CHAPTER IX. — Section 28

FRUITS OF LABOR IN NESTORIAN HOMES.

USEFULNESS AMONG RELATIVES OF PUPILS.—DEACON GUWERGIS.—REFORMED DRUNKARD AND HIS DAUGHTER.—MATERNAL MEETINGS.—-EARLY INQUIRERS FROM GEOG TAPA.—PARTING ADDRESS OF MR. HOLLADAY.—VISIT TO GEOG TAPA.—SELBY AND HER CLOSET.

Having thus glanced at early labors for women in the Seminary and in the villages, let us now turn to another field of usefulness among the relatives of the pupils, who came to visit them in school; and here we are at no loss for a notable illustration.

In the autumn of 1845, Deacon Guwergis, of Tergawer,—and almost every reader was either priest or deacon,—brought his oldest daughter, then about twelve years of age, and begged for her admission to the Seminary. He was known as one of the vilest and most defiantly dissolute of the Nestorians, and Miss Fiske shrunk from receiving the daughter of such a man into her flock. Yet, on the ground that, like her Master, she was sent not to the righteous, but to the lost, she concluded to receive her. Still the father, during his short stay, showed such a spirit of avarice and shameless selfishness,—he even asked for the clothes his daughter had on when she came,—that she rejoiced when he went away.

His home was twenty-five miles off, in the mountains, and she hoped that winter snows would soon shield her from his dreaded visits. Little did she think that his next coming would result in his salvation. In February he again presented himself at her door in his Koordish costume, gun, dagger, and belt of ammunition all complete. He came on Saturday, when many of the pupils were weeping over their sins; and the teacher could not but feel that the wolf had too truly entered the fold. He ridiculed their anxiety for salvation, and opposed the work of grace, in his own reckless way. She tried to guard her charge from his attacks as best she could; but they were too divinely convinced of sin to be much affected by what he said. His own daughter, at length, distressed at his conduct, begged him to go alone with her to pray.(The window on the right of the central door of the Seminary points out the place.) Ho mocked and jeered, but went, confident in his power to cure her superstition." Do you not think that I too can pray?" And he repeated over his form in ancient Syriac, as a wizard would mutter his incantation.

His child then implored mercy for her own soul, and for her perishing father, as a daughter might be expected to do, just awakened to her own guilt and the preciousness of redemption. As he heard the words "Save, O, save my father, going down to destruction," he raised his clinched hand to strike; but, as he said afterwards, "God held me back from it." No entreaties of his daughter could prevail on him to enter the place of prayer again that day.

The native teacher, Murad Khan, then recently converted, took him to his own room, and reasoned with him till late at night. Sabbath morning found him not only fixed in his rebellion, but toiling to prevent others coming to Christ. At noon Miss Fiske went to the room where he was.(The two lower windows on the right of the engraving of the Seminary mark the place.) He sat in the only chair there, and never offered her a seat; so she stood by him, and tried to talk; but he sternly repelled every attempt to speak of Jesus. She then took his hand, and said, "Deacon Guwergis, I see you do not wish me to speak with you, and I promise you that I will never do it again unless you wish it; but pledge me one thing: when we stand together in judgment, and you are on the left hand, as you must be if you go on in your present course, promise me that you will then testify, that on this twenty-second day of February, 1846, you were warned of your danger." He gave no pledge, but a weeping voice said, "Let me pray." The hand was withdrawn, and he passed into the adjoining room, whence soon issued a low voice, that Miss Fiske could hardly yet believe was prayer.

The bell rung for meeting, and she sent her precious charge alone, while she staid to watch the man whose previous character and conduct led her to fear that he was only feigning penitence in order to plunder the premises undisturbed. She staid till a voice seemed to say, What doest thou here, Elijah? then went and took her place in the chapel; soon the door opened again very gently, and Deacon Guwergis entered; but how changed! His gun and dagger were laid aside; the folds of his turban had fallen over his forehead; his hands were raised to his face; and the big tears fell in silence; he sank into the nearest seat, and laid his head upon the desk. After Mr. Stoddard had pronounced the blessing, Miss Fiske requested Mr. Stocking to see Deacon Guwergis.

He took him to his study, and there, in bitterness of soul, the recent blasphemer cried out, "O my sins! my sins! they are higher than the mountains of Jeloo." "Yes," said Mr. Stocking, "but if the fires of hell could be out, you would not be troubled—would you?" The strong man now bowed down in his agony, exclaiming, "Sir, even if there were no hell, I could not bear this load of sin. I could not live as I have lived."

