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Title: John G. Paton, Missionary to the New Hebrides: first part : An autobiography
Author: Paton, John G.
Language: English
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THE NEW HEBRIDES: FIRST PART ***
JOHN G. PATON.
=An Autobiography.=
_FIRST PART._
NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION ILLUSTRATED.
JOHN G. PATON,
MISSIONARY TO THE NEW HEBRIDES.
AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
EDITED BY HIS BROTHER.
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY ARTHUR T. PIERSON, D.D.
Two vols. in box, 12mo, cloth, gilt top net $2.00.
=Ministerial Commendation.=
“I have just laid down the most robust and the most fascinating piece of
autobiography that I have met with in many a day.... John G. Paton was
made of the same stuff with Livingstone.”—_Theodore L. Cuyler, D.D._
“I consider it unsurpassed in missionary biography. In the whole course
of my extensive reading on these topics, a more stimulating, inspiring,
and every way first-class book has not fallen into my hands. Everybody
ought to read it.”—_Arthur T. Pierson, D.D._
=Missionary Praise.=
“I have never read a romance that was half so thrilling.”—_Lucius C.
Smith, Guanajuato, Mexico._
“I have never read a more inspiring biography.”—_Thomas C. Winn,
Yokohama, Japan._
“The Lord’s work will not go back while there are such men as he in the
church.”—_James A. Heal, Sing Kong, Cheh Kiang, China._
“I think I have never had greater pleasure in reading any book.”—_R.
Thacksweil, Dehra, North India._
=Press Notices.=
“Perhaps the most important addition for many years to the library of
missionary literature is the autobiography of John G. Paton.”—_The
Christian Advocate._
“We commend to all who would advance the cause of Foreign Missions this
remarkable autobiography. It stands with such books as those Dr.
Livingstone gave the world, and shows to men that the heroes of the
cross are not merely to be sought in past ages.”—_The Christian
Intelligencer._
Fleming H. Revell Company,
{ NEW YORK, 30 Union Square, E.
{ CHICAGO, 148 & 150 Madison Street.
[Illustration: John G. Paton.]
JOHN G. PATON,
MISSIONARY TO THE
NEW HEBRIDES.
=An Autobiography.=
EDITED BY HIS BROTHER.
_FIRST PART._
=New Illustrated Edition.=
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK CHICAGO
30 UNION SQUARE, EAST. 148–150 MADISON STREET.
INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
BY ARTHUR T. PIERSON, D.D.
Love is omnipotent. Wherever true passion for souls burns, there we may
find a new Mount of Transfiguration where the earthly takes on the
complexion of the heavenly.
This book presents an example of the power of such love and holy
enthusiasm, alike in one of the great cities of Scotland and in the
isles of the sea.
Even among the riches of missionary biography few such volumes as this
are to be found, and the most apathetic reader will find himself
fascinated by this charming romance of real life. It has been well said
that he who is not ready to preach the gospel everywhere and anywhere is
fit to preach it nowhere. Should every candidate for the office of the
ministry be first tried in some such field as the wynds of Glasgow, it
would prove a training in its way more profitable than any discipline in
the class-room; and it might so shake the “napkin” at the four corners
as to disclose whether or not there were in it even one “talent” for
winning souls.
We calmly affirm, after careful perusal, that this biography is not
surpassed, for stimulating, inspiring, and helpful narrative, by any
existing story of missionary heroism. Its peculiar value is twofold: it
shows how the most neglected and degraded masses of our cities may be
reached by Christian effort, and it illustrates the spirit of missions
on the wider field of south sea cannibalism. Our only regret is that
this story of missionary labor is not carried on to its successful
issue. This volume leaves us eagerly expectant of what is promised as
the sequel.
He who doubts whether there is a supernatural factor in missions, should
carefully read this narrative. What but the power of God could turn the
demon of drink into a ministering angel, or the blasphemer into a
praying saint, or out of the mouth of hell withdraw the half-devoured
wretch who was desperately bent on suicide?
Let those who sit quietly at home in their easy-chairs, or who make
rousing addresses or write stirring articles on city evangelization and
the estrangement of the masses from the church, follow this heroic city
missionary as he dives into the depths of all this depravity and
degradation, and demonstrates what the love of souls and the gospel of
life can do to rescue those who are drowning in the abyss of perdition.
PREFACE.
The Manuscript of this Volume, put together in a rough draft amid
ceaseless and exacting toils, was placed in my hands and left absolutely
to my disposal by my beloved brother, the Missionary.
It has been to me a labour of perfect love to re-write and revise the
same, pruning here and expanding there, and preparing the whole for the
press. In the incidents of personal experience, constituting the larger
part of the book, the reader peruses in an almost unaltered form the
graphic and simple narrative as it came from my brother’s pen. But, as
many sections have been re-cast and largely modified, especially in
those Chapters of whose events I was myself an eye-witness, or regarding
which I had information at first hand from the parties concerned
therein,—and as circumstances make it impossible to submit these in
their present shape to my brother before publication,—I must request the
Public to lay upon me, and not on him, all responsibility for the final
shape in which the Autobiography appears.
I publish it, because Something tells me there is a blessing in it.
_January, 1889._ JAMES PATON.
NOTE TO SECOND EDITION.
The Editor desires very gratefully to acknowledge his joy in receiving,
not only through Press Notices, but from Correspondents in every rank,
most ample confirmation of the assurance expressed by him in the last
sentence of the Original Preface—“There is a blessing in it.”
He has been urging his Brother to complete, as soon as he possibly can,
Part Second of the Autobiography; and he hopes that the call for this
Second Edition of Part First at so early a date will successfully
enforce his appeal.
_February, 1889._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
_EARLIER DAYS._
PAGE
Introductory Note 3
Kirkmahoe 4
Torthorwald Village 5
Our Villagers 6
Nithsdale Scenes 7
Our Cottage Home 9
Our Forebears 12
An Idyll of the Heart 16
A Consecrated Father 19
Accepted Vows 21
Happy Sabbath Days 22
Golden Autumn of Life 26
CHAPTER II.
_AT SCHOOL AND COLLEGE._
A Typical Scottish School 31
An Unacknowledged Prize 32
A Wayward Master 33
Learning a Trade 33
My Father’s Prayers 34
“Jehovah Jireh” 34
With Sappers and Miners 36
The Harvest Field 38
On the Road to Glasgow 39
A Memorable Parting 40
Before the Examiners 42
Killing Work 43
Deep Waters 44
Maryhill School 45
Rough School Scenes 46
“Aut Cæsar Aut Nullus” 48
My Wages 49
CHAPTER III.
_IN GLASGOW CITY MISSION._
“He Leadeth Me” 53
A Degraded District 55
The Gospel in a Hay-Loft 56
New Mission Premises 58
At Work for Jesus 59
At War with Hell 62
Sowing Gospel Seed 64
Publicans on the War Path 65
Marched to the Police Office 67
Papists and Infidels 69
An Infidel Saved 70
An Infidel in Despair 71
A Brand from the Burning 72
A Saintly Child 75
Papists in Arms 77
Elder and Student 81
CHAPTER IV.
_FOREIGN MISSION CLAIMS._
The Wail of the Heathen 85
A Missionary Wanted 85
Two Souls on the Altar 87
Lions in the Path 89
The Old Folks at Home 92
Successors in Green Street Mission 95
Old Green Street Hands 97
A Father in God 97
CHAPTER V.
_THE NEW HEBRIDES._
License and Ordination 101
At Sea 102
From Melbourne to Aneityum 102
Settlement on Tanna 105
Our Mission Stations 106
Diplomatic Chiefs 107
Painful First Impressions 108
Bloody Scenes 109
The Widow’s Doom 111
CHAPTER VI.
_LIFE AND DEATH ON TANNA._
Our Island Home 115
Learning the Language 116
A Religion of Fear 118
With or Without a God 119
Ideas of the Invisible 120
Gods and Demons 121
My Companion Missionary 122
Pioneers in New Hebrides 123
Missionaries of Aneityum 125
The Lord’s Arrowroot 126
Unhealthy Sites 127
The Great Bereavement 129
Memorial Tributes 131
Selwyn and Patteson at a Tanna Grave 133
Her Last Letter 134
Last Words 137
Presentiment and Mystery 138
CHAPTER VII.
_MISSION LEAVES FROM TANNA._
Tannese Natives 141
“Tabooed” 142
Jehovah’s Rain 143
“Big Hays” 144
War and Cannibalism 145
The Lot of Woman 146
Sacred Days 148
Preaching in Villages 149
Native Teachers 150
The War Shell 151
Deadly Superstitions 152
A League of Blood 154
Chiefs in Council 155
Defence of Women 157
A League of Peace 157
Secret Disciples 159
A Christo-Heathen Funeral 159
Clever Thieves 160
Ships of Fire 164
H.M.S. _Cordelia_ 166
Captain Vernon and Miaki 167
The Captain and the Chiefs 168
The _John Williams_ 169
Evanescent Impressions 170
A House on the Hill 171
In Fever Grips 171
“Noble Old Abraham” 172
Critics in Easy Chairs 174
CHAPTER VIII.
_MORE MISSION LEAVES FROM TANNA._
The Blood-Fiend Unleashed 179
In the Camp of the Enemy 180
A Typical South Sea Trader 182
Young Rarip’s Death 183
The Trader’s Retribution 185
Worship and War 186
Saved from Strangling 187
Wrath Restrained 188
Under the Axe 191
The Clubbing of Namuri 193
A Native Saint and Martyr 195
Bribes Refused 197
Widows Rescued 197
The Sinking of a Well 198
Church-Building on Tanna 199
Ancient Stone God 201
Printing First Tannese Book 201
A Christian Captain 203
Levelled Muskets 204
A French Refugee 205
A Villainous Captain 208
Like Master—Like Men 209
Wrecked on Purpose 212
The Kanaka Traffic 213
A Heathen Festival 215
Sacrifices to Idols 218
Heathen Dance and Sham Fight 219
Six Native Teachers 221
A Homeric Episode 222
Victims for Cannibal Feast 223
The Jaws of Death 224
_Nahak_ or Sorcery 226
Killing me by Nahak 227
Nahak Defied 229
Protected by Jehovah 230
“Almost Persuaded” 231
Escorted to the Battle-Field 232
Praying for Enemies 233
Our Canoe on the Reef 233
A Perilous Pilgrimage 236
Rocks and Waters 237
CHAPTER IX.
_DEEPENING SHADOWS._
Welcome Guests 243
A Fiendish Deed 244
The Plague of Measles 245
A Heroic Soul 246
Horrors of Epidemic 247
A Memorable New Year 248
A Missionary Attacked 249
In the Valley of the Shadow 251
Blow from an Adze 252
A Missionary’s Death 253
Mrs. Johnston’s Letter 255
A Heavy Loss 256
The Story of Kowia 256
Kowia’s Soliloquy 258
The Passing of Kowia 259
Mortality of Measles 261
Fuel to the Fire 262
Hurricanes 262
A Spate of Blood and Terror 263
Nowar Vacillates 265
The Anger of the Gods 265
Not Afraid to Die 266
Martyrs of Erromanga 267
Visit to the Gordons 268
Their Martyrdom 269
Vindication of the Gordons 270
Gordon’s Last Letter 272
Plots of Murder 273
Death by Nahak 275
Nowar Halting Again 275
Old Abraham’s Prayer 277
Miaki and the Mission House 278
Satanic Influences 280
Perplexity Deepening 280
Bishop Selwyn’s Testimony 281
Rotten Tracts 283
Captain and Mate of _Blue Bell_ 285
My Precious Dog 287
Fishing Nets and Kawases 288
The Taro Plant 290
The Kava Drink 290
Katasian and the Club Scene 291
The Yams 292
Sunshine and Shadow 292
Teachers Demoralized 293
The Chief’s Alphabet 294
Our Evil Genius 295
Ships of Fire Again 295
Commodore Seymour’s Visit 296
Nouka and Queen ’Toria 297
The Dog to his Vomit Again 298
CHAPTER X.
_FAREWELL SCENES._
The War Fever 303
Forced to the War Council 305
A Truce Among the Chiefs 306
Chiefs and People 308
The Kiss of Judas 309
The Death of Ian 309
The Quivering Knife 310
A War of Revenge 312
In the Thick of the Battle 313
Tender Mercies of the Wicked 315
Escape for Life 316
The Loss of All 317
Under the Tomahawk 318
Jehovah is Hearing 318
The Host Turned Back 320
The War Against Manuman 320
Traps Laid 321
House Broken Up 322
War Against Our Friends 322
A Treacherous Murderer 323
On the Chestnut Tree 324
Bargaining for Life 325
Five Hours in a Canoe 328
Kneeling on the Sands 329
Faimungo’s Farewell 330
“Follow! Follow!” 331
A Race for Life 332
Ringed Round with Death 334
Faint yet Pursuing 336
Out of the Lion’s Jaws 337
Brothers in Distress 339
Intervening Events 341
A Cannibal’s Taste 341
Pillars of Cloud and Fire 342
Passing by on the Other Side 344
Kapuku and the Idol Gods 344
A Devil Chief 344
“In Perils Oft” 345
Through Fire and Water 345
“Sail O! Sail O!” 349
“Let Me Die” 350
In Perils on the Sea 351
Tannese Visitors 352
The Devil Chief Again 353
Speckled and Spotted 354
Their Desired Haven 355
“I am Left Alone” 355
My Earthly All 356
Eternal Hope 356
Australia to the Rescue 357
For My Brethren’s Sake 358
A New Holy League 358
The Uses of Adversity 359
Arm-chair Critics Again 360
Concluding Note 361
Prospectus of Part Second 362
APPENDIX.
A. The Prayer of the Chiefs of Tanna 367
B. Notes on the New Hebrides 371
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PORTRAIT OF JOHN G. PATON _Frontispiece_.
“THE MAN THAT KILLS MISSI MUST FIRST KILL ME” _To face p._ 156
NATIVES STEALING PROPERTY „ 160
NATIVES RETURNING STOLEN PROPERTY „ 164
“THERE THEY LAY ME ON COCOA-NUT LEAVES ON THE GROUND” „ 172
“AT DAYBREAK I FOUND MY HOUSE SURROUNDED” „ 188
THE DANGEROUS LANDING THROUGH THE SURF „ 234
“SUDDENLY HE DREW A LARGE BUTCHER-LIKE KNIFE” „ 310
SPRINGING FORWARD HE CAUGHT THE CLUB „ 342
MAP OF THE NEW HEBRIDES „ 100
CHAPTER I.
