Paul Anderson, at once, went to Hawk and said, “I think it would be good to hold a service to thank God for sparing our lives.”
“Go ahead, preacher,” Hawk said. “You don’t have to ask my permission.”
At once Anderson moved among the travelers, announcing the service. After they had set up camp, almost the entire group gathered together beside the river. The skies were clear, but there was a bite in the air, a reminder that winter would soon be upon them. The wind was blowing, but the men removed their hats, which they rarely did for any occasion, and the breeze stirred their hair.
Paul Anderson stood upon a small rise and looked out over his small congregation. He paused for a moment, then said, “Patrick, would you lead us in a few hymns?”
Patrick, who had a fine tenor voice, began to sing, and soon the voices of the others joined him. As he led them in the hymn, “O God, Our Help in Ages Past,” by Isaac Watts, the words of the first stanza took on new and added meaning to all who were singing:
O God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast,
And our eternal home!
At first the service seemed rather feeble, for there was a sense of loneliness in the great wilderness. The trees swayed about them like giants, and already the leaves were beginning to turn colors. But there was something about the young minister that spoke of hope. After the singing was over, he read his text, which came from Matthew 5:6. “Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.”
He turned the pages of his Bible and said, “Let me read another verse.” He read the verse aloud in a clear voice, “‘As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God.’ And let me add to these one more verse to tie all things together. In the fourth chapter of the book of John, Jesus met a woman. He was tired and thirsty, so He asked her for a drink of water. She was surprised by His request, because men did not speak to women, especially Jewish men to Samaritan women. Jesus said, ‘If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith to thee, Give me to drink; thou wouldest have asked of him, and he would have given thee living water.’”
Hawk had posted himself at the rear of the crowd, as was his custom. He never put himself any place close to the front and usually kept completely out of sight. Sometimes he left rather than listen to the preaching. Yet there was something in the particular Scriptures that Paul had read that seemed to reach out and touch him. He could not help but recall his encounter with the deer a few years ago and what Sequatchie had said about it. Curious, he decided to listen to what Paul had to say.
Rhoda Harper, however, was at the front of the crowd. She stood there wearing a simple butternut dress. Her hair, tied with a dark blue ribbon, hung down her back like a cascade, fine and shining in the sun. She looked up at Anderson, her lips slightly parted, as he continued to speak.
“I think all of us have been on this journey long enough to clearly understand what the writer of the Psalms meant when he said, ‘As the hart, or deer, gets thirsty for water, so I get thirsty for God.’ Right now we’ve been through rainstorms, so there’s water everywhere, but I’m sure that Sequatchie or Hawk could tell us about those times of drought when all of the creeks dry up, when the trees begin to shrivel from the heat, and when the ordinary sources that furnish drink for the wild beast begin to disappear. It isn’t too hard to imagine a deer that has wandered long in the forest, kicking up dust, his tongue swollen, his eyes glazed with thirst as he stumbles desperately through the forest. Finally he comes onto a little creek, perhaps only a foot wide. But we can imagine how his ears might be raised, his eyes would brighten, and he would begin to run. And we can think how it would be when he would bow his head and lower his nose to drink of the cooling water. What a relief!”
Looking around at the men, women, and children gathered, Anderson said, “I reached that point in my life, in my search for God, when I was a very young man. Oh, how I longed for God! Very much like that deer longed for water, you see. I attended the house of God. I heard sermons. I read the Bible, and all the time I grew drier and drier until my spirit shriveled up within me. . . .”
Anderson went on to describe his search for God as being a hopeless thing, and then he lifted his voice and a smile came to his lips. He raised his Bible over his head and called with a powerful voice, “But then one day I found the water that I had sought for. Like the hart found that brook in the forest, so my heart found God! I discovered, as the woman at the well did, that Jesus is the water that we all thirst for. He’s what keeps our spirit from drying up and burning to a crisp. Blessed be God who satisfies the thirst of His people!”
