The cobra's den

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Copyright No..

Preface

The exceedingly kind reception given on both sides of the Atlantic, to " In the Tiger Jungle and Other Stories of Missionary Work among the Telugus" seems to indicate that such simple sketches of incidents in the life and work of any earnest, observant missionary have a place of some importance, in quickening the interest of both young people and older in all that pertains to the spread of the Kingdom, and that another collection of such sketches may not be out of place. Indeed, many urgent requests, from both friends and strangers, in Europe, Asia, and America, have been received, that at the earliest date another such collection should be issued. As these requests have come largely from acknowledged leaders in the church in the Home Lands, as well as from fellow-missionaries in different countries, and from Missionary Secretaries of many Societies and Boards, the call can no longer be left unheeded.

I have therefore made, and present herewith, another collection of sketches which have ap-

Preface

peared in a wide variety of periodicals, in Great Britain, India and Australia, as well as in the United States, during the forty years of my missionary life. They cover a wide range of subjects, grave and gay, and illustrate very different phases of missionary life and work. They were penned, mostly, when the incidents occurred, but no attempt has been made to place them in any chronological order. Still it is believed that, in the order of thought, one leads to another. Usually each chapter is complete in itself, and the book may be opened at any point, and any sketch read independently without noticeable loss of connection.

Testimonies, received from many unimpeachable witnesses, of missionary interest quickened, or first aroused, and deeper consecration of person and purse produced by the perusal of the former volume, give stimulus to the hope and incentive to the prayer that this little volume may be used of the Master only for the arousing of His people, the promotion of His cause, and the earlier establishment of His Kingdom in the Revolted Lands of the Orient.

Jacob Chamberlain.

Madanapalle, India.

Contents

CHAP. PAGE

I. The Cobra's Den . . . .19

II. The Snake-Bitten Hindu's Story . 27

II

I AM Up on a little mountain in our mission district, fifteen miles from Madanapalle. It stands 1,750 feet above the Madanapalle plain, and is, in the hot season, some ten degrees cooler. I have built here a little ''hermitage," to which I can come for quiet literary work. The brain works more satisfactorily and rapidly with the lower temperature and the absence of the continual interruptions to which the missionary at his own station is perpetually subject. Driving out to the foot of the mountain very early Monday morning, and climbing up the rough, crooked path to the summit soon after sunrise, I can have five clear days with my amanuensis for my work in helping to prepare Telugu Christian literature for the native Church, and go down again Friday evening to have Saturday and Sunday at my station for other duties. Thus I am up here now, but my usual isolation was interrupted one day last week by a very pleasing incident.

I was sitting at my desk writing and glancing out upon the mountain scenery when ih the wide open doorway a figure appeared, and looking up I saw a man from one of our native Christian villages ten miles beyond this, who with salaams and inquiries for my health told me that he had come as the escort of a well-to-do, high-caste Telugu landholder, who lived in the caste village adjacent to theirs, and who had come up to render his thanks to me for saving his life when he was a lad and had been bitten by a deadly serpent. Would I be pleased to give him audience? He was waiting in the adjoining clump of trees to know whether I could receive ^im now.

He soon appeared with a tray of rock candy,

cocoanuts and limes. Making low obeisance, in

feeling words he expressed his gratitude to me

for what I had done so long ago for him. He

had sent, when I was up here the week before,

saying that for fifteen years he had not had the

opportunity of seeing me; might he come up

here this week for the purpose ? So I had had

the opportunity of reviving my somewhat hazy

memory of what had occurred so long ago. His

name was Timmaya Reddi. His age now about

forty.

I asked him to be seated, and for well on to half an hour he talked, pouring out his gratitude, and recounting in minute detail the occurrences of that momentous day in his life. I have since conversed with one of our native Christians who was there and saw him after he was bitten, and saw the venomous reptile that inflicted the wound, and was at my tent while I was treating him, and who confirmed his statements in every particular. I will give his story and, where I can, will give it in his own words, turned into English.

" It was more than two decades ago — I know

not just how many years — but I was then only

a boy of fifteen, and now I have a wife and

children. It was just after you had placed the

sole of your foot down solidly at Timmareddi-

palle and Nalcheruvupalle, and the people of

those hamlets had joined your Veda. (It must

have been in the autumn of 1872 or spring of

1873, twenty-four years ago.) It was early

morning. I had gone with my uncle out to our

sugar-cane field to see that the irrigation channels

were open and the field being properly watered.