_EARLIER DAYS._
Introductory Note.—Kirkmahoe.—Torthorwald Village.—Our
Villagers.—Nithsdale Scenes.—Our Cottage Home.—Our Forebears.—An
Idyll of the Heart.—A Consecrated Father.—Accepted Vows.—Happy
Sabbath Days.—Golden Autumn of Life.
What I write here is for the glory of God. For more than twenty years
have I been urged to record my story as a missionary of the Cross; but
always till now, in my sixty-fourth year, my heart has shrunk from the
task, as savouring too much of self. Latterly the conviction has been
borne home to me that if there be much in my experience which the Church
of God ought to know, it would be pride on my part, and not humility, to
let it die with me. I lift my pen, therefore, with that motive supreme
in my heart; and, so far as memory and entries in my note-books and
letters of my own and of other friends serve or help my sincere desire
to be truthful and fair, the following chapters will present a faithful
picture of the life through which the Lord has led me. If it bows any of
my readers under as deep and certain a confidence as mine, that in
“God’s hand our breath is, and His are all our ways,” my task will not
be fruitless in the Great Day.
On the 24th May, 1824, I was born in a cottage on the farm of Braehead,
in the parish of Kirkmahoe, near Dumfries, in the south of Scotland. My
father, James Paton, was a stocking manufacturer in a small way; and he
and his young wife, Janet Jardine Rogerson, lived on terms of warm
personal friendship with the “gentleman farmer,” so they gave me his
name, John _Gibson_; and the curly-haired child of the cottage was soon
able to toddle across to the mansion, and became a great pet of the lady
there. More than once, in my many journeyings, have I met with one or
another, in some way connected with that family, and heard little
incidents not needing to be repeated here, showing how beautiful and
tender and altogether human was the relationship in those days betwixt
the landlord and the cottars on his estate. On my last visit to
Scotland, sixty years after, I drove to Braehead in company with my
youngest brother James and my cousin David,—the latter born the same
week as I, and the former nearly twenty years my junior; and we found no
cottage, nor trace of a cottage, but amused ourselves by supposing that
we could discover by the rising of the grassy mound, the outline where
the foundations once had been! Of ten thousand homes in Scotland, once
sweet and beautiful, each a little possible Paradise in its own
well-cultivated plot, this is true to-day; and where are the healthy,
happy peasant boys and girls that such homes bred and reared? They are
sweltering and struggling for existence in our towns and cities. I am
told that this must be—that it is all the result of economic laws; but I
confess to a deepening conviction that it need not be, and that the loss
to the nation as a whole is vital, if not irreparable.
While yet a mere child, five years or so of age, my parents took me to a
new home in the ancient village of Torthorwald, about four and a quarter
miles north from Dumfries, on the road to Lockerbie. At that time, about
1830, Torthorwald was a busy and thriving village, and comparatively
populous, with its cottars and crofters, large farmers and small
farmers, weavers and shoemakers, cloggers and coopers, blacksmiths and
tailors. Fifty-five years later, when I last visited the scenes of my
youth, the village proper was literally extinct, except for five
thatched cottages where the lingering patriarchs were permitted to die
slowly away,—when they too would be swept into the large farms, and
their garden plots ploughed over, like sixty or seventy others that had
been obliterated! Of course the Village Smithy still survives, but its
sparks are few and fading,—the great cultivators patronizing rather the
towns. The Meal Mill still grinds away,—but nothing like what it did
when every villager bought or cultivated his few acres of corn, and
every crofter and farmer in the parish sent all his grist to the mill.
The Grocer’s Shop still recalls the well-known name of Robert Henderson;
but so few are the mouths now to be fed, that his warm-hearted wife and
universal favourite, the very heroine of our village life, “Jean Grier,”
is retiring from it in disgust, and leaving it to her son-in-law,
declaring that “these Tory landlords and their big farms hae driven our
folks a’ awa’, and spoiled the Schule and the Shop, the Kirk and the
Mill.” And verily the School is robbed of its children, and the Parish
Church of its worshippers, when five families only are reared where
twenty once flourished! Political economy may curse me, if it will; but
I heard with grim satisfaction that this system of large farming, which
extinguishes our village homes, and sends our peasantry to rear their
children in lanes and alleys, in attics and cellars of populous towns,
was proving ruinous at length to the landlords and factors, who had in
many cases cruelly forced it on an unwilling people for mere selfish
gain.
The Villagers of my early days—the agricultural servants, or occasional
labourers, the tradesmen, the small farmers—were, generally speaking, a
very industrious and thoroughly independent race of people. Hard workers
they had to be, else they would starve; yet they were keen debaters on
all affairs both in Church and State, and sometimes in the “smiddy” or
the “kiln,” sometimes in a happy knot on the “village green,” or on the
road to the “kirk” or the “market,” the questions that were tearing the
mighty world beyond were fought over again by secluded peasants with
amazing passion and bright intelligence.
From the Bank Hill, close above our village, and accessible in a walk of
fifteen minutes, a view opens to the eye which, despite several easily
understood prejudices of mine that may discount any opinion that I
offer, still appears to me well worth seeing amongst all the beauties of
Scotland. At your feet lay a thriving village, every cottage sitting in
its own plot of garden, and sending up its blue cloud of “peat reek,”
which never somehow seemed to pollute the blessed air; and after all has
been said or sung, a beautifully situated village of healthy and happy
homes for God’s children is surely the finest feature in every
landscape! There nestled the Manse amongst its ancient trees, sometimes
wisely, sometimes foolishly tenanted, but still the “man’s house,” the
man of God’s house, when such can be found for it. There, close by, the
Parish School, where rich and poor met together on equal terms, as God’s
children; and we learned that brains and character make the only
aristocracy worth mentioning. Yonder, amid its graves, that date back on
crumbling stone five hundred years, stands the Village Church; and
there, on its little natural hill, at the end of the village, rises the
old tower of Torthorwald, frowning over all the far-sweeping valley of
the Nith, and telling of days of blood and Border foray. It was one of
the many castles of the Kirkpatricks, and its enormous and imperishable
walls seem worthy of him who wrote the legend of his family in the blood
of the Red Comyn, stabbed in the Greyfriars Church of Dumfries, when he
smote an extra blow to that of Bruce, and cried, “I mak’ siccar.”
Beyond, betwixt you and the Nith, crawls the slow-creeping Lochar
towards the Solway, through miles and miles of moss and heather,—the
nearest realization that I ever beheld of a “stagnant stream.” Looking
from the Bank Hill on a summer day, Dumfries with its spires shone so
conspicuous that you could have believed it not more than two miles
away; the splendid sweeping vale through which Nith rolls to Solway, lay
all before the naked eye, beautiful with village spires, mansion houses,
and white shining farms; the Galloway hills, gloomy and far-tumbling,
bounded the forward view, while to the left rose Criffel, cloud-capped
and majestic; then the white sands of Solway, with tides swifter than
horsemen; and finally the eye rested joyfully upon the hills of
Cumberland, and noticed with glee the blue curling smoke from its
villages on the southern Solway shores. Four miles behind you lie the
ruins of the Castle of the Bruce, within the domains of his own Royal
Burgh of Lochmaben; a few miles in front, the still beautiful and
amazing remains of Caerlaverock Castle, famous in many a Border story;
all around you, scattered throughout the dale of Nith, memories or ruins
of other baronial “keeps,” rich in suggestion to the peasant fancy!
Traditions lost nothing in bulk, or in graphic force, as they were
retold for the thousandth time by village patriarchs around the kindly
peat fire, with the younger rustics gaping round. A high spirit of
patriotism, and a certain glorious delight in daring enterprises, was
part of our common heritage.
There, amid this wholesome and breezy village life, our dear parents
found their home for the long period of forty years. There were born to
them eight additional children, making in all a family of five sons and
six daughters. Theirs was the first of the thatched cottages on the
left, past the “miller’s house,” going up the “village gate,” with a
small garden in front of it, and a large garden across the road; and it
is one of the few still lingering to show to a new generation what the
homes of their fathers were. The architect who planned it had no ideas
of art, but a fine eye for durability! It consists at present of three,
but originally of four, pairs of “oak couples” (Scotticé _kipples_),
planted like solid trees in the ground at equal intervals, and gently
sloped inwards till they meet or are “coupled” at the ridge, this
coupling being managed not by rusty iron, but by great solid pins of
oak. A roof of oaken wattles was laid across these, till within eleven
or twelve feet of the ground, and from the ground upwards a stone wall
was raised, as perpendicular as was found practicable, towards these
overhanging wattles, this wall being roughly “pointed” with sand and
clay and lime. Now into and upon the roof was woven and intertwisted a
covering of thatch, that defied all winds and weathers, and that made
the cottage marvellously cozy,—being renewed year by year, and never
allowed to remain in disrepair at any season. But the beauty of the
construction was and is its durability, or rather the permanence of its
oaken ribs! There they stand, after probably not less than four
centuries, japanned with “peat reek” till they are literally shining, so
hard that no ordinary nail can be driven into them, and perfectly
capable for service for four centuries more on the same conditions. The
walls are quite modern, having all been rebuilt in my father’s time,
except only the few great foundation boulders, piled around the oaken
couples; and parts of the roofing also may plead guilty to having found
its way thither only in recent days; but the architect’s one idea
survives, baffling time and change—the ribs and rafters of oak.
Our home consisted of a “but” and a “ben” and a “mid room,” or chamber,
called the “closet.” The one end was my mother’s domain, and served all
the purposes of dining-room and kitchen and parlour, besides containing
two large wooden erections, called by our Scotch peasantry “box-beds”;
not holes in the wall, as in cities, but grand, big, airy beds, adorned
with many-coloured counterpanes, and hung with natty curtains, showing
the skill of the mistress of the house. The other end was my father’s
workshop, filled with five or six “stocking frames,” whirring with the
constant action of five or six pairs of busy hands and feet, and
producing right genuine hosiery for the merchants at Hawick and
Dumfries. The “closet” was a very small apartment betwixt the other two,
having room only for a bed, a little table, and a chair, with a
diminutive window shedding diminutive light on the scene. This was the
Sanctuary of that cottage home. Thither daily, and oftentimes a day,
generally after each meal, we saw our father retire, and “shut to the
door”; and we children got to understand by a sort of spiritual instinct
(for the thing was too sacred to be talked about) that prayers were
being poured out there for us, as of old by the High Priest within the
veil in the Most Holy Place. We occasionally heard the pathetic echoes
of a trembling voice pleading as if for life, and we learned to slip out
and in past that door on tiptoe, not to disturb the holy colloquy. The
outside world might not know, but we knew, whence came that happy light
as of a new-born smile that always was dawning on my father’s face: it
was a reflection from the Divine Presence, in the consciousness of which
he lived. Never, in temple or cathedral, on mountain or in glen, can I
hope to feel that the Lord God is more near, more visibly walking and
talking with men, than under that humble cottage roof of thatch and
oaken wattles. Though everything else in religion were by some
unthinkable catastrophe to be swept out of memory, or blotted from my
understanding, my soul would wander back to those early scenes, and shut
itself up once again in that Sanctuary Closet, and, hearing still the
echoes of those cries to God, would hurl back all doubt with the
victorious appeal, “He walked with God, why may not I?”
A few notes had better here be given as to our “Forebears,” the kind of
stock from which my father and mother sprang. My father’s mother, Janet
Murray, claimed to be descended from a Galloway family that fought and
suffered for Christ’s Crown and Covenant in Scotland’s “killing time,”
and was herself a woman of a pronouncedly religious development. Her
husband, our grandfather, William Paton, had passed through a roving and
romantic career, before he settled down to a douce deacon of the weavers
of Dumfries, like his father before him.
Forced by a press-gang to serve on board a British man-of-war, he was
taken prisoner by the French, and thereafter placed under Paul Jones,
the pirate of the seas, and bore to his dying day the mark of a slash
from the captain’s sword across his shoulder for some slight disrespect
or offence. Determining with two others to escape, the three were hotly
pursued by Paul Jones’s men. One, who could swim but little, was shot,
and had to be cut adrift by the other two, who in the darkness swam into
a cave and managed to evade for two nights and a day the rage of their
pursuers. My grandfather, being young and gentle and yellow-haired,
persuaded some kind heart to rig him out in female attire, and in this
costume escaped the attentions of the press-gang more than once; till,
after many hardships, he bargained with the captain of a coal sloop to
stow him away amongst his black diamonds, and thus, in due time, he
found his way home to Dumfries, where he tackled bravely and wisely the
duties of husband, father, and citizen for the remainder of his days.
The smack of the sea about the stories of his youth gave zest to the
talks round their quiet fireside, and that, again, was seasoned by the
warm evangelical spirit of his Covenanting wife, her lips “dropping
grace.”
Of their children, two reproduced the disposition of their father, and
two that of their mother. William took to the soldier’s career, and died
in Spain; May, the only daughter, gave her heart and hand to John Wood,
a jolly and gallant Englishman, who fought at Waterloo, and lived to see
his hundredth birthday. John and James, the latter being my father, both
learned the stocking manufacturing business of their fathers, and both
followed their mother’s piety and became from their early teens very
pronounced and consistent disciples of the Lord.
On the other side, my mother, Janet Rogerson, had for parents a father
and mother of the Annandale stock. William Rogerson, her father, was one
of many brothers, all men of uncommon strength and great force of
character, quite worthy of the Border rievers of an earlier day. Indeed,
it was in some such way that he secured his wife, though the dear old
lady in after-days was chary about telling the story. She was a girl of
good position, the ward of two unscrupulous uncles who had charge of her
small estate, near Langholm; and while attending some boarding school
she fell devotedly in love with the tall, fair-haired, gallant young
blacksmith, William Rogerson. Her guardians, doubtless very properly,
objected to the “connection”; but our young Lochinvar, with his six or
seven stalwart brothers and other trusty “lads,” all mounted, and with
some ready tool in case of need, went boldly and claimed his bride, and
she, willingly mounting at his side, was borne off in the light of open
day, joyously married, and took possession of her “but and ben,” as the
mistress of the blacksmith’s abode.
The uncles had it out with him, however, in another way. While he was
enjoying his honeymoon, and careless of mere mundane affairs, they
managed to dispose of all the property of their ward, and make good
their escape with the proceeds to the New World. Having heard a rumour
of some such sale, our young blacksmith on horseback just reached the
scene in time to see the last article—a Family Bible—put up for auction.
This he claimed, or purchased, or seized, in name of the heiress—but
that was all that she ever inherited. It was used devoutly by her till
her dying day, and was adorned with the record of her own marriage and
of the birth of a large and happy family, whom by-and-by God gave to
her.
