CHAPTER VI[A

DIMINUTIVE DWELLERS IN THE LAND OF FIRE

“More than one hundred years ago God sent a baby boy to Mr and Mrs Gardiner. They called him Allen Francis. He had four elder brothers, and as the lads romped and played games and learned lessons together, they would have been ever so much surprised if they could have taken a peep into the future, and seen what wonderful adventures in strange lands, among strange people, and what terrible dangers and difficulties were in store for little Allen.

“He always said he ‘meant to be a sailor, and travel all over the world,’ and one night when Mrs Gardiner went to tuck him up and give him a good-night kiss, she found his bed empty, and her little boy fast asleep on the hard floor--‘getting hardened and used to roughing it,’ he told her. When thirteen years old he went to the Naval College at Portsmouth for two years, and then his life as a sailor began.

“Who will come in thought with me and pay a visit to the Land of Fire? Before we start, let us remember that first we take a long leap into the past--we jump backwards over fifty years--for we want to join our dear old friend and sailor Captain Allen Gardiner.

“We shall certainly all need our strongest boots and thickest wraps and waterproofs, as we join our sailor hero. Sleet and hail are beating around the boat on all sides, and every few minutes a wave dashes across the bows. When we land on one of the Islands, and trudge along by the Captain’s side, on one of his exploring expeditions, we find the mud more than knee-deep in many places.

“We shall find the natives a very miserable lot of people. They have no form of worship, no idols; they know nothing whatever of God. There is not even a word in their language to express the name of God. They are Indians, and divided into many different tribes, all at enmity with each other; always quarrelling and at war. Food is often the cause of the trouble, for it is very hard to get.

“There are Canoe Indians and Foot Indians. The Canoe Indians live almost entirely upon fish and fungus, and the Foot Indians on birds and animals killed by bows and arrows and spears made of whalebone. Nowhere do we see the smallest sign of the land being tilled or cultivated; indeed, corn would not ripen in the Land of Fire, for the climate is very damp and windy. Even in summer the sun rarely shines, only wind and rain then take the place of the winter storms of sleet and snow.

“There is plenty of good water on the Islands, so, as our supply on board the _Clymene_ is running short, we will draw into one of the harbours and refill the water-casks before we pursue our journey to Banner Cove, where the Captain thinks of putting up the wooden storehouse he has brought from England, and landing our goods.

“Before the _Clymene_ sails away, while our companions are busy fixing up a tent, we spy several canoes of Indians coming towards us. In a moment our friend has his telescope pointed in their direction, eager to find out all about them. We soon see they are afraid; it is the glass that frightens them. They think it some dangerous weapon! So it is quickly laid aside and we make signs of friendship.

“Many of the men come on board after a time, and gladly take the buttons we offer in exchange for fish and shell necklaces. They are queer-looking, dark brown people, with large heads, small, sharp, black eyes, and long, jet-black hair hanging straight down over each shoulder.

“A little girl, about three years old, ventures near the Captain, and very great is the delight of all when she returns to her mother with a bright-coloured cotton handkerchief round her shoulders. They are much interested in us, and the keen, black eyes watch intently every movement, while the water-casks are brought from the shore, and taken from the small boat to the larger vessel.

“I wonder how many of us keep a diary! There is one diary I know all of us, yes every boy and girl and grown-up reader of this book, would very much like to see. How tenderly we should turn over those storm-stained pages! How lovingly we should gaze at the clear pencil hand-writing of this wonderful diary!

“Perhaps if we really did see and read it, some of us would be inspired with feelings akin to those of a little girl of nine years old who went home from a missionary meeting and wrote:--‘Mark xvi. 15 says: “Go ye into all the world, and preach the Gospel to every creature.” This is a commandment of my Saviour, to be obeyed by me as soon as I am old enough.’

“More than fifty years ago, Captain Smyley, in command of the _John Davidson_, sailed into Banner Cove. He was searching for a party of seven missionaries to whom he had been sent with food and stores. He found no Englishmen or native of the Land of Fire upon the seashore, but painted on a rock he saw a notice: ‘Dig below.’ The crew landed, and obeying the first two words, they dug up a bottle containing a paper, on which was written: ‘We are gone to Spaniard’s Harbour.... We have sickness on board: our supplies are nearly out, and if not soon relieved we shall be starved out.’”

