September.
"Brother Carr didn't know I was there until I laid my hand upon his shoulder, and spoke to him. Picture that meeting, if you can! Here in this foreign land I grasped the hand of the dear companion of my school-days! What thrilling joy! Sister Carr was soon rejoicing with us. Blessed be our Heavenly Father, for bringing them safely across the seas!
"After a few moments their luggage was in our boat and we were rowing to the pier where we found a throng of brothers and sisters waving handkerchiefs, and praising God for his goodness. With what rejoicing the Christians grasped the hands of the missionaries, as they stepped on shore! There was no time for introductions, none waited for that; but such a shaking of hands, and welcoming of Brotherand Sister Carr, was enough to move the angels to rejoice. In a few minutes they had taken the train for the city; then in a cab I took them to my residence, where they are now resting from their hardships, soothed by the climate, and delighting, after months upon the deep, in the bloom of peach and plum, and the blossoming of our spring gardens."
Thus G. L. Surber writes home that Benj. Franklin of the Christian Church may publish the letter; thus he writes, until he corrects and polishes up the sentences, changing his "We made our way to the landing" to—"we turned our faces," etc. and scratching out "waving handkerchiefs" for something about "open hearts." But we make nothing of his careful remoulding of ideas, nor give a snap for his "open heart." The handkerchiefs shall wave in this history—let them stream to the breeze, each a white fluttering banner of peace and love, raised above the heads of this vanguard of Christian soldiers, this beautiful spring morning of September 3rd, 1868.
The Carrs were formally welcomed to Melbourne, the evening of the day on which they landed, by a church tea meeting. We shall speak of it in detail, that a general notion may be gleaned of this popular Australian church social.
"Tea on the Tables at Half-past Six," is the way the invitation-cards read. We assemble in the basement. There are four tables, running the entire length of the Chapel (we are not to say "church" when speaking of a house.) Not alone is tea "on the tables." Here we find a bountiful repast, garnished forth with beautiful flowers fresh from our gardens.
After tea, we present the flowers to our guests of honor. By eight o'clock we have eaten, shaken hands, talked informally with every one, and are ready to adjourn to the auditorium. Here we listen to the Chairman's address, and the addresses of five others, including O. A. Carr and G. L. Surber. The congregation sings three hymns, the Singing Class renders another; we have, also, two anthems,and, after the benediction, feel that we have been to a Tea Meeting, indeed.
A few years ago, the Cause in Australia was very weak. Now the pressing need is laborers. The Melbourne Church is strong enough to divide; Surber will preach at the Chapel; a hall will be rented for $400 in gold, in which O. A. Carr will preach; thus forming a nucleus in two remote points in the great city. The speakers at the tea meeting are strong in their faith, and with good reason. Last year the church gave for home and foreign missions, and local expenses, $4000 in gold.
We have never had any trouble with expenses, because each of us does something—each one! that is our secret of success. Far away in Adelaide, Gore and Earl are laboring; here in Melbourne, Carr and Surber—four evangelists for Australia. But, as we shall see, all the preaching is not done by the evangelists. And what of Mrs. Carr? At this very first tea meeting we speak of a school for Sister Carr. "We expect in a few months to see her devoting all her time to the high calling of teaching."
Thus the new work is inaugurated. Not for the writer is the labor of seeking lodgings, or ahouse which will serve also as a school; not for the reader the weary days of forming an establishment, of settling down to the necessary routine of daily living, of forming grooves in which one may run automatically, the better to give the mind to higher things than food and a roof.
We are in a land where all is strange and new; but when we leave it, all shall have become familiar, and much of it dear. The reader need but glance along the peaks that rise out of the level plain of daily experiences—one tea meeting for him, to fifty for the Carrs; a few characters to be learned from among the thousands who cross the paths of the young missionaries.
One might crowd a large book with the people who come and go, never to return, people important in their own orbits, no doubt, but quite futile to ours. Happy would it be for us and ours, if all the time we scatter among the moving multitudes of life, we might concentrate upon the few who are to abide in our hearts and memory. But that is not to be while life is life; however, it may be reasonably accomplished in book-land.