Janet Jardine bowed her neck to the self-chosen yoke, with the light of
a supreme affection in her heart, and showed in her gentler ways, her
love of books, her fine accomplishments with the needle and her general
air of ladyhood, that her lot had once been cast in easier, but not
necessarily happier, ways. Her blacksmith lover proved not unworthy of
his lady bride, and in her old days found a quiet and modest home, the
fruit of years of toil and hopeful thrift, their own little property, in
which they rested and waited a happy end. Amongst those who at last wept
by her grave stood, amidst many sons and daughters, her son the Rev.
James J. Rogerson, clergyman of the Church of England, who, for many
years thereafter, and till quite recently, was spared to occupy a
distinguished position at ancient Shrewsbury, and has left behind him
there an honoured and beloved name.
One thing else, beautiful in its pathos, I must record of that dear old
lady. Her son, Walter, had gone forth from her, in prosecution of his
calling, had corresponded with her from various counties in England, and
then had suddenly disappeared; and no sign came to her, whether he was
dead or alive. The mother-heart in her clung to the hope of his return;
every night she prayed for that happy event, and before closing the
door, threw it wide open, and peered into the darkness with a cry, “Come
hame, my boy Walter, your mither wearies sair;” and every morning, at
early break of day, for a period of more than twenty years, she toddled
up from her cottage door, at Johnsfield, Lockerbie, to a little round
hill, called the “Corbie Dykes,” and, gazing with tear-filled eyes
towards the south for the form of her returning boy, prayed the Lord God
to keep him safe and restore him to her yet again. Always, as I think
upon that scene, my heart finds consolation in reflecting that if not
here, then for certain _there_, such deathless longing love will be
rewarded, and, rushing into long-delayed embrace, will exclaim, “Was
lost and is found.”
From such a home came our mother, Janet Jardine Rogerson, a
bright-hearted, high-spirited, patient-toiling, and altogether heroic
little woman; who, for about forty-three years, made and kept such a
wholesome, independent, God-fearing, and self-reliant life for her
family of five sons and six daughters, as constrains me, when I look
back on it now, in the light of all I have since seen and known of
others far differently situated, almost to worship her memory. She had
gone with her high spirits and breezy disposition to gladden, as their
companion, the quiet abode of some grand or great-grand-uncle and aunt,
familiarly named in all that Dalswinton neighbourhood, “Old Adam and
Eve.” Their house was on the outskirts of the moor, and life for the
young girl there had not probably too much excitement. But one thing had
arrested her attention. She had noticed that a young stocking maker from
the “Brig End,” James Paton, the son of William and Janet there, was in
the habit of stealing alone into the quiet wood, book in hand, day after
day, at certain hours, as if for private study and meditation. It was a
very excusable curiosity that led the young bright heart of the girl to
watch him devoutly reading and hear him reverently reciting (though she
knew not then, it was Ralph Erskine’s “Gospel Sonnets,” which he could
say by heart sixty years afterwards, as he lay on his bed of death); and
finally that curiosity awed itself into a holy respect, when she saw him
lay aside his broad Scotch bonnet, kneel down under the sheltering wings
of some tree, and pour out all his soul in daily prayers to God. As yet
they had never spoken. What spirit moved her, let lovers tell—was it all
devotion, or was it a touch of unconscious love kindling in her towards
the yellow-haired and thoughtful youth? Or was there a stroke of
mischief, of that teasing, which so often opens up the door to the most
serious step in all our lives? Anyhow, one day she slipped in quietly,
stole away his bonnet, and hung it on a branch near by, while his trance
of devotion made him oblivious of all around; then, from a safe retreat
she watched and enjoyed his perplexity in seeking for and finding it! A
second day this was repeated; but his manifest disturbance of mind, and
his long pondering with the bonnet in hand, as if almost alarmed, seemed
to touch another chord in her heart—that chord of pity which is so often
the prelude of love, that finer pity that grieves to wound anything
nobler or tenderer than ourselves. Next day, when he came to his
accustomed place of prayer, a little card was pinned against the tree
just where he knelt, and on it these words:—
“She who stole away your bonnet is ashamed of what she did; she has a
great respect for you, and asks you to pray for her, that she may become
as good a Christian as you.”
Staring long at that writing, he forgot Ralph Erskine for one day;
taking down the card, and wondering who the writer could be, he was
abusing himself for his stupidity in not suspecting that some one had
discovered his retreat, and removed his bonnet, instead of wondering
whether angels had been there during his prayer,—when, suddenly raising
his eyes, he saw in front of old Adam’s cottage, through a lane amongst
the trees, the passing of another kind of angel, swinging a milk-pail in
her hand and merrily singing some snatch of old Scottish song. He knew,
in that moment, by a Divine instinct, as infallible as any voice that
ever came to seer of old, that she was the angel visitor that had stolen
in upon his retreat—that bright-faced, clever-witted niece of old Adam
and Eve, to whom he had never yet spoken, but whose praises he had often
heard said and sung—“Wee Jen.” I am afraid he did pray “for her,” in
more senses than one, that afternoon; at any rate, more than a Scotch
bonnet was very effectually stolen; a good heart and true was there
bestowed, and the trust was never regretted on either side, and never
betrayed.
Often and often, in the genial and beautiful hours of the autumntide of
their long life, have I heard my dear father tease “Jen” about her
maidenly intentions in the stealing of that bonnet; and often with quick
mother wit have heard her happy retort, that had his motives for coming
to that retreat been altogether and exclusively pious, he would probably
have found his way to the other side of the wood, but that men who
prowled about the Garden of Eden ran the risk of meeting some day with a
daughter of Eve!
Somewhere in or about his seventeenth year, my father passed through a
crisis of religious experience, and from that day he openly and very
decidedly followed the Lord Jesus. His parents had belonged to one of
the older branches of what now we call the United Presbyterian Church;
but my father, having made an independent study of the Scotch Worthies,
the Cloud of Witnesses, the Testimonies, and the Confession of Faith,
resolved to cast in his lot with the oldest of all the Scotch Churches,
the Reformed Presbyterian, as most nearly representing the Covenanters
and the attainments of both the first and second Reformations in
Scotland. This choice he deliberately made, and sincerely and
intelligently adhered to; and was able at all times to give strong and
clear reasons from Bible and from history for the principles he upheld.
Still his sympathies and votes always went with the more progressive
party in that ancient Church. He held it to be right that Cameronians,
like other citizens, should exercise the municipal and political
franchise, and he adhered to the “Majority Synod,” which has since been
incorporated with the Free Church of Scotland. While glorying in the
Psalms, he rejoiced to sing other hymns and spiritual songs (thanks to
Ralph Erskine’s “Sonnets,” perhaps, for that!) from his earliest days,
at least everywhere except in the ordinary Public Worship; and long
before he died, though he still held the Psalms to be supreme, he had
learned to hear with glowing delight vast congregations singing the
hymns of modern days, had learned joyfully to join in these songs of
Zion, and was heard often to confess his belief that God had greatly
owned and blessed the ministry of song in the service of the Gospel.
Besides his independent choice of a Church for himself, there was one
other mark and fruit of his early religious decision, which looks even
fairer through all these years. Family Worship had heretofore been held
only on Sabbath day in his father’s house; but the young Christian,
entering into conference with his sympathising mother, managed to get
the household persuaded that there ought to be daily morning and evening
prayer and reading of the Bible and holy singing. This the more readily,
as he himself agreed to take part regularly in the same and so relieve
the old warrior of what might have proved for him too arduous spiritual
toils. And so began in his seventeenth year that blessed custom of
Family Prayer, morning and evening, which my father practised probably
without one single omission till he lay on his deathbed, seventy-seven
years of age; when, even to the last day of his life, a portion of
Scripture was read, and his voice was heard softly joining in the Psalm,
and his lips breathed the morning and evening Prayer,—falling in sweet
benediction on the heads of all his children, far away many of them over
all the earth, but all meeting him there at the Throne of Grace. None of
us can remember that any day ever passed unhallowed thus; no hurry for
market, no rush to business, no arrival of friends or guests, no trouble
or sorrow, no joy or excitement, ever prevented at least our kneeling
around the family altar, while the High Priest led our prayers to God,
and offered himself and his children there. And blessed to others, as
well as to ourselves, was the light of such example! I have heard that,
in long after years, the worst woman in the village of Torthorwald, then
leading an immoral life, but since changed by the grace of God, was
known to declare, that the only thing that kept her from despair and
from the hell of the suicide, was when in the dark winter nights she
crept close up underneath my father’s window, and heard him pleading in
family worship that God would convert “the sinner from the error of
wicked ways and polish him as a jewel for the Redeemer’s crown.” “I
felt,” said she, “that I was a burden on that good man’s heart, and I
knew that God would not disappoint _him_. That thought kept me out of
Hell, and at last led me to the only Saviour.”
My father had a strong desire to be a minister of the Gospel; but when
he finally saw that God’s will had marked out for him another lot, he
reconciled himself by entering with his own soul into this solemn
vow,—that if God gave him sons, he would consecrate them unreservedly to
the ministry of Christ, if the Lord saw fit to accept the offering, and
open up their way. It may be enough here to say that he lived to see
three of us entering upon and not unblessed in the Holy Office;—myself,
the eldest born; my brother Walter, several years my junior; and my
brother James, the youngest of eleven, the Benjamin of the flock.
Our place of worship was the Reformed Presbyterian Church at Dumfries,
under the ministry, during most of these days, of Rev. John McDiarmid—a
genuine, solemn, lovable Covenanter, who cherished towards my father a
warm respect, that deepened into apostolic affection when the yellow
hair turned snow-white and both of them grew patriarchal in their years.
The minister, indeed, was translated to a Glasgow charge; but that
rather exalted than suspended their mutual love. Dumfries was four miles
fully from our Torthorwald home; but the tradition is that during all
these forty years my father was only thrice prevented from attending the
worship of God—once by snow so deep that he was baffled and had to
return; once by ice on the road, so dangerous that he was forced to
crawl back up the Roucan Brae on his hands and knees, after having
descended it so far with many falls; and once by the terrible outbreak
of cholera at Dumfries. All intercourse betwixt the town and the
surrounding villages was publicly prohibited; and the farmers and
villagers, suspecting that no cholera would make my father stay at home
on Sabbath, sent a deputation to my mother on the Saturday evening, and
urged her to restrain his devotions for once! That, however, was
needless; as, where the life of others was at stake, his very devotion
came to their aid. Each of us, from very early days, considered it no
penalty, but a great joy, to go with our father to the church; the four
miles were a treat to our young spirits, the company by the way was a
fresh incitement, and occasionally some of the wonders of city-life
rewarded our eager eyes. A few other pious men and women of the best
evangelical type, went from the same parish to one or other favourite
minister at Dumfries,—the parish church during all those years being
rather miserably served; and when these God-fearing peasants
“forgathered” in the way to or from the House of God, we youngsters had
sometimes rare glimpses of what Christian talk may be and ought to be.
They went to the church, full of beautiful expectancy of spirit—their
souls were on the outlook for God; they returned from the church, ready
and even anxious to exchange ideas as to what they had heard and
received of the things of life. I have to bear my testimony that
religion was presented to us with a great deal of intellectual
freshness, and that it did not repel us but kindled our spiritual
interest. The talks which we heard were, however, genuine; not the
make-believe of religious conversation, but the sincere outcome of their
own personalities. That, perhaps, makes all the difference betwixt talk
that attracts and talk that drives away.
We had, too, special Bible Readings on the Lord’s Day evening,—mother
and children and visitors reading in turns, with fresh and interesting
question, answer, and exposition, all tending to impress us with the
infinite grace of a God of love and mercy in the great gift of His dear
Son Jesus, our Saviour. The Shorter Catechism was gone through
regularly, each answering the question asked, till the whole had been
explained, and its foundation in Scripture shown by the proof-texts
adduced. It has been an amazing thing to me, occasionally to meet with
men who blamed this “catechizing” for giving them a distaste to
religion; every one in all our circle thinks and feels exactly the
opposite. It laid the solid rock-foundations of our religious life.
After years have given to these questions and their answers a deeper or
a modified meaning, but none of us have ever once even dreamed of
wishing that we had been otherwise trained. Of course, if the parents
are not devout, sincere, and affectionate,—if the whole affair on both
sides is taskwork, or worse, hypocritical and false,—results must be
very different indeed! Oh, I can remember those happy Sabbath evenings;
no blinds drawn, and shutters up, to keep out the sun from us, as some
scandalously affirm; but a holy, happy, entirely human day, for a
Christian father, mother, and children to spend. How my father would
parade across and across our flag-floor, telling over the substance of
the day’s sermons to our dear mother, who, because of the great distance
and because of her many living “encumbrances,” got very seldom indeed to
the church, but gladly embraced every chance, when there was prospect or
promise of a “lift” either way from some friendly gig! How he would
entice us to help him to recall some idea or other, rewarding us when we
got the length of “taking notes” and reading them over on our return;
how he would turn the talk ever so naturally to some Bible story, or
some martyr reminiscence, or some happy allusion to the “Pilgrim’s
Progress”! And then it was quite a contest, which of us would get
reading aloud, while all the rest listened, and father added here and
there a happy thought, or illustration, or anecdote. Others must write
and say what they will, and as they feel; but so must I. There were
eleven of us brought up in a home like that; and never one of the
eleven, boy or girl, man or woman, has been heard, or ever will be
heard, saying that Sabbath was dull or wearisome for us, or suggesting
that we have heard of or seen any way more likely than that for making
the Day of the Lord bright and blessed alike for parents and for
children. But God help the homes where these things are done by force
and not by love! The very discipline through which our father passed us
was a kind of religion in itself. If anything really serious required to
be punished, he retired first to his closet for prayer, and we boys got
to understand that he was laying the whole matter before God; and that
was the severest part of the punishment for me to bear! I could have
defied any amount of mere penalty, but this spoke to my conscience as a
message from God. We loved him all the more, when we saw how much it
cost him to punish us; and, in truth, he had never very much of that
kind of work to do upon any one of all the eleven—we were ruled by love
far more than by fear.
As I must, however, leave the story of my father’s life—much more
worthy, in many ways, of being written than my own—I may here mention
that his long and upright life made him a great favourite in all
religious circles far and near within the neighbourhood, that at
sick-beds and at funerals he was constantly sent for and much
appreciated, and that this appreciation greatly increased, instead of
diminishing, when years whitened his long, flowing locks and gave him an
apostolic beauty; till finally, for the last twelve years or so of his
life, he became by appointment a sort of Rural Missionary for the four
contiguous parishes, and spent his autumn in literally sowing the good
seed of the Kingdom as a Colporteur of the Tract and Book Society. His
success in this work, for a rural locality, was beyond all belief.