One channel seemed clogged. I pressed in among

the tall cane to see what was the matter. What

seemed like a reddish-brown stick of wood,

^9 larger than my arm at the shoulder, lay across the channel in the water. Leaves and grass had lodged upon it and hindered the water s flow. It was too dark for me to see that it was a sleeping serpent. I raised my crooked axe, or bill-hook, and struck it a blow to break it and draw it out of the way. The rotten log, as I thought it, squirmed and turned upon me. I saw the head, the eyes, the fangs of a deadly serpent.

"Back 1 sprang with all my might, shouting for my uncle. The serpent was spryer than I. Into my right ankle he drove those fangs. Ugh! How his eyes glared as he turned and ran off, showing the big gash 1 had made with my axe in his body, only a cubit from his head. That glare of his eyes, those horrid fangs, that bloodspurting gash in his body were the last things these eyes saw that morning as 1 fell over among the sugar-cane. How the pains shot up my leg! How my heart began to flutter! How soon my eyes became dim and shut as in death!

"My uncle sprang in and caught me by the

shoulders just in time to see the serpent, five

cubits long, disappear among the thick cane.

No, it was not a cobra. Cobras are not so large ;

but this is regarded as equally deadly and is as

much dreaded by us. Out my uncle dragged me into the open, threw me on his shoulder, ran with me to our house in the village and laid me, limp as dead, on the bench at my mother's door. I knew nothing from the time I fell over in the cane, but I have heard my uncle and my mother and my cousins so often recount all that happened that day, that I can see it all with my eyes, though they then were closed and dead, and I can tell you everything that took place that day.

"Up went the death wail. The village was gathered at our door to see me as I lay on the settee, just barely breathing. ' Do this,' said one. 'It's no use, the death mark is on him,' was the reply. 'Do that,' said another. 'Did we not try it when this very serpent bit Ramayya, and he never opened his eyes ?' ' Who has a snakestone ? They say it will extract the poison. Is there not one in this village ? ' ' No, and if there were, one has never been known to cure the bite of this king of poisons.'

"Just then there came running up some of your Christians, who had heard the shouts and seen the commotion from their hamlet a few rods away. 'The missionary doctor! The missionary doctor!' shouted they. 'Quick! take the boy to him. He came last night to Tim-

mareddipalle. He is in his tent there now, He never fails to cure any snake bite that is brought to him. Take him and run! '

"'Where is there a cart to put him in?' ' Don't wait for any cart. He will be dead before you can get him there by the cart road. Take him on your shoulders and run by the short cut. It's only a mile by the short footpath.'

" Onto his strong shoulders my uncle instantly threw me. Down the sloping rock, across the gully, up through the bushes on the other side and over ploughed fields he ran. Two vigorous cousins ran at his sides, and every now and then took me from his shoulder onto theirs as they ran. Down through the dry tank bed, up over the rocks, on they sped, for death was at their heels. Another cousin, the fleetest runner of the village, ran on ahead to your tent to bear the news and let you get ready. Panting, they brought me up to your tent and laid me on the grass under a tree at your tent door. You were there ready, and one of your trained men to help you, for from before sunrise your tent had been surrounded by patients whom you were treating. All gave way as they brought the snake-bitten boy up.

" ' Can he cure him ? Can he cure him ?' ran the question through the crowd. ' No, it is too late. He's dead already,' was the sad reply. My uncle says he thought so, too, but that you said 'Steady! no noise, no commotion, no wailing, only do as I say.' How eagerly he and they watched you.

" As they laid me down you had in your hand a bottle of that Magic Poison Killing Liquid. [Liquor Ammoniae Fortissimus, which we use for cobra, viper and scorpion stings.] Up my nostrils you threw some of its spray; with a stick you pried open my set teeth, and poured some of it, mixed with water, into my mouth; strongly you rubbed the front of my neck and milked it down my throat. Your assistant the while was pulling open the fang wounds on my ankle with his finger nail and dropping in drop by drop the poison killer, that it might follow up the very course taken by the poison, while another was with the same magic liquid bathing the leg over the ascending vein, which was beginning to feel hard and ropy all the way up to the body.