So, of these hundreds and hundreds of lettersbefore me, whose signatures are but the labels of so many shadows—impersonal spirits who did nothing but write and vanish—we can select only those of a few men who seem to breathe the same air that envelops our principal characters.
Such a breathing reality appears in John Augustus Williams, so real in his profound faith in the dignity of teaching, that the chalk-dust seems to swing above his head as a sort of material halo.
To him we find Mrs. Carr writing: "We reached Melbourne in early September, after a long voyage of 104 days! Contrary winds kept us in the Irish Channel a fortnight; but we kept our spirits up, resolved to be content-subjects of the winds. We drifted within sight of the South American shores. We sailed many miles along the mango and palm-wreathed coast of Brazil. We are well and ready for work. Brother Surber was very happy to see us, and the church gave us a most cordial greeting. I will write brother Joe a description of the voyage; you can exchange letters with him. I enclose a little flower and leaf of woodruff. I plucked it at the foot of the south tower of the royal entrance to Canarvon Castle,on Menia Straits, opposite Anglesey. In that castle, the first prince of Wales was born, April 25, 1284."
T. J. Gore writes to the newcomers from Adelaide, South Australia: "I am aware of your arrival in Melbourne. You do not know how I long to see you both—you come from old Kentucky—may Heaven's richest blessings rest upon that dear state! It is hard to realize that here so near, are two live Kentuckians from my far-away home. You will find conditions and customs very different here from America; but it is the Lord's harvest; moreover, Melbourne contains a great many Americans; here in Adelaide, my eyes are hardly ever blessed by the sight of one, but I console myself with the thought that though I am far from my native land I am still in the Kingdom of the Lord. No doubt you and Surber are now talking over days of long ago, at Kentucky University.
"Brother Carr! how I should love to fold you to my heart! Tell Sister Carr she need not fear the hot winds; they are quite harmless. Brother Earl preaches to big audiences Sunday evening at White's Assembly room; he has not found a church yet. Tell Sister Carr she deserves great credit for leaving her home, andcoming so far, all for the sake of His Word. My thoughts go to Keith in Louisville, and Albert Myles in Cincinnati. I wish we had an evangelist in New Zealand. Write me something for thePioneer" (which he is editing). "Brother Santo wishes you both much happiness and great success." (Gore has found a sweetheart,—"Brother Santo's" daughter; which gives him a firmer position from which to protest against homesickness.)
At the conclusion of the first sermon preached by O. A. Carr in Australia, two made the good confession. During his ministry in the colonies, he found conversions the rule, while the exception became rarer and rarer, of preaching without visible results. He had not found a house to rent when a letter was received from one who was to take an interesting part in his life—Thomas Magarey, an Englishman, who had settled in Southern Australia:
"Now that you are enjoying a little relaxation from the call of visitors upon your arrival, I may venture an epistle of congratulation upon your safe arrival. May you and Sister Carr be spared to present the old and glorious Gospel. I read your article in theReview, and laughed at the alarm of the church at Birmingham, lestany one should 'drop a penny in their collection.' We have very little cause for alarm upon that score, here in South Australia. I have heard that you both are suffering from homesickness. I had that complaint for about twenty years.
"Unfortunately, every one in Australia has suffered from it more or less and, like seasickness, it meets with no sympathy. I never could understand why the most disheartening of complaints should receive no commiseration, but so it is. I cannot think your disease very violent, for the best authorities say, those love home best who have least reason to do so. Thus the Irishman suffers more from leaving his land of potatoes than the Englishman his beef and plum pudding. I need not tell you that the best remedy is constant employment. This is not our home—we are all pilgrims and strangers. My son, just now, was instructing his little brothers and sisters upon Astronomy. I heard him say that from Jupiter, this earth of ours could not be seen. Humiliating thought!"
Fern Brake, Near MelbourneFern Brake, Near Melbourne