Within a radius of five miles, he was known in every home, welcomed by
the children, respected by the servants, longed for eagerly by the sick
and aged. He gloried in showing off the beautiful Bibles and other
precious books, which he sold in amazing numbers. He sang sweet Psalms
beside the sick, and prayed like the voice of God at their dying beds.
He went cheerily from farm to farm, from cot to cot; and when he wearied
on the moorland roads, he refreshed his soul by reciting aloud one of
Ralph Erskine’s “Sonnets,” or crooning to the birds one of David’s
Psalms. His happy partner, “Wee Jen,” died in 1865, and he himself in
1868, having reached his seventy-seventh year,—an altogether beautiful
and noble episode of human existence having been enacted, amid the
humblest surroundings of a Scottish peasant’s home, through the
influence of their united love by the grace of God; and in this world,
or in any world, all their children will rise up at mention of their
names and call them blessed!
CHAPTER II.
_AT SCHOOL AND COLLEGE._
A Typical Scottish School.—A School Prize.—A Wayward Master.—Learning
a Trade.—My Father’s Prayers.—Jehovah Jireh.—With Sappers and
Miners.—Harvest Field.—On the Road to Glasgow.—A Memorable
Parting.—Before the Examiners.—Killing Work.—Deep Waters.—Maryhill
School.—Rough School Scenes.—Aut Cæsar, Aut Nullus.—My Wages.
In my boyhood Torthorwald had one of the grand old typical Parish
Schools of Scotland, where the rich and the poor met together in perfect
equality, where Bible and Catechism were taught as zealously as grammar
and geography, and where capable lads from the humblest of cottages were
prepared in Latin and Mathematics and Greek to go straight from their
village class to the University bench. Besides, at that time, an
accomplished pedagogue of the name of Smith, a learned man of more than
local fame, had added a Boarding House to the ordinary School, and had
attracted some of the better class gentlemen and farmers’ sons from the
surrounding county, so that Torthorwald, under his _régime_, reached the
zenith of its educational fame. In this School I was initiated into the
mystery of letters, and all my brothers and sisters after me, though
some of them under other masters than mine;—my youngest brother James,
trained there under a master named Lithgow, going direct from the
Village School to the University of Glasgow in his fourteenth year!
My teacher punished severely—rather, I should say, savagely—especially
for lessons badly prepared. Yet, that he was in some respects kindly and
tender-hearted, I had the best of reasons to know. Seeing me not so
“braw” as the well-to-do fellows of my year, and taking a warm interest
in me as a pupil, he, concluding probably that new suits were not so
easily got in my home as in some of the rest, planned a happy and
kind-hearted surprise—a sort of unacknowledged school prize. One
evening, when my father was “taking the books,” and pouring out his
heart in family worship, the door of our house gently opened on the
latch, and gently closed again. After prayer, on rushing to the door, I
found a parcel containing a new suit of warm and excellent
clothes,—seeing which my mother said that “God had sent them to me, and
I should thankfully receive them as from His hand, whoever might have
brought them.” Appearing in them at school next morning, the teacher
cheerily saluted and complimented me on my “braws.” I innocently told
him how they came and what my mother said; and he laughingly replied,—
“John, whenever you need anything after this, just tell your father to
‘tak’ the Book,’ and God will send it in answer to prayer!”
Years passed by before I came to know, what the reader has already
guessed, that the good-hearted schoolmaster’s hand lifted the latch that
evening during my father’s prayer.
All his influence, however, was marred by occasional bursts of fierce
and ungovernable temper, amounting to savagery. His favouritism, too,
was sometimes disheartening,—as when I won a Latin prize for an exercise
by the verdict of the second master, yet it was withheld from me, and
prizes were bestowed without merit on other and especially wealthier
boys; so at least I imagined, and it cooled my ambition to excel.
Favouritism might be borne, but not mere brutality when passion mastered
him. Once, after having flogged me unjustly, on my return only at my
mother’s entreaty, he ran at me again, kicked me, and I fled in pain and
terror from his presence, rushing home. When his passion subsided, he
came to my parents, apologized, and pled with me to return; but all in
vain,—nothing would induce me to resume my studies there. Undoubtedly at
that time I had a great thirst for education, and a retentive memory,
which made all lessons comparatively easy; and, as no other school was
within my reach, it was a great loss that my heart shrank from this
teacher.
Though under twelve years of age, I started to learn my father’s trade
in which I made surprising progress. We wrought from six in the morning
till ten at night, with an hour at dinner-time and half an hour at
breakfast and again at supper. These spare moments every day I devoutly
spent on my books, chiefly in the rudiments of Latin and Greek; for I
had given my soul to God, and was resolved to aim at being a missionary
of the Cross, or a minister of the Gospel. Yet I gladly testify that
what I learned of the stocking frame was not thrown away; the facility
of using tools, and of watching and keeping the machinery in order, came
to be of great value to me in the Foreign Mission field.
How much my father’s prayers at this time impressed me I can never
explain, nor could any stranger understand. When, on his knees and all
of us kneeling around him in Family Worship, he poured out his whole
soul with tears for the conversion of the heathen world to the service
of Jesus, and for every personal and domestic need, we all felt as if in
the presence of the living Saviour, and learned to know and love Him as
our Divine Friend. As we rose from our knees, I used to look at the
light on my father’s face, and wish I were like him in spirit,—hoping
that, in answer to his prayers, I might be privileged and prepared to
carry the blessed Gospel to some portion of the heathen world.
One incident of this time I must record here, because of the lasting
impression made upon my religious life. Our family, like all others of
peasant rank in the land, were plunged into deep distress, and felt the
pinch severely, through the failure of the potato, the badness of other
crops, and the ransom-price of food. Our father had gone off with work
to Hawick, and would return next evening with money and supplies; but
meantime the meal barrel ran empty, and our dear mother, too proud and
too sensitive to let any one know, or to ask aid from any quarter,
coaxed us all to rest, assuring us that she had told God everything, and
that He would send us plenty in the morning. Next day, with the carrier
from Lockerbie came a present from her father, who, knowing nothing of
her circumstances or of this special trial, had been moved of God to
send at that particular nick of time a love-offering to his daughter,
such as they still send to each other in those kindly Scottish shires—a
bag of new potatoes, a stone of the first ground meal or flour, or the
earliest homemade cheese of the season—which largely supplied all our
need. My mother, seeing our surprise at such an answer to her prayers,
took us around her knees, thanked God for His goodness, and said to us,—
“O my children, love your heavenly Father, tell Him in faith and prayer
all your needs, and He will supply your wants so far as it shall be for
your good and His glory.”
Perhaps, amidst all their struggles in rearing a family of eleven, this
was the hardest time they ever had, and the only time they ever felt the
actual pinch of hunger; for the little that they had was marvellously
blessed of God, and was not less marvellously utilized by that noble
mother of ours, whose high spirit, side by side with her humble and
gracious piety, made us, under God, what we are to-day.
I saved as much at my trade as enabled me to go six weeks to Dumfries
Academy; this awoke in me again the hunger for learning, and I resolved
to give up that trade and turn to something that might be made helpful
to the prosecution of my education. An engagement was secured with the
sappers and miners, who were mapping and measuring the county of
Dumfries in connection with the Ordnance Survey of Scotland. The office
hours were from 9 a.m. till 4 p.m.; and though my walk from home was
above four miles every morning, and the same by return in the evening, I
found much spare time for private study, both on the way to and from my
work and also after hours. Instead of spending the mid-day hour with the
rest, at football and other games, I stole away to a quiet spot on the
banks of the Nith, and there pored over my book, all alone. Our
lieutenant, unknown to me, had observed this from his house on the other
side of the stream, and after a time called me into his office and
inquired what I was studying. I told him the whole truth as to my
position and my desires. After conferring with some of the other
officials there, he summoned me again, and in their presence promised me
promotion in the service, and special training in Woolwich at the
Government’s expense, on condition that I would sign an engagement for
seven years. Thanking him most gratefully for his kind offer, I agreed
to bind myself for three years or four, but not for seven.
Excitedly he said, “Why? Will you refuse an offer that many gentlemen’s
sons would be proud of?”
I said, “My life is given to another Master, so I cannot engage for
seven years.”
He asked sharply, “To whom?”
I replied, “To the Lord Jesus, and I want to prepare as soon as possible
for His service in the proclaiming of the Gospel.”
In great anger he sprang across the room, called the paymaster, and
exclaimed, “Accept my offer, or you are dismissed on the spot!”
I answered, “I am extremely sorry if you do so, but to bind myself for
seven years would probably frustrate the purpose of my life; and though
I am greatly obliged to you, I cannot make such an engagement.”
His anger made him unwilling or unable to comprehend my difficulty; the
drawing instruments were delivered up, I received my pay, and departed
without further parley. The men, both over me and beside me, were mostly
Roman Catholics, and their talk was the most profane I had ever heard.
Few of them spoke at any time without larding their language with oaths,
and I was thankful to get away from hearing their shocking speech. But
to me personally both officers and men had been extremely kind, for
which, on leaving, I thanked them all very cordially, and they looked
not a little surprised,—as if unused to such recognitions!
Hearing how I had been treated, and why, Mr. Maxwell, the Rector of
Dumfries Academy, offered to let me attend all classes there, free of
charge, so long as I cared to remain; but that, in lack of means of
support, was for the time impossible, as I would not and could not be a
burden on my dear father, but was determined rather to help him in
educating the rest. I went therefore to what was known as the Lamb Fair
at Lockerbie, and for the first time in my life took a “fee” for the
harvest. On arriving at the field when shearing and mowing began, the
farmer asked me to bind a sheaf; when I had done so, he lifted it by the
band, and it fell to pieces! Instead of disheartening me, however, he
gave me a careful lesson how to bind, and the second that I bound did
not collapse when shaken, and the third he pitched across the field, and
on finding that it still remained firm, he cried to me cheerily,—
“Right now, my lad; go ahead!”
It was hard work for me at first, and my hands got very sore; but, being
willing and determined, I soon got into the way of it, and kept up with
the best of them. The harvesters, seeing I was not one of their own
workers, had an eager dispute as to what I was, some holding that I was
a painter, and some a tailor; but the more ’cute observers denied me the
rank of tailor from the lack of “jaggings” on my thumb and finger, so I
suppose they credited me with the brush. The male harvesters were told
off to sleep in a large hay-loft, the beds being arranged all along the
side, like barracks. Many of the fellows were rough and boisterous, and
I suppose my look showed that I hesitated in mingling with them, for the
quick eye and kind heart of the farmer’s wife prompted her to suggest
that I, being so much younger than the rest, might sleep with her son
George in the house,—an offer, oh, how gratefully accepted! A beautiful
new steading had recently been built for them; and during certain days,
or portions of days, while waiting for the grain to ripen or to dry, I
planned and laid out an ornamental garden in front of it, which gave
great satisfaction—a taste inherited from my mother, with her joy in
flowers and garden plots. They gave me, on leaving, a handsome present,
as well as my fee, for I had got on very pleasantly with them all. This
experience, too, came to be valuable to me, when, in long after days,
and far other lands, Mission buildings had to be erected, and garden and
field cropped and cultivated without the aid of a single European hand.
Before going to my first harvesting, I had applied for a situation in
Glasgow, apparently exactly suited for my case; but I had little or no
hope of ever hearing of it further. An offer of £50 per annum was made
by the West Campbell Street Reformed Presbyterian Congregation, then
under the good and noble Dr. Bates, for a young man to act as district
visitor and tract distributor, especially amongst the absentees from the
Sabbath school; with the privilege of receiving one year’s training at
the Free Church Normal Seminary, that he might qualify himself for
teaching, and thereby push forward to the Holy Ministry. The candidates,
along with their application and certificates, were to send an essay on
some subject, of their own composition, and in their own handwriting. I
sent in two long poems on the Covenanters, which must have exceedingly
amused them, as I had not learned to write decent prose! But, much to my
surprise, immediately on the close of the harvesting experience, a
letter arrived, intimating that I, along with another young man, had
been put upon the short leet, and that both were requested to appear in
Glasgow on a given day and compete for the appointment. Two days
thereafter I started out from my quiet country home on the road to
Glasgow. Literally on the road, for from Torthorwald to Kilmarnock—about
forty miles—had to be done on foot, and thence to Glasgow by rail.
Railways in those days were as yet few, and coach travelling was far
beyond my purse. A small bundle, tied up in my pocket handkerchief,
contained my Bible and all my personal belongings. Thus was I launched
upon the ocean of life. “I know thy poverty, but thou art rich.”
My dear father walked with me the first six miles of the way. His
counsels and tears and heavenly conversation on that parting journey are
fresh in my heart as if it had been yesterday; and tears are on my
cheeks as freely now as then, whenever memory steals me away to the
scene. For the last half-mile or so we walked on together in almost
unbroken silence,—my father, as was often his custom, carrying hat in
hand, while his long, flowing yellow hair (then yellow, but in later
years white as snow) streamed like a girl’s down his shoulders. His lips
kept moving in silent prayers for me, and his tears fell fast when our
eyes met each other in looks for which all speech was vain. We halted on
reaching the appointed parting place; he grasped my hand firmly for a
minute in silence, and then solemnly and affectionately said,—
“God bless you, my son! Your father’s God prosper you, and keep you from
all evil!”
Unable to say more, his lips kept moving in silent prayer; in tears we
embraced, and parted. I ran off as fast as I could, and, when about to
turn a corner in the road where he would lose sight of me, I looked back
and saw him still standing with head uncovered where I had left him.
Waving my hat in adieu, I was round the corner and out of sight in an
instant. But my heart was too full and sore to carry me further, so I
darted into the side of the road and wept for a time. Then, rising up
cautiously, I climbed the dyke to see if he yet stood where I had left
him, and just at that moment I caught a glimpse of him climbing the dyke
and looking out for me! He did not see me, and after he had gazed
eagerly in my direction for a while, he got down, turned his face
towards home, and began to return—his head still uncovered, and his
heart, I felt sure, still rising in prayers for me. I watched through
blinding tears, till his form faded from my gaze; and then, hastening on
my way, vowed deeply and oft, by the help of God, to live and act so as
never to grieve or dishonour such a father and mother as He had given
me. The appearance of my father, when we parted,—his advice, prayers and
tears,—the road, the dyke, the climbing up on it and then walking away,
head uncovered, have often, often, all through life, risen vividly
before my mind,—and do so now while I am writing, as if it had been but
an hour ago. In my earlier years particularly, when exposed to many
temptations, his parting form rose before me as that of a guardian
Angel. It is no Pharisaism, but deep gratitude, which makes me here
testify that the memory of that scene not only helped, by God’s grace,
to keep me pure from the prevailing sins, but also stimulated me in all
my studies, that I might not fall short of his hopes, and in all my
Christian duties, that I might faithfully follow his shining example.
