THE WET SEASON ON THE WEST COAST.
It will be borne in mind by those who have special interest in our Mendi Mission that it is still the rainy season, to which all the peculiar perils of the West Coast of Africa are to be encountered, and with great risk to the health and life of those who are not fully acclimated. We have had weekly letters from our colored missionaries there, to as late a date as Aug. 13th, who have been passing the first test of their ability to endure the climate and resist the African fever. None of them have entirely escaped the touch of its hot breath and icy hand, and yet it seems to have for the most part passed them lightly by. Two of the female missionaries have been very sick. One, Mrs. Dr. James, died early in the season.
Thus far, then, we are encouraged to believe that, as we hoped it would prove, men and women of African descent endure the risks of transplanting and of naturalization far better than those who have neither themselves nor their ancestors been “to the manner born.” And, if these perils at the threshold can be encountered better by them than by others, we may surely hope that the less malignant influences which pervade the atmosphere will not undermine their strength, as it does with those who are foreigners by both blood and birth.
It behooves their friends on this side the ocean, who believe in the power of prayer, to keep these missionaries constantly in their minds and in their hearts, and to pray the Lord of the harvest, who has already raised up and sent forth these laborers into the field, that He will enable them to bear the heat and burden of the day.
They are doing well in their work. The schools are growing and gaining in every way. A lack of proper text-books has hampered the teachers, and an unfortunate delay has occurred by the loss of a box containing a supply, which, with the boat which was conveying it from Freetown to Good Hope, failed to reach its destination. The church has received valuable accessions since Mr. Snelson and his co-laborers reached the field. We hope to have more regular and full correspondence to lay before our readers in future, from month to month.
An honored New Hampshire pastor writes: “I should be glad to see the A. M. A’s debt removed, and I am in hearty sympathy with the Society. It seems to me to combine, in the persons of the freedmen—to say nothing of the Chinese, etc.—the claims of Home and Foreign Missions in a remarkable degree. Patriotism and philanthropy meet and blend in its work.”
The same friend says: “Communism, so much, and thus far, perhaps, so extravagantly dreaded, will find friends among the black race at a future day, to an extent unexpected now, if we are not prompt to enlighten and Christianize that vast army of ignorant and voting laborers.”
When, at the opening of the war, the life of the infant Berea College was sought, the Angel of Providence said: “Arise, and take the young child and flee into the Egypt of Safety, and be thou there until I bring thee word; for the Herod of Slavery will seek the young child, to destroy him.” But, when Herod was dead, behold, the angel appeared, saying: “Arise, and take the young child and go into the land of Israel, for they are dead which sought the young child’s life.” And they arose and took the young child Berea, and went back into their own land. And the child grew, and waxed strong in spirit. And other children were born to this household of faith—Howard and Hampton, and Fisk and Atlanta, and Talladega and Straight and Tougaloo, and several more. These do not have to flee for their life; but they need to be nourished into maturity, that they may do the mighty work assigned them in this and in coming generations, here and in other lands.
Apropos—A judge from a Western city told us, the other day, that, having had a black man to testify in his court, he turned and complimented him from the bench as the most intelligent witness he had ever had in that box.
He had been a colonel in the war. Since the coming of peace he had remained in the South, to engage in the process of the social and political reconstruction. He felt the desperateness of the case, and yet was hopeful. In our office, he was setting forth the Southern status, and arguing for patient endurance and vigorous endeavor when, in his military phrase, he broke forth: “It is only one shot in five hundred that hits.” Fire away, then, ye soldiers of the Cross! Some of the shots will hit.
It was the Christmas of the year 1865. It was in a Southern city. The preacher, though black, had the frosts of seventy winters on his head. His text was the parable of the vine and the branches. In the sermon of singular unction, he said: “My brethren, we has the advantage of the vine and the branches. They get the sap only in the spring and thro’ the season, but the Christian has the sap all the year ’round.”
Old Whitey.—Lewis Tappan had nothing too good to be used for the benefit of the colored people. While our new Field Superintendent was in the last six months of his course at the Union Theological Seminary, with aid from the American Home Missionary Society, he preached back of Brooklyn for a Presbyterian church of “Americans, falsely called Africans,” as Mr. Tappan was fond of styling that people. His own family carriage and horse he furnished the young preacher all that time for riding out and back. Storms and mud did not prevent the cheerful bringing out of the rig. In later years, upon meeting the preacher, he would always speak with pleasure of the service of Old Whitey. In those days, or even now, how few men would furnish their family turnout for such a purpose!