With many misgivings they hastened to Spaniard’s Harbour. It was then October, so seven months had passed since the notice had been painted on the rocks. The first vessel sent to the help of the brave missionaries had been wrecked. How had they fared during those months of waiting? Had the help come too late?

Yes, already that faithful band--our hero Captain Allen Gardiner, and his six comrades--have all passed into the Happy Land where “they shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more.” Sorrowful indeed was the sight that awaited the searchers. A boat on the beach with a lifeless body within; another lying not far off, washed to pieces by the waves; another buried in a shallow grave upon the shore: all seven starved to death.

What was the effect of this martyrdom? Was it thought worth while for others to risk their lives for the Fuegian Indians? The Rev. G. P. Despard and his wife, when they heard of the facts, said: “With God’s help, this good work shall go on.” And in a beautiful new schooner called the _Allen Gardiner_, another mission party started for that distant land.

“It was decided to make Keppel Island, which is one of the Falkland group, their headquarters. With much labour a house was built, and a little mission-station and farm formed there. The intention was to try and get two or three of the Fuegian natives to come and live with them at Keppel, hoping to be able to learn the language from these natives, whilst they taught them all the good and useful things they could.

“Many years before, a native, who was known by the name of Jimmy Button, had been brought to England by Captain Fitzroy. When Jimmy went back to his own country he was quite lost sight of by his English friends. However, he was met with one day in his canoe by the party from Keppel, and they found that he still remembered much of the English he had learned. After being kindly treated by the missionaries, and enjoying some of their coffee and bread and butter, he said he was quite willing to go with his wife and three children to stay with them for six months.

“Jimmy Button and his family soon became quite at home upon the mission farm. One of Jimmy’s boys, a bright, sharp, little lad of about eight years, whom his father called ‘Threeboys,’ very quickly picked up many English words; but they were all so shy about speaking their own language before foreigners that they talked to each other in whispers, which of course made it very difficult for the missionaries to learn anything about the Fuegian language. When the six months were up Mr Despard took all the Button family back to Woollya on the _Allen Gardiner_.”

Little by little grew the work amongst the Fuegian Indians, and especially amongst the children, many of whom are orphans, now under the missionaries’ care.

There was one dear little Fuegian girl whom the missionaries named Jessica--bright, loveable, quick, and good both at lessons and work. She, with others, was taught many things, chief of which was the Bible.

One day Jessica was nowhere to be seen. Morning passed away, afternoon came, and then followed the evening, but still Jessica had not come back. Weeks went by, and feeling sure she had been stolen, they ceased to look out for her.

In the middle of lessons one morning, a pair of arms was flung suddenly round the missionary’s neck, and someone was showering her with kisses. It was Jessica.

“Where have you been? Why did you run away from school?” asked the lady looking displeased at Jessica.

Her eyes brimmed over with tears as she answered: “I went to fetch you a present.”

“A present!” echoed the teacher.

“Come,” said Jessica, taking her hand, and leading her to a wood close by. “There is the present I have brought you,” said Jessica; and looking she saw eleven little naked, half-starved children, all bunched together, and looking terrified at the white person.

Having heard the Good News for herself, she loved the Lord Jesus so much that she just longed for other children to hear of Him too. She had journeyed for miles over rough woods with her bare feet, over dangerous paths, and through streams of water, in order to bring others to the Saviour. What a dear little brown missionary she was! For she is now in the presence of the Lord.

Another little Indian orphan, named Elsie, was being cared for by the Rev. J. and Mrs Williams. Her father had died about seven years previously, and her mother also passed away soon afterwards. Mrs Williams took special charge of this bright little girl, but one day several of Elsie’s Indian friends went off on a hunting tour, and took her with them.

Some time afterwards they returned, but without Elsie. What had become of her? Was she lost or dead? Alas, no. Perhaps it would have been far better if she were. “What have you done with Elsie?” And the reply was that the Indians had sold her to a Spaniard!

What was the price he paid for Elsie? Why, just a bag of flour, and a bottle of gin! Months have passed, and still no Elsie. It is feared that she cannot return if she would. Away from her tribe and from all who love her; sold to a Spaniard who cares not for her; this poor little jewel is living, redeemed with the precious blood of Christ, the slave of a white man, but the child of the living God.

Pray for such, and determine, like the little girl who went to the missionary meeting, that your Saviour’s command to “go into all the world” shall be obeyed by you as soon as you are old enough.