“On the evening of the same day Comber arrived unexpectedly, and most opportunely, for the affection of these two men for one another was intense. They had worked together in the home country, they had shared early perils, and were absolutely one in their devotion to Christ and His work in Africa. Their intercourse during the two remaining days of Hartland’s life was very tender and sacred, and the letter which Comber wrote to Mrs. Hartland is one of the most beautiful and touching of all our missionary records. It reveals how the dying man’s gaze was absorbed by Christ; how he turned from dear thoughts of home and marriage and happy work to the dearer thought of being with Him, and seeing Him as He is. His last words, uttered at the final moment, were: ‘Christ is all in all; Christ is all in all. Let me go, my friends. Don’t hold me back. Let me go, Tom. I must go. I want to go to Him. “Simply to Thy cross I cling.” Let me go.’ So he passed on.”
To this account I am now enabled to make a touching addition. On May 10th Grenfell told Hartland that he was dying. After hearing the announcement, and having the witness in himself that it was true, he indited four letters, severally addressed to his father, his mother, his two sisters, and Miss Thomas. The first three have been placed in my hands.
In the letter to his father Hartland explains that as the power of writing has passed from him, his friend Butcher is taking down the words at his dictation. The same notes of dignity, tenderness, and calm faith are found in every one. Assured that only good can come of it, I venture to print the tenderest of them all.
“Bayneston, Congo River.
“May 10, 1883.
“My dear Mother,—You will be sorry to know when you get this letter that your missionary boy has passed away from the field of active service to rest. My views of missionary life were not that I should fall after four short years, but that I should spend my whole life in Christ’s service. But He knows best. I know you will not grieve to hear that He has delivered me from a long and painful illness, and at last taken me to Himself. But, oh! my dear mother, I am so sorry for you. Your heart will break. Oh, may He be very near to you! You have been a dear, good mother to me, and now in writing this brief farewell I feel happy that it will not be so long before we meet again, in His land, where sickness and dying are no more.
“Comfort poor, dear Gwennie; and while you live, be a mother and a friend to her.
“Farewell,
“Your affectionate son,
“John.”