Encouraged by their reconnoitring experiences, they returned, completed their preparations, sailed from Cameroons on June 28th, and early in August were in San Salvador, the capital of the ancient kingdom of Congo, making friends with the king. They felt their way a stage or two further on toward Stanley Pool, but encountering obstacles, realising the imperative need of reinforcements, and being profoundly convinced of the feasibility and the obligation of the new enterprise, they went back upon their tracks, Grenfell returning to the Cameroons, and Comber coming to London to tell his story and to ask for men. He got them in the persons of Holman Bentley, Harry Crudgington, and John Hartland.
Hartland had long cherished in his heart the desire to be a missionary, but the way had never opened for him to secure the college training which seemed to be necessary, and so his desire had remained his secret, discussed only with his sister. But Comber’s appeal so stirred him that he could not restrain himself longer. On returning from a meeting of the Young Men’s Missionary Society, held at the Mission House, he wrote to Comber in these terms:—
“I have longed, I have prayed to go, and have often cried, ‘Here am I; send Me’; but I have never yet felt that He was sending me, and I dare not go alone. But to-night you said you wanted to take back with you to Africa one or two men at once. The preparation for mission work was always my obstacle, but if the men you need are men ready to dedicate themselves, as they are, and at once to the Lord’s service—if the only preparation needed is the preparation of the Holy Spirit; if the wisdom needed is that wisdom promised to those who ask; if the sufficiency is not a college education, but the sufficiency which is of God—I cannot, I dare not hold back.... My mind is fully made up, that if you will accept me (and you know what I am, I have no need to introduce myself to you), as a fellow-helper in the Lord’s work, and if the Society will take me as one of their workers, I am ready this day to consecrate myself to the Lord.”
Comber’s joyous answer was: “Apply at once.” The application was duly made and accepted, and on April 26, 1879, John Hartland, to his heart’s desire sailed with Comber, Bentley, and Crudgington for the Congo. He was known at Camden Road, as a quiet, rather nervous, good young man, and probably none, save two or three who knew him best, supposed that he had in him the making of a capable, heroic, missionary pioneer. But he had. And in quiet station work at San Salvador, in adventurous journeys in which he shared attempts to find a practicable way to Stanley Pool, and in the heavy subsequent labour of establishing a line of communications for the traffic of the mission, and especially for the transport of the steamer Peace, he exhibited readiness of hand, resource of brain, and devotion of spirit, which elicited the unstinted admiration and affection of his colleagues. That he could write vividly is sufficiently proved by the following extract from a long and profoundly interesting letter wherein he tells of an experience which almost made an end of Comber’s career and his own:—
“We walked into the town (Banza Makuta) and asked the people its name, but got no answer. They drew back a little, and then one man called out, “Nda bongo nkeli, vonda mindeli!” (“Fetch the guns; kill the white men!”) and in an instant they rushed away returning immediately armed with great sticks, huge pieces of stone, knives, cutlasses, and guns, and without any word of palaver, commenced dancing and leaping round us, and brandishing their weapons. Mr. Comber sat down by a house, and I was about to do the same, but our assailants yelled out, “Get up, get up,” and rushed upon us. Such fiendish, blood-thirsty, cruel countenances I never saw. We got up and called to them to stop, that we would go back, but it was no good, and stones came flying towards us, and sticks and knives were brandished around us. We could see the people were determined, not only to drive us from the town, but to have our lives, so there was nothing left for us to do but to attempt flight, though it seemed hopeless. Away we started, amid stones and blows. We all got hit and bruised, but managed to reach the top of the steep hill, when a sudden report rang out behind us, above the uproar, and Mr. Comber, who was in front of me, fell. I dashed up to him and tried to assist him to rise, but he said, “It’s no use, John; I’m hit, you go on.”
How Comber got up again, overtook Hartland and Cam, and ran with them for many miles with a jagged ironstone bullet embedded in the muscles of his back; and how ultimately they all three reached a friendly town and were safe, is familiar history.
Possibly the reader may be wondering by this time whether, carried away by interest in John Hartland and the Congo Mission, I have forgotten Miss Thomas and my proper business. I hope the next paragraph may afford adequate proof that this is not the case.
Early in 1882 Mrs. Seymour, who as Miss Nodes had been closely associated with John Hartland in the children’s work at Camden Road, and whose husband was his friend, received from him a most interesting and momentous letter. In it he confessed that before leaving for the Congo he had conceived a strong affection for Miss Gwen Thomas, and the hope that one day he might have the happiness of securing her as his wife. Foreseeing that he might not be able to endure the Congo climate, he determined to keep his love and his hope secret, and had sailed without giving word or sign. At least he had done his best in the matter of concealment. But now that he had become acclimatised, and good prospect of life and work was before him, he was minded to put his fate to the test, and he desired Mrs. Seymour to broach the subject for him. On one condition! He conceived it possible that during his absence Miss Thomas’s interest and affection might have been engaged by some other man. If Mrs. Seymour had reason to suppose that such was the case, then he would have her burn his letter, and keep his secret, as he was sure that if Miss Thomas knew she had been the innocent occasion of suffering to him, she herself would suffer, and that purposeless suffering he would have her spared. But if the way seemed clear, he desired a friend’s most friendly mediation. He enclosed a letter addressed to his sister. If all went well with his indirect wooing, he desired Mrs. Seymour to hand this letter to Miss Hartland that his friends at home might have the earliest possible intimation of his joy. But if things went awry, he would have the letter destroyed, that they might not know that with other burdens he carried the grievous addition of an unrequited love.
It was obviously the letter of a courteous, Christian gentleman, and much impressed by its extreme chivalry, Mrs. Seymour proceeded to execute her difficult commission. But finding that the negotiation was not to be precisely a matter of plain sailing, with sound, womanly wisdom she made haste to convey to her correspondent the time-honoured counsel, “Speak for yourself, John.”
John spoke for himself, on such wise that obstacles were removed, hesitations overcome, and in due course he received the word of assent which his heart coveted. But he had to wait for it, with what patience he could muster, through several weary months. The following letter will say much to the discerning reader and spare me pages of laboured exposition:—