I reached Glasgow on the third day, having slept one night at Thornhill,
and another at New Cumnock; and having needed, owing to the kindness of
acquaintances upon whom I called by the way, to spend only three
half-pence of my modest funds. Safely arrived, but weary, I secured a
humble room for my lodging, for which I had to pay one shilling and
sixpence per week. Buoyant and full of hope and looking up to God for
guidance, I appeared at the appointed hour before the examiners, as did
also the other candidate; and they, having carefully gone through their
work, asked us to retire. When recalled, they informed us that they had
great difficulty in choosing, and suggested that the one of us might
withdraw in favour of the other, or that both might submit to a more
testing examination. Neither seemed inclined to give it up, both were
willing for a second examination, but the patrons made another
suggestion. They had only £50 per annum to give; but if we would agree
to divide it betwixt us, and go into one lodging, we might both be able
to struggle through; they would pay our entrance fees at the Free Normal
Seminary, and provide us with the books required; and perhaps they might
be able to add a little to the sum promised to each of us. By dividing
the mission work appointed, and each taking only the half, more time
also might be secured for our studies. Though the two candidates had
never seen each other before, we at once accepted this proposal, and got
on famously together, never having had a dispute on anything of common
interest throughout our whole career.
As our fellow-students at the Normal were all far advanced beyond us in
their education, we found it killing work, and had to grind away
incessantly, late and early. Both of us, before the year closed, broke
down in health, partly by hard study, but principally, perhaps, for lack
of nourishing diet. A severe cough seized upon me; I began spitting
blood, and a doctor ordered me at once home to the country and forbad
all attempts at study. My heart sank; it was a dreadful disappointment,
and to me a bitter trial. Soon after, my companion, though apparently
much stronger than I, was similarly seized. He, however, never entirely
recovered, though for some years he taught in a humble school; and long
ago he fell asleep in Jesus, a devoted and honoured Christian man.
I, on the other hand, after a short rest, nourished by the hill air of
Torthorwald and by the new milk of our family cow, was ere long at work
again, and got an appointment to teach a small school at Girvan. There I
received the greatest kindness from Rev. Matthew G. Easton of the
Reformed Presbyterian Church, now Dr. Easton of the Free Church, Darvel,
and gradually but completely recovered my health.
Having saved £10 by my teaching, I returned to Glasgow, and was enrolled
as a student at the College; but before the session was finished my
money was exhausted—I had lent some to a poor student who failed to
repay me—and only nine shillings remained in my purse. There was no one
from whom to borrow, had I been willing; I had been disappointed in
securing private tuition; and no course seemed open for me, except to
pay what little I owed, give up my College career, and seek for teaching
or other work in the country. I wrote a letter to my father and mother,
informing them of my circumstances; that I was leaving Glasgow in quest
of work, and that they would not hear from me again till I had found a
suitable situation. I told them that if otherwise unsuccessful, I should
fall back on my own trade, though I shrank from that as not tending to
advance my education; but that they might rest assured I would do
nothing to dishonour them or my Christian profession. Having read that
letter over again through many tears, I said,—I cannot send that, for it
will grieve my darling parents; and therefore, leaving it on the table,
I locked my room door and ran out to find a place where I might sell my
few precious books, and hold on a few weeks longer. But, as I stood on
the opposite side and wondered whether these folks in a shop with the
three golden balls would care to have a poor student’s books, and as I
hesitated, knowing how much I needed them for my studies, conscience
smote me for doing a guilty thing; I imagined that the people were
watching me as if I were about to commit a theft, and I made off from
the scene at full speed, with a feeling of intense shame at having
dreamed of such a thing! Passing through one short street into another,
I marched on mechanically; but the Lord God of my father was guiding my
steps, all unknown to me.
A certain notice in a window, into which I had probably never in my life
looked before, here caught my eye, to this effect—“Teacher wanted,
Maryhill Free Church School; apply at the Manse.” A coach or ’bus was
just passing, when I turned round; I leapt into it, saw the minister,
arranged to undertake the school, returned to Glasgow, paid my
landlady’s lodging score, tore up the letter to my parents and wrote
another full of cheer and hope, and early next morning entered the
school and began a tough and trying job. The minister warned me that the
school was a wreck, and had been broken up chiefly by coarse and bad
characters from mills and coal-pits, who attended the evening classes.
They had abused several masters in succession; and, laying a thick and
heavy cane on the desk, he said,—
“Use that freely, or you will never keep order here!”
I put it aside into the drawer of my desk, saying,—
“That will be my last resource.”
There were very few scholars for the first week—about eighteen in the
day school and twenty in the night school. The clerk of the mill, a good
young fellow, came to the evening classes, avowedly to learn
book-keeping, but privately he said he had come to save me from personal
injury.
The following week, a young man and a young woman began to attend the
night school, who showed from the first moment that they were bent on
mischief. By talking aloud, joking, telling stories, and laughing, they
stopped the work of the school. On my repeated appeals for quiet and
order, they became the more boisterous, and gave great merriment to a
few of the scholars present. I finally urged the young man, a tall,
powerful fellow, to be quiet or at once to leave, declaring that at all
hazards I must and would have perfect order; but he only mocked at me,
and assumed a fighting attitude. Quietly locking the door and putting
the key in my pocket, I turned to my desk, armed myself with the cane,
and dared any one at his peril to interfere betwixt us. It was a rough
struggle, he smashing at me clumsily with his fists, I with quick
movements evading and dealing him blow after blow with the heavy cane
for several rounds, till at length he crouched down at his desk,
exhausted and beaten, and I ordered him to turn to his book, which he
did in sulky silence. Going to my desk, I addressed them and asked them
to inform all who wished to come to the school, “that if they came for
education, everything would be heartily done that it was in my power to
do; but that any who wished for mischief had better stay away, as I was
determined to conquer, not to be conquered, and to secure order and
silence, whatever it might cost. Further, I assured them that that cane
would not again be lifted by me, if kindness and forbearance on my part
could possibly gain the day, as I wished to rule by love and not by
terror. But this young man knew he was in the wrong, and it was that
which had made him weak against me, though every way stronger far than
I. Yet I would be his friend and helper, if he was willing to be
friendly with me, the same as if this night had never been.”
A dead silence fell on the school; every one buried face diligently in
book; and the evening closed in uncommon quiet and order.
Next morning, two of the bigger boys at the day school, instead of
taking their seats like the rest, got in under the gallery where coals
and lumber were kept, and made a great noise as if dog and cat were
worrying each other. Pleading with them only increased the uproar; so I
locked the doors, laid past the keys, and proceeded with the morning’s
work. Half an hour before the mid-day rest, I began singing a hymn, and
marched the children round as if to leave; then the two young rascals
came out, and, walking in front, sang boisterously. Seizing the first by
the collar, I made him stagger into the middle of the floor, and
dragging the other beside him, I raised my heavy cane and dared them to
move. Ordering the children to resume their seats, I appointed them a
jury to hear the case and to pass sentence. The two were found guilty,
and awarded a severe lashing. I proposed, as this was their first
offence, and as I only used the cane for a last resource, to forego all
punishment, if they apologized and promised to be attentive and obedient
in the future. They both heartily did so, and became my favourite
scholars. Next evening I had little difficulty, as the worst characters
did not at once return, guessing that they had got a bit of lion in the
new dominie, that was more likely to subdue than to be subdued.
On the following day, the parents of some children, getting alarmed by
the rumours of these exploits, waited on me with the minister, and said
their children were terrified to come. I said that no _child_ had been
beaten by me, but that I insisted upon order and obedience; I reminded
the minister that of my immediate predecessors three had suffered from
these rowdies in the evening class—one actually going wrong in the mind
over the worry, another losing his health and dying, and the third
leaving in disgust; and finally I declared that I must either be master,
at whatever cost, or leave the school. From that time perfect order was
established, and the school flourished apace. During next week, many of
the worst characters returned to their class work in the evening; but
thenceforward the behaviour of all towards me was admirable. The
attendance grew, till the school became crowded, both during the day and
at night. During the mid-day hour even, I had a large class of young
women who came to improve themselves in writing and arithmetic.
By-and-by the cane became a forgotten implement; the sorrow and pain
which I showed as to badly done lessons, or anything blameworthy, proved
the far more effectual penalty.
The School Committee had promised me at least ten shillings per week,
and guaranteed to make up any deficit if the fees fell short of that
sum; but if the income from fees exceeded that sum, all was to be mine.
Affairs went on prosperously for a season; indeed, too much so for my
selfish interest. The committee, regarding the arrangement with me as
only temporary, took advantage of the larger attendance and better
repute of the school, to secure the services of a master of the highest
grade. The parents of many of the children, resenting this, offered to
take and seat a hall if I would remain and carry on an opposition
school; but, besides regarding this as scarcely fair to the committee,
however unhandsomely they had treated me, I knew too well that I had
neither education nor experience to compete with an accomplished
teacher, and so declined the proposal, though grateful for their kind
appreciation. Their children, however, got up a testimonial and
subscription, in token of their gratitude and esteem, which was
presented to me on the day before I left; and this I valued chiefly
because the presentation was made by the young fellows who at first
behaved so badly, but were now my warm friends.
Once more I committed my future to the Lord God of my father, assured
that in my very heart I was willing and anxious to serve Him and to
follow the blessed Saviour, yet feeling keenly that intense darkness had
once again enclosed my path.
CHAPTER III.
_IN GLASGOW CITY MISSION._
“He leadeth me.”—A Degraded District.—The Gospel in a Hay-Loft.—New
Mission Premises.—At Work for Jesus.—At War with Hell.—Sowing
Gospel Seeds.—Publicans on the War Path.—Marched to the Police
Office.—Papists and Infidels.—An Infidel Saved.—An Infidel in
Despair.—A Brand from the Burning.—A Saintly Child.—Papists in
Arms.—Elder and Student.
Before undertaking the Maryhill school, I had applied to be taken on as
an agent in the Glasgow City Mission; and the night before I had to
leave Maryhill, I received a letter from Rev. Thomas Caie, the
superintendent of the said Mission, saying that the directors had kept
their eyes on me ever since my application, and requesting, as they
understood I was leaving the school, that I would appear before them the
next morning, and have my qualifications for becoming a Missionary
examined into. Praising God, I went off at once, passed the examination
successfully, and was appointed to spend two hours that afternoon and
the following Monday in visitation with two of the directors, calling at
every house in a low district of the town, and conversing with all the
characters encountered there on their eternal welfare. I had also to
preach a “trial” discourse in a Mission meeting, where a deputation of
directors would be present, the following evening being Sunday; and on
Wednesday evening, they met again to hear their reports and to accept or
reject me. All this had come upon me so unexpectedly, that I almost
anticipated failure; but looking up for help I went through with it, and
on the fifth day after leaving the school they called me before a
meeting of directors, and informed me that I had passed my trials most
successfully, and that the reports were so favourable that they had
unanimously resolved to receive me at once as one of their City
Missionaries. It was further explained that one of their number, Matthew
Fairley, Esq., an elder in Dr. Symington’s congregation, had guaranteed
the half of my salary for two years, the other half to be met by the
resources of the Mission voluntarily contributed,—the whole salary at
that time amounting to £40 per annum. The district allocated to me was
one especially needful and trying, that had never been occupied, in and
around the Green Street of Calton, and I was enjoined to enter upon my
duties at once. After receiving many good and kind counsels from these
good and kind men, one of them in prayer very solemnly dedicated me and
my work to the Lord; and several of them were appointed to introduce me
to my district, taking a day each by turns, and to assist me in making
arrangements for the on-carrying of the work. Deeply solemnized with the
responsibilities of my new office, I left that meeting praising God for
all His undeserved mercies, and seeing most clearly His gracious hand in
all the way by which He had led me, and the trials by which He had
prepared me for the sphere of service. Man proposes—God disposes.
Most of these directors were men of God, adapted and qualified for this
special work, and very helpful in counsel as they went with me from day
to day, introducing me to my district, and seeing the character and
position of the people dwelling there. Looking back upon these Mission
experiences, I have ever felt that they were, to me and many others, a
good and profitable training of students for the office of the Ministry,
preparing us to deal with men of every shade of thought and of
character, and try to lead them to the knowledge and service of the Lord
Jesus. I found the district a very degraded one. Many families said they
had never been visited by any minister; and many were lapsed professors
of religion who had attended no church for ten, sixteen, or twenty
years, and said they had never been called upon by any minister, nor by
any Christian visitor. In it were congregated many avowed infidels,
Romanists, and drunkards,—living together, and associated for evil, but
apparently without any effective counteracting influence. In many of its
closes and courts sin and vice walked about openly—naked and _not_
ashamed.
We were expected to spend four hours daily in visiting from house to
house, holding small prayer meetings amongst those visited, calling them
together also in evening meetings, and trying by all means to do
whatever good was possible amongst them. The only place in the whole
district available for a Sabbath evening Evangelistic Service was a
hay-loft, under which a cow-feeder kept a large number of cows, and
which was reached by an outside rickety wooden stair. After nearly a
year’s hard work, I had only six or seven non-church-goers, who had been
led to attend regularly there, besides about the same number who met on
a week evening in the groundfloor of a house kindly granted for the
purpose by a poor and industrious but ill-used Irishwoman. She supported
her family by keeping a little shop, and selling coals. Her husband was
a powerful man—a good worker, but a hard drinker, and, like too many
others addicted to intemperance, he abused and beat her, and pawned and
drank everything he could get hold of. She, amid many prayers and tears,
bore everything patiently, and strove to bring up her only daughter in
the fear of God. We exerted, by God’s blessing, a good influence upon
him through our meetings. He became a total abstainer, gave up his evil
ways, and attended church regularly with his wife. As his interest
increased, he tried to bring others also to the meeting, and urged them
to become abstainers. His wife became a centre of help and of good
influence in all the district, as she kindly invited all and welcomed
them to the meeting in her house, and my work grew every day more
hopeful.
Seeing, however, that one year’s hard work showed such small results,
the directors proposed to remove me to another district, as in their
estimation the non-church-goers in Green Street were unassailable by
ordinary means. I pleaded for six months’ longer trial, as I had gained
the confidence of many of the poor people there, and had an invincible
faith that the good seed sown would soon bear blessed fruit. To this the
directors kindly agreed. At our next meeting I informed those present
that, if we could not draw out more of the non-church-goers to attend
the services, I should be removed to another part of the city. Each one
there and then agreed to bring another to our next meeting. Both our
meetings at once doubled their attendance. My interest in them and their
interest in me now grew apace, and, for fear I might be taken away from
them, they made another effort, and again doubled our attendance.
