by Alice Belle Garrigus


A description of Bro. Gillett's trip to Labrador to settle, given by an eye-witness, can only cause deep gratitude to God, that He still has men who are willing to go forth at His call_"not knowing whither." It was in October, 1937, and unusually severe storms were taking their toll of lite and property at sea when our brother, his wife and three children, the youngest about three years, with a co-worker, Bro. Aleck Palmer, started on their perilous journey.

"Whosoever was not found written in the Book of Life was cast into the Lake of Fire." (Rev. 20; 15.)

Bro. E. Vaters, Supt. of the Pentecostal work of Newfoundland, accompanied them as far as Horse Island. On their way to the Island, a terrible storm that wrecked many large schooners, struck them and it looked hopeless. The night before God woke a sister, many miles inland, and told her they were in great danger and to pray. He also showed her who was in the boat. She prayed through to victory. It was reported the boat was lost, but the boat that God mans is unsinkable.

The proud Titanic may make its boasts but sink like a stone off our shores, but the little boat with its precious fright carrying good tidings rides the waves triumphantly, for God is with her.

The missionaries' outfit is always a matter of great import- ance. A description of our missionaries' outfit as seen by an eye- witness speaks for itself. An old battered arm chair, part of a bedstead and some bundles was all that visible, and so they faced a Labrador winter, arriving there with $15 and no home.

I said this was all the visible outfit, but they had the invisible outfit of perfect faith in God and one purpose in lifeHe did so, but it was the sleep "from which none ever wakes to weep."

Three other precious Workers have gone down under this dread diseaseSr. Blanch Lear of Port De Grave and Sr. Elsie Pike of St. John's. This last sang her way through the pearly gates. "They die well," Wesley said of his, and so say we of ours.

The last loving call to sinners to come to Jesus, then the lights are turned out of the Clarke's Beach Assembly hall. A little company with the faithful pastor, wend their way across the frozen pond. They had not gone far when the white snow became crimson with the life blood of their beloved pastor. Tenderly he was carried back and laid on the altar from which he so recently had pled with sinners. His work was finished, his voice silent and our faithful Bro. Fred Morgan entered into the joy of the Lord. "Dead?" No, not dead, but more alive than ever.

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