Hawk had been listening carefully. He had seen deer during periods of drought in exactly the condition that Anderson described. He had seen them when they died for lack of water, their carcasses shrunken in the arid wilderness, and he himself had suffered the pangs of thirst, and knew well what it was to come upon a small pool or stream when his tongue was parched and his lips cracked. He remembered more than once throwing himself down, burying his face in a small stream after nearly dying for lack of moisture. He shifted his weight, and his bronze face grew still. He realized there was a truth in all of this that he was missing in his life, and as Anderson went on, speaking of men who hunger and thirst after righteousness being filled, a longing began to grow in him. Hawk had thought his spirit was dead to the things of God. Standing there, holding his musket as usual, he looked down with shock and saw that his hands were actually shaking. I didn’t think anything in the world could make me do that! he thought. Clamping his jaw shut, he shook his shoulders and was tempted to turn and go away, but something about the words of the preacher held him as tightly as if his moccasins were fastened to the ground with thongs.
Hawk was not the only one stirred. Rhoda Harper was shaking too, and as the sermon came to an end, Anderson said, “If there is one of you out there who is thirsty for God, let me tell you that the water of life is still flowing. Jesus still says, ‘Come and drink of my waters! Oh, do not turn away from God and die thirsty and arid and dry. Come to the fountain and drink of the water!’ The prophet cried out, ‘Ho, everyone that thirsteth. Come and drink and be filled.’ I want you this morning to come and to taste of that water. Jesus said to that woman at the well years ago, ‘If you drink of the water that I give you, you will never thirst again,’ and I promise you it’s true. You may say, I’m not worthy. I’ve sinned too greatly.” Anderson’s voice rose with emotion. “Jesus is the Friend of sinners. If you’re a sinner, He’s your friend. Won’t you come to that Friend and let us pray that you might find forgiveness and life itself?”
Without being told, Patrick MacNeal began to sing a new hymn written by William Cowper, “There is a fountain filled with blood. . . .” And as he did, Rhoda Harper wanted desperately to move forward, but somehow she could not. Hawk was watching her, and he also was stirred, but the hardness of his heart was as yet unbroken.
One person began to weep and go forward—Iris Taylor, the wife of the brutal Zeke Taylor. She fell on her knees, and at once Elizabeth went to her and began to pray with her. She prayed quietly as she held her arms around the sobbing woman. After a few words, Elizabeth led Iris Taylor through a simple prayer.
Looking up at Anderson with tears running down her face, Elizabeth said, “Thank God. She’s found the Lord Jesus.”
As soon as Anderson dismissed the group, the families went back to their wagons to prepare the meal. There was considerable rejoicing among the fervent Christians of the wagon train. Elizabeth and Paul stayed to talk to Iris for a few moments. The usual fear that had clouded the poor woman’s face for so long was now gone. Though filled with tears, there was a peace about the woman’s eyes.
“I feel like I’m not alone in this anymore,” she said, wiping her face with the handkerchief Elizabeth handed her.
Paul looked at Elizabeth, then turne
d back to Iris and said, “Iris, we all know it has not been easy for you with your husband. If you ever feel a need to pray, I’m sure Elizabeth would be happy to pray with you.”
“Thank you. I . . . I’m not sure what’s going to happen now, but I know it’s going to be better.”
“God has accepted you, Mrs. Taylor,” Paul assured her. “And He will guide you and help you.” As Iris walked back to her wagon, Paul wondered how things would go for her.
Zeke Taylor, however, was taken aback when he saw his wife approach. The look on her face was something he had never seen in his married life. His wife had tearstains on her face, but a new light shone in her eyes.
Iris looked at her husband and said quietly, “Ezekiel, you’ve been a hard man, and you’ve made my life miserable. I’ve been afraid of you almost since the day we got married. I want to tell you something. I’m going to be a good wife to you—but I’m not afraid of you anymore.” She smiled and tears appeared in her eyes. “I’m going to pray that you will find Jesus as I have, then you won’t be miserable, and you won’t have to drink no more.”