Henceforth meeting and class were both too large for any house that was
available for us in the whole of our district. We instituted a Bible
Class, a Singing Class, a Communicants’ Class, and a Total Abstinence
Society; and, in addition to the usual meetings, we opened two prayer
meetings specially for the Calton division of the Glasgow Police—one at
a suitable hour for the men on day duty, and another for those on night
duty. The men got up a Mutual Improvement Society and Singing Class also
amongst themselves, weekly, on another evening. My work now occupied
every evening in the week; and I had two meetings every Sabbath. By
God’s blessing they all prospered, and gave evidence of such fruits as
showed that the Lord was working there for good by our humble
instrumentality.
The kind cow-feeder had to inform us—and he did it with much genuine
sorrow—that at a given date he would require the hay-loft, which was our
place of meeting; and as no other suitable house or hall could be got,
the poor people and I feared the extinction of our work. On hearing this
the ostlers and other servants of Menzies, the coach-hirer, who had
extensive premises near our place of meeting, of their own accord asked
and obtained liberty to clear out a hay-loft of theirs that was seldom
in use, and resolved, at their own expense, to erect an outside wooden
stair for the convenience of the people. This becoming known, and being
much talked of, caused great joy in the district, arrested general
attention, and increased the interest of our work. But I saw that,
however generous, it could be at the best only another temporary
arrangement, and that the premises might again at any moment be
required. After prayer I therefore laid the whole case before my good
and great-hearted friend, Thomas Binnie, Esq., Monteith Row, and he,
after inquiring into all the circumstances, secured a good site for a
Mission Hall in a piece of unoccupied ground near our old hay-loft, on
which he proposed to build suitable premises at his own expense. At that
very time, however, a commodious block of buildings, that had been
Church, Schools, Manse, etc., came into the market. Mr. Binnie persuaded
Dr. Symington’s congregation, Great Hamilton Street, in connection with
which my Mission was carried on, to purchase the whole property for
Mission purposes. Its situation at the foot of Green Street gave it a
control of the whole district where my work lay; and so the Church was
given to me in which to conduct all my meetings, while the other halls
were adapted as Schools for poor girls and boys, where they were
educated by a proper master, and were largely supplied with books,
clothing, and even food, by the ladies of the congregation. The
purchasing and using of these buildings for an evangelistic and
educational Mission became a blessing—a very conspicuous blessing—to
that district in the Calton of Glasgow; and the blessing still
perpetuates itself, not only in the old premises, now used for an
Industrial School, but still more in the beautiful and spacious Mission
Halls, erected immediately in front of the old, and consecrated to the
work of the Lord in that poor and crowded and clamant portion of the
city.
Availing myself of the increased facilities, my work was all
re-organized. On Sabbath morning, at seven o’clock, I had one of the
most deeply interesting and fruitful of all my Classes for the study of
the Bible. It was attended by from seventy to a hundred of the very
poorest young women and grown-up lads of the whole district. They had
nothing to put on except their ordinary work-day clothes,—all without
bonnets, some without shoes. Beautiful was it to mark how the poorest
began to improve in personal appearance immediately after they came to
our class; how they gradually got shoes and one bit of clothing after
another, to enable them to attend our other meetings, and then to go to
church; and, above all, how eagerly they sought to bring others with
them, taking a deep personal interest in all the work of the Mission.
Long after they themselves could appear in excellent dress, many of them
still continued to attend in their working clothes, and to bring other
and poorer girls with them to that morning class, and thereby helped to
improve and elevate their companions.
My delight in that Bible Class was among the purest joys in all my life,
and the results were amongst the most certain and precious of all my
ministry. Yet it was not made successful without unceasing pains and
prayers. What would my younger brethren in the Ministry, or in the
Mission, think of starting out at six o’clock every Sunday morning,
running from street to street for an hour, knocking at the doors and
rousing the careless, and thus getting together, and keeping together,
their Bible Class? This was what I did at first; but, in course of time,
a band of voluntary visitors belonging to the class took charge of all
the irregulars, the indifferents, and the new-comers, and thereby not
only relieved and assisted me, but vastly increased their own personal
interest, and became warmly attached to each other.
I had also a very large Bible Class—a sort of Bible-reading—on Monday
night, attended by all, of both sexes and of any age, who cared to come
or had any interest in the work. Wednesday evening, again, was devoted
to a Prayer Meeting for all, and the attendance often more than
half-filled the Church. There I usually took up some book of Holy
Scripture, and read and lectured right through, practically expounding
and applying it. On Thursday I held a Communicants’ Class, intended for
the more careful instruction of all who wished to become full members of
the Church. Our constant text-book was “Patterson on the Shorter
Catechism,” than which I have never seen a better compendium of the
doctrines of Holy Scripture. Each being thus trained for a season,
received from me, if found worthy, a letter to the minister of any
Protestant Church which he or she inclined to join. In this way great
numbers became active and useful communicants in the surrounding
congregations, and eight young lads of humble circumstances educated
themselves for the ministry of the Church,—most of them getting their
first lessons in Latin and Greek from my very poor stock of the same!
Friday evening was occupied with a Singing Class, teaching Church music,
and practising for our Sabbath meetings. On Saturday evening we held our
Total Abstinence meeting, at which the members themselves took a
principal part, in readings, addresses, recitations, singing hymns, etc.
Great good resulted from this Total Abstinence work. Many adults took
and kept the pledge, thereby greatly increasing the comfort and
happiness of their homes. Many were led to attend the church on the
Lord’s Day, who had formerly spent it in rioting and drinking. But,
above all, it trained the young to fear the very name of intoxicating
drink, and to hate and keep far away from everything that led to
intemperance. From observation, at an early age I became convinced that
mere Temperance Societies were a failure, and that Total Abstinence, by
the grace of God, was the only sure preventive as well as remedy. What
was temperance in one man was drunkenness in another; and all the
drunkards came not from those who practised total abstinence, but from
those who practised or tried to practise temperance. I had seen
_temperance_ men drinking wine in the presence of others who drank to
excess, and never could see how they felt clear of blame; and I had
known ministers and others, once strong temperance advocates, fall
through their “moderation” and become drunkards. Therefore it has all my
life appeared to me beyond dispute, in reference to intoxicants of every
kind, that the only rational temperance is total abstinence from them as
beverages, and the use of them only as drugs, and then only with extreme
caution, as they are deceptive and deleterious poisons of the most
debasing and demoralizing kind. I found also, that when I tried to
reclaim a drunkard, or caution any one as to intemperate habits, one of
the first questions was,—
“Are you a pledged Abstainer yourself?”
By being enabled to reply decidedly, “Yes, I am,” the mouth of the
objector was closed; and that gave me a hundred-fold more influence with
him than if I had had to confess that I was only “temperate.” For the
good of others, and for the increase of their personal influence as the
servants of Christ, I would plead with every Minister and Missionary,
every office-bearer and Sabbath school teacher, every one who wishes to
work for the Lord Jesus in the family, the Church, and the world, to be
a Total Abstainer from all intoxicating drinks.
I would add my testimony also against the use of tobacco, which injures
and leads many astray, especially the very young, and which never can be
required by any person in ordinary health. But I would not be understood
to regard the evils that flow from it as deserving to be mentioned in
comparison with the unutterable woes and miseries of intemperance. To be
protected, however, from suspicion and from evil, all the followers of
Jesus should, in self-denial (how small!) and consecration to His
service, be pledged Abstainers from both of these selfish indulgences,
which are certainly injurious to many, which are no ornament to any
character, and which can be no help in well-doing. Praise God for the
many who are now so pledged! Happy day for poor Humanity, when all the
Lord’s people adopt this self-denying ordinance for the good of the
race!
Not boastfully, but gratefully, let me record that my Classes and
Meetings were now attended by such numbers that they were amongst the
largest and most successful that the City Mission had ever known; and by
God’s blessing I was enabled to develop them into a regular, warmly
attached, and intelligent Congregation. My work, however exacting, was
full of joy to me. From five to six hundred people were in usual weekly
attendance; consisting exclusively of poor working persons, and largely
of the humbler class of mill-workers. So soon as their circumstances
improved, they were constantly removing to more respectable and healthy
localities, and got to be scattered over all the city. But wherever they
went, I visited them regularly to prevent their falling away, and held
by them till I got them interested in some Church near where they had
gone to live. On my return, many years after, from the Foreign Mission
field, there was scarcely a congregation in any part of the city where
some one did not warmly salute me with the cry, “Don’t you remember me?”
And then, after greetings, came the well-remembered name of one or other
member of my old Bible Class.
Such toils left me but small time for private studies. The City
Missionary was required to spend four hours daily in his work; but often
had I to spend double that time, day after day, in order to overtake
what was laid upon me. About eight or ten of my most devoted young men,
and double that number of young women, whom I had trained to become
visitors and tract distributors, greatly strengthened my hands. Each of
the young men by himself, and the young women two by two, had charge of
a portion of a street, which was visited by them regularly twice every
month. At a monthly meeting of all our Workers, reports were given in,
changes were noted, and all matters brought under notice were attended
to. Besides, if any note or message were left at my lodging, or any case
of sickness or want reported, it was looked after by me without delay.
Several Christian gentlemen, mill-owners and other employers in the
Calton, Mile-end, and Bridgeton of Glasgow, were so interested in my
work that they kindly offered to give employment to every deserving
person recommended by me, and that relieved much distress and greatly
increased my influence for good.
Almost the only enemies I had were the keepers of Public-Houses, whose
trade had been injured by my Total Abstinence Society. Besides the
Saturday night meetings all the year round, we held, in summer evenings
and on Saturday afternoons, Evangelistic and Total Abstinence services
in the open air. We met in Thomson’s Lane, a short, broad street, not
open for the traffic of conveyances, and admirably situated for our
purposes. Our pulpit was formed by the top of an outside stair, leading
to the second flat of a house in the middle of the lane. Prominent
Christian workers took part with us in delivering addresses; an
intimation through my classes usually secured good audiences; and the
hearty singing of hymns by my Mission Choir gave zest and joy to the
whole proceedings. Of other so-called “attractions” we had none, and
needed none, save the sincere proclamation of the Good Tidings from God
to men!
On one occasion, it becoming known that we had arranged for a special
Saturday afternoon demonstration, a deputation of Publicans complained
beforehand to the Captain of the Police that our meetings were
interfering with their legitimate trade. He heard their complaints and
promised to send officers to watch the meeting, prevent any disturbance,
and take in charge all offenders, but declined to prohibit the meetings
till he received their reports. The Captain, a pious Wesleyan, who was
in full sympathy with us and our work, informed me of the complaints
made and intimated that his men would be present, but I was just to
conduct the meeting as usual, and he would guarantee that strict justice
would be done. The Publicans, having announced amongst their
sympathisers that the Police were to break up and prevent our meeting
and take the conductors in charge, a very large crowd assembled, both
friendly and unfriendly, for the Publicans and their hangers-on were
there “to see the fun,” and to help in baiting the Missionary.
Punctually, I ascended the stone stair, accompanied by another
Missionary who was also to deliver an address, and announced our opening
hymn. As we sang, a company of Police appeared, and were quietly located
here and there among the crowd, the serjeant himself taking his post
close by the platform, whence the whole assembly could be scanned. Our
enemies were jubilant, and signals were passed betwixt them and their
friends, as if the time had come to provoke a row. Before the hymn was
finished, Captain Baker himself, to the infinite surprise of friend and
foe alike, joined us on the platform, devoutly listened to all that was
said, and waited till the close. The Publicans could not for very shame
leave, while he was there at their suggestion and request, though they
had wit enough to perceive that his presence had frustrated all their
sinister plans. They had to hear our addresses and prayers and hymns;
they had to listen to the intimation of our future meetings. When all
had quietly dispersed, the Captain warmly congratulated us on our large
and well-conducted congregation, and hoped that great good would result
from our efforts. This opposition, also, the Lord overruled to increase
our influence, and to give point and publicity to our assaults upon the
kingdom of Satan.
Though disappointed thus, some of the Publicans resolved to have
revenge. On the following Saturday evening, when a large meeting was
being addressed in our Green Street Church, which had to be entered by a
great iron gateway, a spirit merchant ran his van in front of the gate,
so that the people could not leave the Church without its removal.
Hearing this, I sent two of my young men to draw it aside and clear the
way. The Publican, watching near by in league with two policemen,
pounced upon the young men whenever they seized the shafts, and gave
them in charge for removing his property. On hearing that the young men
were being marched to the Police Office, I ran after them and asked what
was their offence? They replied that they were prisoners for injuring
the spirit merchant’s property; and the officers tartly informed me that
if I further interfered I would be taken too. I replied, that as the
young men only did what was necessary, and at my request, I would go
with them to the Office. The cry now went through the street, that the
Publicans were sending the Missionary and his young men to the Police
Office, and a huge mob rushed together to rescue us; but I earnestly
entreated them not to raise disturbance, but allow us quietly to pass
on. At the Office, it appeared as if the lieutenant on duty and the men
under him were all in sympathy with the Publicans. He took down in
writing all their allegations, but would not listen to us. At this stage
a handsomely dressed and dignified gentleman came forward and said,—
“What bail is required?”
A few sharp words passed; another, and apparently higher, officer
entered, and took part in the colloquy. I could only hear the gentleman
protest, in authoritative tones, the policemen having been quietly asked
some questions,—
“I know this whole case, I will expose it to the bottom; expect me here
to stand by the Missionary and these young men on Monday morning.”
Before I could collect my wits to thank him, and before I quite
understood what was going on, he had disappeared; and the superior
officer turned to us and intimated in a very respectful manner that the
charge had been withdrawn, and that I and my friends were at liberty. I
never found out exactly who the gentleman was that befriended us; but
from the manner in which he asserted himself and was listened to, I saw
that he was well known in official quarters. From that day our work
progressed without further open opposition, and many who had been slaves
of intemperance were not only reformed, but became fervent workers in
the Total Abstinence cause.
Though intemperance was the main cause of poverty, suffering, misery,
and vice in that district of Glasgow, I had also considerable opposition
from Romanists and Infidels, many of whom met in clubs, where they drank
together and gloried in their wickedness and in leading other young men
astray. Against these I prepared and delivered lectures, at the close of
which discussion was allowed; but I fear they did little good. These men
embraced the opportunity of airing their absurdities, or sowing the
seeds of corruption in those whom otherwise they could never have
reached, while their own hearts and minds were fast shut against all
conviction or light.