"The commotion had all ceased. In intense expectancy the fifty people around watched all that you did, so quietly and yet so confidently. You had my arms constantly moved back and forth, also, to help the breathing, you said, and that gave my uncle something to do and made him less anxious. Half an hour had not passed before 1 opened my eyes and asked where I was, and what had happened, for until then you had been constantly repeating the doses of the magic fluid. Soon 1 sat up, and the power of the poison was gone. What wonderful medicine that poison-killing liquid is, if one knows how to use it.

'* In an hour, leaning on the arm of my uncle, I walked to the house of my great aunt in the village adjacent to which your tent was pitched. Several times that day and in the evening and the next morning you came to her house to see how I got on and to administer anything further that was needed, and on the second day I walked back to my village and into my mother's house, whence I had been carried almost a corpse.

*'That was before you went away to the faroff America land the first time. I saw you once after your return, at the close of the great famine, and gave you my thanks; but now for fifteen years and more I have not beheld your face. I am alive through your kindness and skill. My wife and my children revere your name and invoke blessings on your head. Five months ago I heard of your return from America once more, to this land that owes you so much, and ever since I have desired to see you, and once more tell you how grateful I am for what you did for me. I have come this ten miles on foot through the hills to-day once more to see your face and receive your benediction."

Is it any wonder that I was moved by the recital, and by his deep and reverential gratitude ? My heart yearned toward him with an intense desire to do him still more good. I told him of the *' Old Serpent " and of the sting of sin ; of the Great Physician who can, who surely will cure all who will apply to Him ; all who have that sin-venom coursing in their veins. I told him how we are all spiritually dead from this poison ; how the eyes of our understanding are already closed from its venom. I told him of the blood of Jesus, that poison killer that kills the sin-venom and gives life— yes, eternal life — to every one who accepts its application and by faith clasps the hand of that Jesus Christ as his personal Saviour. I pressed him with earnest words to come to that Jesus Christ now and receive a healing far more marvellous, far more blessed than that which, by God's help, I had conferred on him. He went away thoughtful and grateful. The fruitage of

this interview — may it be to him eternal life.

Ill

THE ANGRY MOB AND THE STORY OF THE CROSS

"Swing shut the city gates; run and tell the sentinels to stand guard and let no one pass in or out till we have made way with these preachers of other gods. No news shall ever go out of the city as to what has become of them."

It was in a walled city of some 20,000 inhabitants in the Kingdom of Hyderabad, within twenty miles of its capital, as we were on a gospel preaching tour, the first ever made through the Kingdom of the Nizam, in August, 1863, which is more fully spoken of in " In The Tiger Jungle."

We had been travelling since early morning, preaching in all the towns and villages on our way, and arrived before the gates of the city during the heat of the day, and camped outside of its walls. We had heard of it as the wickedest city of the realm.

About three p. M., my four native assistants went into the city to offer Scriptures and tracts for sale, I promising to join them when the heat should be a little less. After half or three-quarters of an hour I went through the iron gates, the largest and strongest city gates that I had up to that time seen. The city, with its high granite walls lay four square, with a gate in the middle of each side, and the main streets running from gate to gate, crossing each other at right angles at the market-place.

Just after entering the gate, I met my native assistants returning, with a hooting rabble following them. Speaking to me in the Tamil language, not understood by those people, they told me that it was not safe to attempt to do any work within the city. They had sold a few gospels and tracts to both Mohammedans and Hindus. The Mohammedan zealots and Brahman priests had been diligently examining the gospels and saw that their systems must go if these Scriptures were believed, and Mohammedans and Hindus joined in an effort to stop the people buying and drive the catechists out of the city. Herod and Pilot became friends for this purpose.

Some of the gospels were bound in yellowish buff bookbinder's muslin. The Mohammedans sent messengers running through the streets saying that they were bound in hog skin, and warning the faithful not to touch them. The Brahmans sent messengers to tell the Hindus that they were bound in calf skin, the skin of the sacred cow, and telling them not to be polluted by them. They had not only prevented the people from buying but had incited the rabble to drive the catechists out of the city.

"Have you preached to the people?" said I to the catechists. ''Have you proclaimed the gospel message?"

"No, sir, we have only sold a few books and tracts."