Zeke Taylor was shocked down to his boots. He stared at his wife, unable to think of a word to say. Amanda came and put her arms around her mother, holding tightly to her. The two watched the face of the husband and father. Each of them expected him to go into a rage, but instead a puzzled expression came across his face, and to the shock of both, he scratched his head and said, “Well, if you’ve got religion, I’m glad of it. Maybe it will make you a better wife.” He gnawed his lip and seemed about to say something else but turned away.
Amanda said, “Mama, is he going to be better to us?”
“Yes, he is. We’re going to obey Jesus, and he’s going to be saved, too. You’ll see.”
****
Andrew MacNeal had been listening to Paul Anderson’s sermons since the train had left Williamsburg. He had not been particularly impressed—not until he had seen Iris Taylor fall to her knees. Somehow when she did, he began to feel afraid. He had listened to the sermon, but he had heard sermons before. All afternoon he tried to put the thing out of his mind. He played with the other boys, laughing and shouting. They found the trail of a deer in the forest, and although they were forbidden to go far, it was exciting to imagine a day when they would become long hunters like Hawk, who had become their idol.
But despite this outward hilarity, Andrew grew steadily more thoughtful. This disturbed him, and finally he left the group and sat down by himself. Taking out the new knife that his father had bought for him at the Anderson store back in Williamsburg, he began whittling listlessly on a stick. Finally, he just sat there and stared at the stick.
“Well, I don’t see you this still very often, son.”
Andrew looked up to see his father, who had come and was standing beside him. “Don’t you feel well?”
Andrew hesitated. “I guess so,” he said.
Instantly Patrick read something unusual in the boy’s face. He sat down beside him, and for a time the two spoke of the things they’d do when they reached the settlement of Watauga. Finally Patrick turned and said, “I think I know you pretty well, Andy. What’s wrong? You worried about something? Young fellows worry about things. I did when I was your age.”
“I don’t know, Pa. I just feel funny.”
“You mean you’re sick to your stomach?”
“No, it’s something about what happened to Mrs. Taylor.”
“Oh, I see.” Patrick became thoughtful and looked down at Andrew. He looks so much like his mother and her grandfather. He admired the wavy blond hair and the blue eyes that were now quiet and thoughtful. He said kindly, “I guess all of us think about God sometimes. Maybe it’s your time, son.”
“My time for what?”
“Well, everybody has to make up their mind about the Lord. Most things don’t matter too much, but the most important thing for any of us is what we will do with Jesus Christ.”
Andrew grew very still. The name seemed to have power over him. “What . . . what do I have to do to get rid of this feeling?”
“I think the feeling comes from God, so don’t be afraid. Everybody feels that way at some time or other. It’s God trying to catch our attention. It’s kind of like fear, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is, Pa. I . . . I do feel a little bit afraid,” he confessed. “If I was to die, I don’t know where I’d go.”
“Well, let’s talk about this, son.” Patrick MacNeal began to speak quietly. For a long time he spoke of God’s love and His law, putting them in very simple terms. He stressed how everybody needed God, because everybody has sinned against God. Then he spoke of the death of Jesus, and finally he said, “I think this might be your time, Andrew. Some people wait until they’re old before they let God come into their lives, but the older you get the harder it is, I think.”
“Mrs. Taylor got saved.”
“Yes, she did, and I thank God for it. But it would have been easier for her if she’d been saved when she was your age.”
“I don’t know. It scares me to think about it.”
“Well, you know, son, I’m glad you are afraid. That means you’re serious about it. But Jesus died for you, and that means He loves you. Anybody who would die for you has to love you. You know, I’ve heard you memorize the Scriptures that your grandfather taught you. You know a lot of them already. I’ll bet I know your favorite.”
“Yes, sir, John three, sixteen. It’s always been my favorite.”
