Fifteen Hundred Miles Through Venezuela With the Scriptures
[The introduction of the Bible into the spiritually dark countries is a very important part of God's work on earth. We feel sure the readers of the REVIEW will follow with deep interest the experiences of Stephen B. Adams, a colporteur of the British and Foreign Bible Society, on a recent tour into the interior of Venezuela, as published in the Bible in the World, from the leaves of his diary.] By Steamer on the Great Orinoco
On leaving San Fernando by steamer, we entered upon a new order of things. Thus, at meals, for want of spoons we learned to drink soup over the side of the plate, and catch the thickest part of it with our fingers. If one wanted to drink, he was handed an old butter tin, which served many purposes; but it was not an easy matter for the inexperienced to scoop up water from the river while the boat was in motion. There was no mistaking the Orinoco when we reached it—a great expanse of water with waves as turbulent as the sea. At some places we could scarcely see the opposite bank, as this mighty river at its junction with the Apure is quite four miles wide. What surprises one most is the little traffic on this truly vast waterway; from San Fernando to Ciudad Bolivar, our destination, we met nothing but a few native dugout canoes. There is very little sign of human life upon its banks, and the silence strikes one with a kind of awe. After two days and nights we reached Ciudad Bolivar, a very pretty place built on a hillside, after the old Spanish fashion. Here there were hundreds of foreigners, and we heard English spoken on every side by natives hailing from Trinidad. On the High Plains; Caribbean Indians
In the saddle once more, we were following the track on what are called the “High Plains.” Here we met several bullock wagons, great, lumbering vehicles with large, broad wheels, each wagon dragged slowly onward by ten oxen. We had been warned by many of the danger of going without a guide, and of the possibility of getting lost; so after traveling three hours we were congratulating ourselves on the ease with which we had kept the track. Nevertheless we learned that we had gone astray, and must strike due east to find the telegraph lines. We were very hungry, as we had had no breakfast, and we appreciated a piece of casabe,—a dry, hard, tasteless kind of bread made from the yucca plant,—for which we exchanged a New Testament. We followed the telegraph wire through a trackless plain, and were glad at length to reach a hut occupied by a Negress, who prepared us a simple native breakfast,—a “table spread in the wilderness,” in very truth. This woman possessed a New Testament, but had been forbidden by a passing priest to read it; now she bought a Bible, promising to read it carefully. By and by we came in contact with the Caribbean Indians, and visited one of their villages. As we drew near, we noticed the women hiding, and the little ones looking afraid. We dismounted, and left our horses in the care of a boy at the door of the first hut. We examined many things of interest, and as one young man spoke Spanish, we were able to get the information we wanted. The huts were low and small, thatched with palm leaves. Some of the men were weaving a kind of long basket tube for making the inevitable casabe. Others were playing a rude kind of mandolin, but the greater part were doing nothing. The women were more afraid of us. Some were netting hammocks of thread made from the palm tree, while others were scraping and preparing the yucca, which seems to be their staple food. While a few could speak Spanish, not one could read; but we gave one man St. Mark's Gospel, and he was pleased with his present. These Indians are expert with the bow, and seem to fish a good deal in the great rivers. Near the Tigre River we lighted upon a hut kept by a little Negro woman as a resting place for travelers. The landlady told us we could sleep there if we liked, but food she had none. Nothing! The stern truth dawned on us that we had tasted no food since the previous evening. Just then there came up two bullock wagon drivers, and these gave us a bit of sun-dried beef. Out of this meat the little woman made a kind of soup, and with the addition of some old casabe we supped once more, drinking the soup in native style, over the edge of the dirty plates. There was neither table, chair, nor light in the hut; and as we squatted on the floor, the Negro woman cooked at the fire—also on the floor—while the bullock drivers, one with a native mandolin and the other with two big rattles, played as hard as they could. This music proved so inspiring that every now and again the cook would leave her pot, and the rattler his two rattles, and catching each other like two wrestlers, they would dance around for about five minutes, and then, each apologizing for bad steps, they would resume, one his rattles and the other her cooking pot. The dancing ceased; and then the Negress began to tell about a wonderful cross she had recently bought, that had worked many miracles and was blessed by a priest. She brought it out, all covered with fancy paper, and hung over with the gifts that she had received from those who had been cured by its power. One man said that if he had five cents, he would have given it to buy a candle to burn before the cross; but the Negress told him that at present she had plenty of candles, only next time he returned he must not forget his promise. When the moon rose, the music and dancing were renewed. After that, we got them together and told them the story of the true cross. The poor woman said she liked that better than dancing. Finally we slung our hammocks under a tree near the hut, and so ended another day. Early next morning we gave the Negress two Gospels, filled our water bottles, and set off. That day we met a Turk with a bullock wagon. He gave us a big bowl of soup with meat and casabe, and would take nothing in exchange; but we presented him with a New Testament, with which he was highly delighted. At the town of Aragua we met two Germans and a Frenchman, and when the telegraph operator announced the latest war news, the natives tried hard to excite a quarrel; but we were able to keep the peace, thank God. With our books we worked the town, but the priest had preached against us from his pulpit. Many were afraid to buy, yet in spite of his warning we had quite good sales. Soon we traveled right into the malarial zone, and then the sights that met us as we went with the Scriptures from house to house and hut to hut made us sad indeed. Out under a tree would lie half-naked bodies of men or women in the throes of heat and fever. The yellow, wasted forms, the hollow, sunken cheeks, and the languid look in many cases, announced that the cold hand of death was not far off. Or the fever would be at the shivering stage, and the poor patient would be covered with every piece of available clothing, yet be shaking like a leaf in the wind. This fever is a curse to Venezuela; little by little it is wiping out once famous centers of trade, yet nothing is being done to stay its ravages. After three months' absence we returned fit and well to Caracas. Our first news there was of the death by yellow fever of a young missionary who had gone west on a similar trip. Thus ended a long, trying, and difficult tour, which beforehand was considered by many to be an impossibility at that time of year. When we look back on our trip, we marvel at what God enabled us to do. Our sales amounted to 180 Bibles, 825 Testaments, and 1,420 portions—making a total of 2,425 books. Arrangements had to be made for the transport of these books by railway, on horses, on donkeys, in cars, in canoes, on board steamers,12and last but not least, in great wagons drawn by ten yoked oxen. Here and there we found groups of interested people; and the good seed has been widely sown.