One infidel Lecturer in the district became very ill. His wife called me
in to visit him. I found him possessed of a circulating library of
infidel books, by which he sought to pervert unwary minds. Though he had
talked and lectured much against the Gospel, he did not at all really
understand its message. He had read the Bible, but only to find food
there for ridicule. Now supposed to be dying, he confessed that his mind
was full of terror as to the Future. After several visits and frequent
conversations and prayers, he became genuinely and deeply interested,
drank in God’s message of salvation, and cried aloud with many tears for
pardon and peace. He bitterly lamented the evil he had done, and called
in all the infidel literature that he had in circulation, with the
purpose of destroying it. He began to speak solemnly to any of his old
companions that came to see him, telling them what he had found in the
Lord Jesus. At his request I bought and brought to him a Bible, which he
received with great joy, saying, “This is the book for me now;” and
adding, “Since you were here last, I gathered together all my infidel
books; my wife locked the door, till she and my daughter tore them to
pieces, and I struck the light that reduced the pile to ashes.”
As long as he lived, this man was unwearied and unflinching in
testifying, to all that crossed his path, how much Jesus Christ had been
to his heart and soul; and he died in the possession of a full and
blessed hope.
Another Infidel, whose wife was a Roman Catholic, also became unwell,
and gradually sank under great suffering and agony. His blasphemies
against God were known and shuddered at by all the neighbours. His wife
pled with me to visit him. She refused, at my suggestion, to call her
own priest, so I accompanied her at last. The man refused to hear one
word about spiritual things, and foamed with rage. He even spat at me,
when I mentioned the name of Jesus. “The natural man receiveth not the
things of the Spirit of God; for they are foolishness unto him!” There
is a wisdom which is at best earthly, and at worst “sensual and
devilish.” His wife asked me to take care of the little money they had,
as she would not entrust it to her own priest. I visited the poor man
daily, but his enmity to God and his sufferings together seemed to drive
him mad. His yells gathered crowds on the streets. He tore to pieces his
very bed-clothes, till they had to bind him on the iron bed where he
lay, foaming and blaspheming. Towards the end I pled with him even then
to look to the Lord Jesus, and asked if I might pray with him? With all
his remaining strength, he shouted at me,—
“Pray for me to the devil!”
Reminding him how he had always denied that there was any devil, I
suggested that he must surely believe in one now, else he would scarcely
make such a request, even in mockery. In great rage he cried,—
“Yes, I believe there is a devil, and a God, and a just God, too; but I
have hated Him in life, and I hate Him in death!”
With these awful words, he wriggled into Eternity; but his shocking
death produced a very serious impression for good, especially amongst
young men, in the district where his character was known.
How different was the case of that Doctor who also had been an
unbeliever as well as a drunkard! Highly educated, skilful, and gifted
above most in his profession, he was taken into consultation for
specially dangerous cases, whenever they could find him tolerably sober.
After one of his excessive “bouts,” he had a dreadful attack of
_delirium tremens_. At one time, wife and watchers had a fierce struggle
to dash from his lips a draught of prussic acid; at another, they
detected the silver-hafted lancet concealed in the band of his shirt, as
he lay down, to bleed himself to death. His aunt came and pled with me
to visit him. My heart bled for his poor young wife and two beautiful
little children. Visiting him twice daily, and sometimes even more
frequently, I found the way somehow into his heart, and he would do
almost anything for me and longed for my visits. When again the fit of
self-destruction seized him, they sent for me; he held out his hand
eagerly, and grasping mine, said,—
“Put all these people out of the room, remain you with me; I will be
quiet, I will do everything you ask!”
I got them all to leave, but whispered to one in passing to “keep near
the door.”
Alone I sat beside him, my hand in his, and kept up a quiet conversation
for several hours. After we had talked of everything that I could think
of, and it was now far into the morning, I said,—
“If you had a Bible here, we might read a chapter, verse about.”
He said dreamily, “There was once a Bible above yon press; if you can
get up to it, you might find it there yet.”
Getting it, dusting it, and laying it on a small table which I drew near
to the sofa on which we sat, we read there and then a chapter together.
After this, I said, “Now, shall we pray?”
He replied heartily, “Yes.”
I having removed the little table, we kneeled down together at the sofa;
and after a solemn pause, I whispered, “You pray first.”
He replied, “I curse, I cannot pray; would you have me curse God to His
face?”
I answered, “You promised to do all that I asked; you must pray, or try
to pray, and let me hear that you cannot.”
He said, “I cannot curse God on my knees; let me stand, and I will curse
Him; I cannot pray.”
I gently held him on his knees, saying, “Just try to pray, and let me
hear you cannot.”
Instantly he cried out, “O Lord, Thou knowest I cannot pray,” and was
going to say something dreadful as he strove to rise up. But I just took
the words he had uttered as if they had been my own, and continued the
prayer, pleading for him and his dear ones as we knelt there together,
till he showed that he was completely subdued and lying low at the feet
of God. On rising from our knees he was manifestly greatly impressed,
and I said,—
“Now, as I must be at College by daybreak and must return to my lodging
for my books and an hour’s rest, will you do one thing more for me
before I go?”
“Yes,” was his reply.
“Then,” said I, “it is long since you had a refreshing sleep; now, will
you lie down, and I will sit by you till you fall asleep?”
He lay down, and was soon fast asleep. After commending him to the care
and blessing of the Lord, I quietly slipped out, and his wife returned
to watch by his side. When I came back later in the day, after my
classes were over, he, on hearing my foot and voice, came running to
meet me, and clasping me in his arms, cried,—
“Thank God, I can pray now! I rose this morning refreshed from sleep,
and prayed with my wife and children for the first time in my life; and
now I shall do so every day, and serve God while I live, who hath dealt
in so great mercy with me!”
After delightful conversation, he promised to go with me to Dr.
Symington’s church on Sabbath Day; there he took sittings beside me; at
next half-yearly communion he and his wife were received into
membership, and their children were baptized; and from that day till his
death he led a devoted and most useful Christian life. Henceforth, as a
medical man he delighted to attend all poor and destitute cases which we
brought under his care; he ministered to them for Jesus’ sake, and spoke
to them of their blessed Saviour. When he came across cases that were
hopeless, he sent for me to visit them too, being as anxious for their
souls as for their bodies. He died, years after this, of consumption,
partly at least the fruit of early excesses; but he was serenely
prepared for death, and happy in the assured hope of eternal blessedness
with Christ. He sleeps in Jesus; and I do believe that I shall meet him
in Glory as a trophy of redeeming grace and love!
In my Mission district, I was the witness of many joyful departures to
be with Jesus,—I do not like to name them “deaths” at all. Even now, at
the distance of nearly forty years, many instances, especially amongst
the young men and women who attended my classes, rise up before my mind.
They left us, rejoicing in the bright assurance that nothing present or
to come “could ever separate them or us from the love of God which is in
Christ Jesus our Lord.” Several of them, by their conversation even on
their deathbed, were known to have done much good. Many examples might
be given; but I can find room for only one. John Sim, a dear little boy,
was carried away by consumption. His childish heart seemed to be filled
with joy about seeing Jesus. His simple prattle, mingled with deep
questionings, arrested not only his young companions, but pierced the
hearts of some careless sinners who heard him, and greatly refreshed the
faith of God’s dear people. It was the very pathos of song incarnated to
hear the weak quaver of his dying voice sing out,—
“I lay my sins on Jesus,
The spotless Lamb of God.”
Shortly before his decease he said to his parents, “I am going soon to
be with Jesus; but I sometimes fear that I may not see you there.”
“Why so, my child?” said his weeping mother.
“Because,” he answered, “if you were set upon going to heaven and seeing
Jesus there, you would pray about it, and sing about it; you would talk
about Jesus to others, and tell them of that happy meeting with Him in
Glory. All this my dear Sabbath school teacher taught me, and she will
meet me there. Now why did not you, my father and mother, tell me all
these things about Jesus, if you are going to meet Him too?”
Their tears fell fast over their dying child; and he little knew, in his
unthinking eighth year, what a message from God had pierced their souls
through his innocent words. One day an aunt from the country visited his
mother, and their talk had run in channels for which the child no longer
felt any interest. On my sitting down beside him, he said,—
“Sit you down and talk with me about Jesus; I am tired hearing so much
talk about everything else but Jesus; I am going soon to be with Him.
Oh, do tell me everything you know or have ever heard about Jesus, the
spotless Lamb of God!”
At last the child literally longed to be away, not for rest, or freedom
from pain—for of that he had very little—but, as he himself always put
it, “to see Jesus.” And, after all, that was the wisdom of the heart,
however he learned it. Eternal life, here or hereafter, is just the
vision of Jesus.
Amongst many of the Roman Catholics in my Mission district, also, I was
very kindly received, and allowed even to read the Scriptures and to
pray. At length, however, a young woman who professed to be converted by
my classes and meetings brought things to a crisis betwixt them and me.
She had renounced her former faith, was living in a Protestant family,
and looked to me as her pastor and teacher. One night, a closed
carriage, with two men and women, was sent from a Nunnery in Clyde
Street, to take her and her little sister with them. She refused, and
declined all authority on their part, declaring that she was now a
Protestant by her own free choice. During this altercation, a message
had been sent for me. On arriving, I found the house filled with a noisy
crowd. Before them all, she appealed to me for protection from these her
enemies. The Romanists, becoming enraged, jostled me into a corner of
the room, and there enclosed me. The two women pulled her out of bed by
force, for the girl had been sick, and began to dress her, but she
fainted among their hands.
I called out,—
“Do not murder the poor girl! Get her water, quick, quick!” and leaving
my hat on the table, I rushed through amongst them, as if in search of
water, and they let me pass. Knowing that the house had only one door, I
quickly slipped the key from within, shut and locked the door outside,
and with the key in my hand ran to the Police Office. Having secured two
constables to protect the girl and take the would-be captors into
custody, I returned, opened the door, and found, alas! that these
constables were themselves Roman Catholics, and at once set about
frustrating me and assisting their own friends. The poor sick girl was
supported by the arms into the carriage; the policemen cleared the way
through the crowd; and before I could force my way through the
obstructives in the house, the conveyance was already starting. I
appealed and shouted to the crowds to protect the girl, and seize and
take the whole party to the Police Office. A gentleman in the crowd took
my part, and said to a big Highland policeman in the street,—
“Mac, I commit that conveyance and party to you on a criminal charge,
before witnesses; you will suffer, if they escape.”
The driver lashing at his horse to get away, Mac drew his baton and
struck, when the driver leapt down to the street on the opposite side,
and threw the reins in the policeman’s face. Thereupon our stalwart
friend at once mounted the box, and drove straight for the Police
Office. On arriving there, we discovered that only the women were inside
with the sick girl—the men having escaped in the scuffle and the crush.
What proved more disappointing was that the lieutenant on duty happened
to be a Papist, who, after hearing our statement and conferring with the
parties in the conveyance, returned, and said,—
“Her friends are taking her to a comfortable home; you have no right to
interfere, and I have let them go.” He further refused to hear the
grounds of our complaint, and ordered the police to clear the Office.
Next morning, a false and foolish account of the whole affair appeared
in the Newspapers, condemnatory of the Mission and of myself; a meeting
of the directors was summoned, and the Superintendent came to my lodging
to take me before them. Having heard all, and questioned and
cross-questioned me, they resolved to prosecute the abductors of the
girl. The Nunnery authorities confessed that the little sister was with
them, but denied that _she_ had been taken in there, or that they knew
anything of her case. Though the girl was sought for carefully by the
Police, and by all the members of my class, for nearly a fortnight, no
trace of her or of the coachman or of any of the parties could be
discovered; till one day from a cellar, through a grated window, she
called to one of my class girls passing by, and begged her to run and
let me know that she was confined there. At once, the directors of the
City Mission were informed by me, and Police were sent to rescue her;
but on examining that house they found that she had been again removed.
The occupiers denied all knowledge of where she had gone, or who had
taken her away from their lodging. All other efforts failed to find her,
till she was left at the Poor House door, far gone in dropsy, and soon
after died in that last refuge of the destitute and forsaken.
Anonymous letters were now sent, threatening my life; and I was publicly
cursed from the altar by the priests in Abercromby Street Chapel. The
directors of the Mission, fearing violence, advised me to leave Glasgow
for a short holiday, and even offered to arrange for my being taken for
work in Edinburgh for a year, that the fanatical passions of the Irish
Papists might have time to subside. But I refused to leave my work. I
went on conducting it all as in the past. The worst thing that happened
was, that on rushing one day past a row of houses occupied exclusively
by Papists, a stone thrown from one of them cut me severely above the
eye, and I fell stunned and bleeding. When I recovered and scrambled to
my feet, no person of course that could be suspected was to be seen! The
doctor having dressed the wound, it rapidly healed, and after a short
confinement I resumed my work and my studies without any further serious
annoyance. Attempts were made more than once, in these Papist closes,
and I believe by the Papists themselves, to pour pails of boiling water
on my head, over windows and down dark stairs, but in every case I
marvellously escaped; and as I would not turn coward, their malice tired
itself out, and they ultimately left me entirely at peace. Is not this a
feature of the lower Irish, and especially Popish population? Let them
see that bullying makes you afraid, and they will brutally and cruelly
misuse you; but defy them fearlessly, or take them by the nose, and they
will crouch like whelps beneath your feet. Is there anything in their
Religion that accounts for this? Is it not a system of alternating
tyranny on the one part, and terror, abject terror, on the other?
About this same time there was an election of elders for Dr. Symington’s
congregation, and I was by an almost unanimous vote chosen for that
office. For years now I had been attached to them as City Missionary for
their district, and many friends urged me to accept the eldership, as
likely to increase my usefulness, and give me varied experience for my
future work. My dear father, also, himself an elder in the congregation
at Dumfries, advised me similarly; and though very young, comparatively,
for such a post, I did accept the office, and continued to act as an
elder and member of Dr. Symington’s kirk session, till by-and-by I was
ordained as a Missionary to the New Hebrides, where the great lot of my
life had been cast by the Lord, as yet unknown to me.
All through my City Mission period, I was painfully carrying on my
studies, first at the University of Glasgow, and thereafter at the
Reformed Presbyterian Divinity Hall; and also medical classes at the
Andersonian College. With the exception of one session, when failure of
health broke me down, I struggled patiently on through ten years. The
work was hard and most exacting; and if I never attained the scholarship
for which I thirsted—being but poorly grounded in my younger days—I yet
had much of the blessed Master’s presence in all my efforts, which many
better scholars sorely lacked; and I was sustained by the lofty aim
which burned all these years bright within my soul, namely,—to be
qualified as a preacher of the Gospel of Christ, to be owned and used by
Him for the salvation of perishing men.