That night he could not sleep. In the morning, Miss Fiske begged Mr. Stoddard to see him, and after a short interview he returned, telling her that the dreaded Guwergis was sitting at the feet of Jesus." My great sins," and "My great Saviour," was all that he could say. He was subdued and humble, and before noon left for his mountain home, saying, as he left, "I must tell my friends and neighbors of sin and of Jesus." Yet he trembled in view of his own weakness, and the temptations that might befall him. Nothing was heard from him for two weeks, when Priest Eshoo was sent to his village, and found him in his own house, telling his friends "of sin and of Jesus." He had erected the family altar, and at that moment was surrounded by a company weeping for their sins. So changed was his whole character, and so earnest were his exhortations, that for a time some looked on him as insane; but the sight of his meekness and forgiving love under despiteful usage amazed them, and gave them an idea of vital piety they never had before. He returned to Oroomiah, bringing with him his wife, another child, and brother, and soon found his way to Miss Fiske's room.

As he opened the door, she stood on the opposite side; but the tears were in his eyes, and extending his hand as he approached, he said, "I know you did not believe me; but you will love me—will you not?" And she did love him, and wondered at her own want of faith. In a few days, he was able to tell Mr. Stocking, with holy joy, that two of his brothers were anxiously seeking the way of life. His own growth in grace surprised every one, and his views of salvation by grace were remarkably clear and accurate.

When his daughter returned to school, on the 30th of March, she was accompanied by one of her father's brothers, who seemed to have cast away his own righteousness, and to rely on Christ alone for pardon. As no missionary had conversed with him, Mr. Stocking felt desirous to know how he had been led into the kingdom, and learned that he had promised Deacon Guwergis to spend the Sabbath with one of the native teachers of the Female Seminary. This teacher and others prayed with him, till he threw away his dagger, saying, "I have no more use for this," and in tears cried out, "What shall I do to be saved?" He gave no evidence then of having submitted to Christ, but in his mountain home he seemed to make a full surrender, and became well acquainted with the mercy seat. The native helpers felt that he was moving heavenward faster than themselves. In April, it was found that as many as nine persons in Hakkie, the village of Deacon Guwergis, gave evidence of regeneration, five of them members of his own family; and the whole village listened to the truth which the zealous deacon constantly taught.

He always remembered the school as his spiritual birthplace, and ever loved to pray for it. Once, when rising from his knees in the Male Seminary, where he had been leading in evening devotion, he exclaimed, "O God, forgive me. I forgot to pray for Miss Fiske's school." So he knelt again and prayed for it. And Mr. Stoddard said he did not think there was a smile on a single face, it was done with such manifest simplicity and godly sincerity.

In June, 1846, Miss Fiske visited Hakkie with Mr. and Mrs. Stocking. It was the first time ladies had been in the mountains, and the good deacon was greatly delighted. Labors were then commenced for females there that have been continued ever since. The annexed sketch will give a more vivid idea of the nature of such labors than the most accurate description. One day the party was toiling up a rough ascent, and the deacon, as much at home among the rocks as the wild goats, offered his assistance. The reply was, "We get on very well." At once his eyes filled, and he said, "You once helped me in a worse road; may I not now help you?" And his aid was at once gratefully accepted. At the top of the hill, while the party rested, they heard his voice far off among the clefts of the rocks, pleading for them and their relatives in distant America.

[Illustration: MISSIONARY SCENE IN TEEGAWER.]

After his conversion, the deacon devoted himself to labors for souls, especially in the mountains. One might always see a tear and a smile on his face, and he was ever ready, as at first, to speak "of sin and of Jesus." He traversed the mountains many times on foot, with his Testament and hymn book in his knapsack. In the rugged passes, he would sing, "Rock of Ages, cleft for me," and at the spring by the wayside, "There is a fountain filled with blood" flowed spontaneously from his lips. He warned every man, night and day, with tears, and pointed them to Jesus as their only hope. He rested from his labors March 12th, 1856, and, as his mind wandered in the delirium of that brain fever, he dwelt much on those days when he first learned the way to Christ. He would say, "O, Miss Fiske was right when she pointed out that way;" and then he would shout, "Free grace! free grace!" till he sunk away unconscious. Again he would say, "That blessed Mr. Stocking! O, it was free grace." These were almost his last words. The daughter who prayed with him that first Saturday was by his dying bed, and her voice in prayer was the last earthly sound that fell upon his ear.