" Then we must do so now. Did we not, before we left our home, make a solemn vow that we would not pass a single town or village without proclaiming the Master's message, and have we not His covenant, ' Lo, I am with you ' ? I at least must go to the market-place and preach. You need not accompany me unless you think it best."

"We did make that vow. We will go with you," said they.

The rabble had halted and quieted as they heard the foreigner talking with the catechists in a strange tongue, waiting to see what would come of it. We walked with slow and firm step up the street to the market. The crowd followed, increasing by the way. Seeing a foreigner with the catechists boldly walking up the street, the Brahman and Mohammedan zealots joined the throng.

We reached the centre of the town where the main streets crossed and where was the market-place, vith a roof supported upon large masonry pillars. Stepping up the steps I said in Tamil to the catechists, "Place your backs against these pillars, so that no one can attack you from behind, and keep a sharp watch on all, but show no signs of fear. The Master is with us; His promise is good."

As we stood there we could see three of the four city gates standing wide open with the armed gate-keepers sitting under the arch of the gateways. Turning I spoke politely to the people in Telugu, which was understood by all.

" Leave this place at once," was the angry response.

I comphmented them on the polite reception . which they gave to visitors, telling them I had visited more than a thousand towns in the Telugu country, but that it had been reserved for them to show the most polite reception that I had thus far received. A few smiled, but the rest only scowled the more.

** Friends," said 1, "I have come from far to tell you some good news. I will tell that to you and then we will go."

" No," said some who were evidently leaders, "we will not hear you. We have found out that you have come to proclaim another God. You do so at your peril. You see this angry mob. One word from us and you are dead. Say not another word but leave the city instantly and we will see you safely out of the gates. Dare to say a word against our gods and we loose this mob on you."

We had seen the angry mob tearing up the cobble paving-stones and gathering them in the skirts of their garments to stone us with.

** We have no desire to abuse your gods," said I, "but have come to deliver a message. We will not go until we have proclaimed that message."

Then came the order, "Swing shut the gates."

1 saw one nudge another saying, "You throw the first stone and I will throw the second." But all who had stones to throw were within my vision, and they quailed a little under my keen glance, and hesitated. I seemed to feel the presence of the Master as though He were standing by my side with His hand on my shoulder, saying, "I am with you. I will tell you what to say." I was not conscious of any anxiety about my personal safety. My whole soul was wrapped up in the thought " How shall I get my Master's offer of salvation before these people ? "

"Brothers," said I, "it is not to revile your gods that I have come this long way ; far from it. I have come to you with a royal message from a king far higher than your Nizam ; I have come to tell a story sweeter than mortal ear has ever heard. But it is evident that this multitude does not wish to hear it." They thought that I was weakening and quieted down to see what was going to happen.

" But," said I, " I see five men before me who do wish to hear my story. Will you all please step back a little ? I will tell these five who want to know why I have come here and what is my message, and then you may stone me. I will make no resistance then." I had been carefully scanning the crowd and had selected my men, for I had seen five honest countenances who had shown no sympathy with the abuse that had been heaped upon us.

" Brother with the red-bordered turban," said I, addressing a venerable Brahman who stood among the people at the right; "you would like to hear what my wonderful story is, before they stone me, would you not ? Be frank and say so, for there are four others like you who wish to hear."

"Yes, sir, I would like to hear what your story is," said he, speaking up courageously and kindly.

'' Brother with the gold-bordered turban at my left, you too would like to hear, and you with the yellow turban, and you with the brownbordered, and you with the pink."

I had rightly judged those men, for each assented. They were curious to know what I had to say.

"Now will you five men please come forward, and I will tell you alone. All you others step back; step back; as soon as 1 have told these five the story you may come forward and throw your stones."

The five came forward; the rest reluctantly stepped back a little. I had purposely chosen Brahmans as I thought that I could win them the better.

"Brothers," said I, in a subdued tone, "what is it that you chant as you go to the river for your daily ablutions ? Is it not this,

said I, chanting it in Sanskrit, ''and is not this its meaning," said I in Telugu.

"I am a sinner, my actions are sinful. My soul is sinful. All that pertains to me is polluted with sin. Do Thou, O God, that hast mercy on those who seek Thy refuge, do Thou take away my sin."

These five Brahmans at once became my friends. One who correctly chants their Vedas and their mantras they always look up to with respect.