“My favorite, too, and it’s so simple.”
“But, Pa, how do I become a Christian?”
“The Scriptures say you have to be born again. You were born my son by flesh and blood, and that’s not going to change. You’re always going to be my son. But you need to be born of the Spirit. It’s very simple. You just call on God and tell Him that you need Him, that you’ve done wrong things, and you want to live for Him. You tell Him that you believe in Jesus, and you want Him as your Savior.”
“I don’t know how to say all that, Pa!”
“You just talk to God the best way you know, and He’ll understand. I’ll tell you what, son. Why don’t I just say a prayer, and while I’m praying out loud, you just call on God in your heart. Tell Him you’re sorry for what you’ve done, and that you want Jesus to come into your heart.”
“Do you think He’d do it for me?”
“He said, ‘Whosoever will, may come.’ You trust Him, and you’ll see.” Patrick MacNeal began to pray for his son. His heart was full, but he prayed simply for God to make himself known to the boy who sat beside him. When he finished the prayer, he turned and saw that Andrew was trembling. “Did you ask God to do something for you, son?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
Patrick hesitated. It was so easy to lead young people to say things that they didn’t feel. He waited for some time, and finally Andrew went on.
“I asked him to make me a Christian, and”—he looked up at his father and there were tears glimmering in his eyes—“I don’t know how it’s supposed to feel, but I just feel—well, like I did something right. And that fear that was in my stomach, it’s all gone.”
“Jesus always takes away the fear,” Patrick said. “I want you to remember this spot, Andrew. Look at it. This very log. Put it in your mind. I want you to sit here for a while, and I’ll stay with you. Don’t ever forget it. Look at those trees, at that river there, and the wagons.”
“Why do you want me to remember this spot, Pa? It’s just like a lot of other spots.”
“No it’s not. It’s like no other spot in the world. We’ll leave here tomorrow, and maybe tomorrow night, or the night after, or a week from now you’ll begin to think, ‘Ah, there was nothing to that stuff about God! I’m not really a Christian.’ That’ll be the devil putting that in your heart, and you tell him, ‘Yes, I am saved. I can take you back to the place. It was beside a group of walnut trees, and there’s a log down there my dad and I sat on, and that’s when I asked Jesus in
to my heart.’ You tell the devil that and he’ll flee.”
Andrew brightened up. “Is that right, Pa?”
“That’s right. This will always be the place where you can go in your mind and say, ‘I remember that day on September 16, 1770, I asked God to save me, and He did it.’”
****
Rhoda Harper was an emotional wreck. The sermon had torn her to pieces, and as soon as the meeting was over, she turned and walked quickly away, not wishing to speak to anyone. She wanted to get away from the train and put her hands over her ears, for it seemed she could still hear the voice of Paul Anderson saying, “Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness.”
“Why can’t I do what Iris Taylor did?” she whispered in despair. Still, something in her would not turn loose, and for a long time she walked, hoping the misery that weighted her down would go away.
She was startled when a figure moved in beside her, and she gasped when she saw Jacques Cartier.
“What are you doing out here, little pigeon?”
“Don’t call me that anymore! I never liked it!”
Jacques Cartier was surprised. He scowled and his eyes grew small. “You’re getting hard to handle. Why haven’t you done more to get this wagon train to turn back?”
“I couldn’t do anything. Besides, it was wrong to poison that water. Some of these people nearly died!”
“If you would have put a little more in, maybe two or three of them would have died, then they would have turned back!”
“I’m not going to do anything like that again!” she said and started to head back down the trail to the wagons.
Cartier grabbed her by the arm and said, “Shut your mouth or I will close it for you! Maybe for good!”
Rhoda had always been frightened of the man, but now, somehow, it didn’t seem to matter. She looked up fearlessly into his face. “Why are you doing all this, Jacques? What do you care whether this little group of settlers finds a home in the wilderness?”
Over the Misty Mountains Page 27
