MT. INFIERNITOS, or Infernal Mountain, in its descent to El Chimbo pauses at one point, and spreads out into a beautiful savannah of rich, black soil. Mountain springs water this land, so that in the dry season, when all the country around is dry and brown, the Cieniga, or place of springs, is fresh and green.
THE SCHOOL HOME
To this place of natural beauty Don Juan brought the woman of his choice. A home was built, and Don Juan daily went to his toil in the mine. At evening he came out of the dark tunnel, and mounting his little mule, rode through the pueblo, past the hill of many crosses, and by a winding path reached his pasture gate. In a few minutes he was home.
After fifteen years, bent with toil and the drinking of much guara, he bethought himself of his old home in England, of the days of his childhood, and of his own six dusky children growing up in ignorance in this land so destitute of all human influences that are pure. He said, “What must I do to save my children?” This question, asked in sincerity, is akin to that other, “What must I do to be saved?”
While searching for a suitable location for our school, I learned of this man, and visited him at Mt. Infiernitos. With tears in his eyes, he repeated to me his story. He wished to give his home, farm, and cattle for the education of his children.
The farm was just such a place as we had been praying for as a school location, a good distance from the city (three leagues), high above the malarial levels, good, irrigable land. Our friends in Tegucigalpa rejoiced with us in what we all called a providential opening for our school.
In due time the transfer was made, and we came into possession of a fine piece of property for school purposes, but with only sufficient house room for six students.
Native kitchens have no chimneys, the women working in the smoke. We first built a stone chimney, and set up our cook stove, then there were stone fences to repair and raise. We work in the forenoon with the hired help and children, and have school in the afternoon. I presume this is the first time “Joy to the world” and “Just as I am” have been sung in Central Honduras by native voices. The children are learning rapidly, and we are teaching them of Jesus.
Recently one of the children, the youngest girl, went to spend the night with her mother in the village; but when dark came, and there was no family worship and no song, she cried long to be brought back, and was not content until restored to us the next day.
Before our school came, the dooryard was a cattle pen, a dirty place, bare of grass or flowers. We have fenced it off, sodded the yard, and planted some rose-bushes. The house has been thoroughly cleaned, the woodwork painted, and the mud walls whitewashed. In spite of our poverty we are quite comfortable in our new quarters.
The work that the children can do will nearly pay for their board, thus leaving any earnings of the farm for improvements or buildings.
There are devoted hearts scattered all through the churches of the home land who would help us if they knew more about the work here, and its needs. And how much a little would do!
We are having an oven made for burning tile and brick. The tile is for roofing, and the brick for floors. One dollar (American currency) will pay for the making of one hundred tile, just about enough to cover one student’s cot. One dollar will make brick enough to floor a sleeping room for one pupil. One dollar will make one hundred adobes (sun-dried brick) or a handsome piece of wall. One dollar will bring us one squared timber for the roof, or three boards for the ceiling. One penny will pay for the making of one tile to help cover our school-room. There are thousands of children who would like to know that they had furnished one tile for our Central American school.
There are farmers whose hired men drive teams perfectly harnessed, hitched to such wagons as only Americans own and use. Brethren, if one of you would walk by my side, and see our oxen straining to draw heavy loads of stone up-hill and down on a stone-boat, you would provide us with a two-wheeled cart, out of sheer sympathy. A few days ago I purchased a pair of wheels hewed out of a log. They are unwieldy things, and will soon wabble themselves out of usefulness. I believe that the Lord will put it into the hearts of our brethren at home to furnish us with some of the tools that we most need that our work may represent good sense and economy.
What can be of greater help in advancing the third angel’s message in this field than to gather the young people into a school home and teach them all the gospel? Caribs, Aztecs, Myas, Spaniards, are all ready to send young people to us.
Our school is not, and is not to be, a round-about way of breaking down prejudice, and by and by teaching the truth. Our school teaches a soon-coming Saviour, health of body and soul. All over the country the parents are willing to be instructed, because of the effort for the young. The father of the children we have in our house said, “I hope you will teach them to believe as you do.”
Who will help us make Infernal Mountain a mountain of blessing to this people? The name “Infernal Mountain,” is an obscure one, only used in legal documents and descriptions of boundaries. Its origin is probably from a number of murders committed near our house, the spot being marked by wooden crosses.