**Now, do you know how God can do what you ask ? How He can take away the burden of our sin, and give us relief ?"

**No, sir, we do not know. Would that we knew."

"I know; I have learned the secret; s.^a11 I tell you?"

** Yes, sir, please tell us."

The multitude seeing the Brahmans conversing with the foreigner with evident respect, quieted still more and pressed forward to listen.

''Step back, step back," said I. "It is only these five to whom I am to tell my story. If the rest of you listen it is on your own responsibility. Step back, and let me tell these five alone." This only increased their desire to hear, as I went on :

** Brothers, is it possible for us by our own acts to expiate our sins ? Can we, by painful journeys to the holiest of all your holy places, change those sinful natures that you bemoan ? Does not your own Telugu Poet, Vemana say:

"The Muslim who to Tirupati goes, on pilgrimage, Does not thereby become a saint of Siva's house. Becomes a dog a lion when he bathes in Ganges' stream ? Benares turns not harlot into pure and trusted wife."

Hearing their own language chanted, the people pressed forward still more intently. "Nay, brothers, it is not by these outward acts even of utmost austerity that we can attain to harmony with God. Does not your beloved Vemana again say:

" 'Tis not by roaming deserts wild, nor gazing at the sky; 'Tis not by bathing in the stream, nor pilgrimage to shrine ; But thine own heart must thou make pure, and then, and then

alone, Shalt thou see Him no eye hath kenned, shalt thou behold thy

King."

"Now, how can our hearts be made pure, so that we may see God ? I have learned the secret, and will tell you."

Then I told the story of stories ; the story of redeeming love; and, as I recounted the love of

God the Father, who "so loved the world"; the birth in the manger of Bethlehem of the Lord of Life when He took on human form; His wonderful life here below; His blessed words; His marvellous deeds of healing and mercy, the mob became an audience. Gradually and imperceptibly I had raised my voice until, as I spoke in the clear and resonant Telugu, all down those three streets the multitude could hear, and as I told them of His rejection by those He had come to save, and pictured that scene on Calvary, in the graphic words that He Himself gave me that day, when for us men, and for our salvation, He was left to cry, *'My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me ? " and told them that it was for them too, far away here in India, that He had suffered this agony on the cross, and shed His life-blood and died, down many a cheek of those who had been clamouring for our life, I saw tears coursing and dropping upon the pavements that they had torn up to stone us with. Far earlier in the story I had seen them stealthily dropping their armfuls of stones into the gutter, and come back to listen.

How they listened as I went on to tell them of the laying of His body in the tomb; of His bursting the bands of death, on the morning of the third day, and coming forth triumphing over the last enemy; of His associating for many days with, and His teaching His disciples, and of His ascension from Mt. Olivet, passing up through the clouds to be with His Father and our Father, to prepare mansions for us, and told them that now all we had to do was to repent and forsake our sins, and lift up the voice of prayer to Him, for He could understand every language, and say '*0, Jesus Christ, I am a sinner. I cannot get rid of my sin, but Thou canst take it away: take away my sin I pray thee, and give me a new heart, and make me Thy disciple," and that He would do all the rest, and that when our time should come to die, He would take our souls to heaven to dwell with Him in bliss eternal.

"Now," said I, folding my arms, and standing before them, "I have finished my story. You may stone me now. I will make no resistance."

'"No, no," said they, "we don't want to stone you now. We did not know whose messenger you were, nor what you had come to tell us. Do those books that you have tell more about this wonderful Redeemer?"

"Yes," said I, "this is the history of His life on earth;" and taking up a gospel of Luke 1 read brief portions here and there, adding, "I have not told you half of His gracious words and deeds. We are going on our way in the early morning. Would you not like to buy some of these histories of the Redeemer Jesus, so that you can learn all about Him, even though we have gone our way ? "

With that their wallets were produced and they purchased all we had of the gospel of Luke; taking up another gospel I explained that the same story in the main was told in this, with different words and incidents. And taking a tract I told them that these explained the gospels, and made more clear the way of life. They purchased all the gospels and tracts we had with us, and appointed a deputation of their best men to escort us to our camp, begging us to forgive them for the insults they had heaped upon us, for they knew not whose messengers we were.

Verily the story of the cross has not lost its power. It still reaches the ear and touches the heart of men of every tongue, in every clime. Happy we, if we have a part in making known, here and in all the world that Story of The Cross.