CHAPTER IV.
_FOREIGN MISSION CLAIMS._
The Wail of the Heathen.—A Missionary Wanted.—Two Souls on the
Altar.—Lions in the Path.—The Old Folks at Home.—Successors in
Green Street Mission.—Old Green Street Hands.—A Father in God.
Happy in my work as I felt, and successful by the blessing of God, yet I
continually heard, and chiefly during my last years in the Divinity
Hall, the wail of the perishing Heathen in the South Seas; and I saw
that few were caring for them, while I well knew that many would be
ready to take up my work in Calton, and carry it forward perhaps with
more efficiency than myself. Without revealing the state of my mind to
any person, this was the supreme subject of my daily meditation and
prayer; and this also led me to enter upon those medical studies, in
which I purposed taking the full course; but at the close of my third
year, an incident occurred, which led me at once to offer myself for the
Foreign Mission field.
The Reformed Presbyterian Church of Scotland, in which I had been
brought up, had been advertising for another Missionary to join the Rev.
John Inglis in his grand work in the New Hebrides. Dr. Bates, the
excellent convener of the Heathen Missions Committee, was deeply
grieved, because for two years their appeal had failed. At length, the
Synod, after much prayer and consultation, felt the claims of the
Heathen so urgently pressed upon them by the Lord’s repeated calls, that
they resolved to cast lots, to discover whether God would thus select
any Minister to be relieved from his home-charge, and designated as a
Missionary to the South Seas. Each member of Synod, as I was informed,
agreed to hand in, after solemn appeal to God, the names of the three
best qualified in his esteem for such a work, and he who had the clear
majority was to be loosed from his congregation, and to proceed to the
Mission field—or the first and second highest, if two could be secured.
Hearing this debate, and feeling an intense interest in these most
unusual proceedings, I remember yet the hushed solemnity of the prayer
before the names were handed in. I remember the strained silence that
held the Assembly while the scrutinizers retired to examine the papers;
and I remember how tears blinded my eyes when they returned to announce
that the result was so indecisive, that it was clear that the Lord had
not in that way provided a Missionary. The cause was once again solemnly
laid before God in prayer, and a cloud of sadness appeared to fall over
all the Synod.
The Lord kept saying within me, “Since none better qualified can be got,
rise and offer yourself!” Almost overpowering was the impulse to answer
aloud, “Here am I, send me.” But I was dreadfully afraid of mistaking my
own emotions for the will of God. So I resolved to make it a subject of
close deliberation and prayer for a few days longer, and to look at the
proposal from every possible aspect. Besides, I was keenly solicitous
about the effect upon the hundreds of young people and others, now
attached to all my classes and meetings; and yet I felt a growing
assurance that this was the call of God to His servant, and that He who
was willing to employ me in the work abroad, was both able and willing
to provide for the on-carrying of my work at home. The wail and the
claims of the Heathen were constantly sounding in my ears. I saw them
perishing for lack of the knowledge of the true God and His Son Jesus,
while my Green Street people had the open Bible, and all the means of
grace within easy reach, which, if they rejected, they did so wilfully,
and at their own peril. None seemed prepared for the Heathen field; many
were capable and ready for the Calton service. My medical studies, as
well as my literary and divinity training, had specially qualified me in
some ways for the Foreign field, and from every aspect at which I could
look the whole facts in the face, the voice within me sounded like a
voice from God.
It was under good Dr. Bates of West Campbell Street that I had begun my
career in Glasgow—receiving £25 per annum for district visitation in
connection with his congregation, along with instruction under Mr.
Hislop and his staff in the Free Church Normal Seminary—and oh, how Dr.
Bates did rejoice, and even weep for joy, when I called on him, and
offered myself for the New Hebrides Mission! I returned to my lodging
with a lighter heart than I had for some time enjoyed, feeling that
nothing so clears the vision, and lifts up the life, as a decision to
move forward in what you know to be entirely the will of the Lord. I
said to my fellow-student, who had chummed with me all through our
course at college,—
“I have been away signing my banishment” (a rather trifling way of talk
for such an occasion). “I have offered myself as a Missionary for the
New Hebrides.”
After a long and silent meditation, in which he seemed lost in
far-wandering thoughts, his answer was,—
“If they will accept of me, I also am resolved to go!”
I said, “Will you write the convener to that effect, or let me do so?”
He replied, “You may.”
A few minutes later his letter of offer was in the post office. Next
morning, Dr. Bates called upon us early, and after a long conversation,
commended us and our future work to the Lord God in fervent prayer.
My fellow-student, Mr. Joseph Copeland, had also for some time been a
very successful City Missionary in the Camlachie district, while
attending along with me at the Divinity Hall. This leading of God,
whereby we both resolved at the same time to give ourselves to the
Foreign Mission field, was wholly unexpected by us, as we had never once
spoken to each other about going abroad. At a meeting of the Heathen
Missions Committee, held immediately thereafter, both were, after due
deliberation, formally accepted, on condition that we passed
successfully the usual examinations required of candidates for the
Ministry. And for the next twelve months we were placed under the
special committee for advice as to medical experience, acquaintance with
the rudiments of trades, and anything else which might be thought useful
to us in the Foreign field.
When it became known that I was preparing to go abroad as Missionary,
nearly all were dead against the proposal, except Dr. Bates and my
fellow-student. My dear father and mother, however, when I consulted
them, characteristically replied, “that they had long since given me
away to the Lord, and in this matter also would leave me to God’s
disposal.” From other quarters we were besieged with the strongest
opposition on all sides. Even Dr. Symington, one of my professors in
divinity, and the beloved Minister in connection with whose congregation
I had wrought so long as a City Missionary, and in whose kirk session I
had for years sat as an elder, repeatedly urged me to remain at home. He
argued, “that Green Street Church was doubtless the sphere for which God
had given me peculiar qualifications, and in which He had so largely
blessed my labours; that if I left those now attending my classes and
meetings, they might be scattered, and many of them would probably fall
away; that I was leaving certainty for uncertainty—work in which God had
made me greatly useful, for work in which I might fail to be useful, and
only throw away my life amongst Cannibals.”
I replied, “that my mind was finally resolved; that, though I loved my
work and my people, yet I felt that I could leave them to the care of
Jesus, who would soon provide them a better pastor than I; and that,
with regard to my life amongst the Cannibals, as I had only once to die,
I was content to leave the time and place and means in the hand of God,
who had already marvellously preserved me when visiting cholera patients
and the fever-stricken poor; on that score I had positively no further
concern, having left it all absolutely to the Lord, whom I sought to
serve and honour, whether in life or by death.”
The house connected with my Green Street Church, was now offered to me
for a Manse, and any reasonable salary that I cared to ask (as against
the promised £120 per annum for the far-off and dangerous New Hebrides),
on condition that I would remain at home. I cannot honestly say that
such offers or opposing influences proved a heavy trial to me; they
rather tended to confirm my determination that the path of duty was to
go abroad. Amongst many who sought to deter me, was one dear old
Christian gentleman, whose crowning argument always was,—
“The Cannibals! you will be eaten by Cannibals!”
At last I replied, “Mr. Dickson, you are advanced in years now, and your
own prospect is soon to be laid in the grave, there to be eaten by
worms; I confess to you, that if I can but live and die serving and
honouring the Lord Jesus, it will make no difference to me whether I am
eaten by Cannibals or by worms; and in the Great Day my resurrection
body will arise as fair as yours in the likeness of our risen Redeemer.”
The old gentleman, raising his hands in a deprecating attitude, left the
room exclaiming,—
“After that I have nothing more to say!”
My dear Green Street people grieved excessively at the thought of my
leaving them, and daily pled with me to remain. Indeed, the opposition
was so strong from nearly all, and many of them warm Christian friends,
that I was sorely tempted to question whether I was carrying out the
Divine will, or only some headstrong wish of my own. This also caused me
much anxiety, and drove me close to God in prayer. But again every doubt
would vanish, when I clearly saw that all at home had free access to the
Bible and the means of grace, with Gospel light shining all around them,
while the poor Heathen were perishing, without even the chance of
knowing all God’s love and mercy to men. Conscience said louder and
clearer every day, “Leave all these results with Jesus your Lord, who
said, ‘Go ye into all the world, preach the gospel to every creature,
and lo! I am with you alway.’” These words kept ringing in my ears;
these were our marching orders.
Some retorted upon me, “There are Heathen at home; let us seek and save,
first of all, the lost ones perishing at our doors.” This I felt to be
most true, and an appalling fact; but I unfailingly observed that those
who made this retort neglected these home Heathen themselves; and so the
objection, as from them, lost all its power. They would ungrudgingly
spend more on a fashionable party at dinner or tea, on concert or ball
or theatre, or on some ostentatious display, or worldly and selfish
indulgence, ten times more, perhaps in a single day, than they would
give in a year, or in half a lifetime, for the conversion of the whole
Heathen World, either at home or abroad. Objections from all such people
must, of course, always count for nothing among men to whom spiritual
things are realities. For these people themselves,—I do, and always did,
only pity them, as God’s stewards, making such a miserable use of time
and money entrusted to their care.
On meeting with so many obstructing influences, I again laid the whole
matter before my dear parents, and their reply was to this
effect:—“Heretofore we feared to bias you, but now we must tell you why
we praise God for the decision to which you have been led. Your father’s
heart was set upon being a Minister, but other claims forced him to give
it up. When you were given to them, your father and mother laid you upon
the altar, their first-born, to be consecrated, if God saw fit, as a
Missionary of the Cross; and it has been their constant prayer that you
might be prepared, qualified, and led to this very decision; and we pray
with all our heart that the Lord may accept your offering, long spare
you, and give you many souls from the Heathen World for your hire.” From
that moment, every doubt as to my path of duty for ever vanished. I saw
the hand of God very visibly, not only preparing me for, but now leading
me to, the Foreign Mission field.
Well did I know that the sympathy and prayers of my dear parents were
warmly with me in all my studies and in all my Mission work; but for my
education they could, of course, give me no money help. All through, on
the contrary, it was my pride and joy to help them, being the eldest in
a family of eleven. First, I assisted them to purchase the family cow,
without whose invaluable aid my ever-memorable mother never could have
reared and fed her numerous flock; then, I paid for them the house-rent
and the cow’s grass on the Bank Hill, till some of the others grew up
and relieved me by paying these in my stead; and finally, I helped to
pay the school-fees, to provide clothing—in short I gave, and gladly,
what could possibly be saved out of my City Mission salary of £40,
ultimately advanced to £45 per annum. Self-educated thus, and without
the help of one shilling from any other source, readers will easily
imagine that I had many a staggering difficulty to overcome in my long
curriculum in Arts, Divinity, and Medicine; but God so guided me, and
blessed all my little arrangements, that I never incurred one farthing
of personal debt. There was, however, a heavy burden always pressing
upon me, and crushing my spirit from the day I left my home, which had
been thus incurred.
The late owner of the Dalswinton estate allowed, as a prize, the
cottager who had the tidiest house and most beautiful flower-garden to
sit rent free. For several years in succession, my old sea-faring
grandfather won this prize, partly by his own handy skill, partly by his
wife’s joy in flowers. Unfortunately no clearance-receipt had been asked
or given for these rents—the proprietor and his cottars treating each
other as friends rather than as men of business. The new heir,
unexpectedly succeeding, found himself in need of money, and threatened
prosecution for such rents as arrears. The money had to be borrowed. A
money-lending lawyer gave it at usurious interest, on condition of my
father also becoming responsible for interest and principal. This burden
hung like a millstone around my grandfather’s neck till the day of his
death; and it then became suspended round my father’s neck alone. The
lawyer, on hearing of my giving up trade and entering upon study,
threatened to prosecute my father for the capital, unless my name were
given along with his for security. Every shilling that I or any of us
could save, all through these ten years of my preparatory classes, went
to pay off that interest and gradually to reduce the capital; and this
burden we managed, amongst us, to extinguish just on the eve of my
departure for the South Seas. Indeed, one of the purest joys connected
with that time was that I received my first Foreign Mission salary and
outfit money in advance, and could send home a sum sufficient to wipe
out the last penny of a claim by that money-lender or by any one else
against my beloved parents, in connection with the noble struggle they
had made in rearing so large a family in thorough Scottish independence.
And that joy was hallowed by the knowledge that my other brothers and
sisters were now all willing and able to do what I had been doing—for we
stuck to each other and to the old folks like burs, and had all things
“in common,” as a family in Christ—and I knew that never again,
howsoever long they might be spared through a peaceful autumn of life,
would the dear old father and mother lack any joy or comfort that the
willing hands and loving hearts of all their children could singly or
unitedly provide. For all this I did praise the Lord. It consoled me,
beyond description, in parting from them, probably for ever in this
world at least.
The Directors of Glasgow City Mission along with the Great Hamilton
Street congregation, had made every effort to find a suitable successor
to me in my Green Street work, but in vain. Despairing of success, as no
inexperienced worker could with any hope undertake it, Rev. Mr. Caie,
the superintendent, felt moved to appeal to my brother Walter,—then in a
good business situation in the city, who had been of late closely
associated with me in all my undertakings,—if he would not come to the
rescue, devote himself to the Mission, and prepare for the Holy
Ministry. My brother resigned a good position and excellent prospects in
the business world, set himself to carry forward the Green Street
Mission and did so with abundant energy and manifest blessing,
persevered in his studies, despite a long-continued illness through
injury to his foot, and became an honoured Minister of the Gospel, in
the Reformed Presbyterian Church first of all, and now in the Free
Church of Scotland, at Chapelton, near Hamilton.
On my brother withdrawing from Green Street, God provided for the
district a devoted young Minister, admirably adapted for the work, Rev.
John Edgar, M.A., who succeeded in drawing together such a body of
people that they hived off and built a new church in Landressy Street,
which is now, by amalgamation, known as the Barrowfield Free Church of
Glasgow. For that fruit too, while giving all praise to other devoted
workers, we bless God as we trace the history of our Green Street
Mission. Let him that soweth and him that reapeth rejoice unfeignedly
together! The spirit of the old Green Street workers lives on too, as I
have already said, in the new premises erected close thereby; and in
none more conspicuously than in the son of my staunch patron and friend,
another Thomas Binnie, Esq., who in Foundry Boy meetings and otherwise
devotes the consecrated leisure of a busy and prosperous life to the
direct personal service of his Lord and Master. The blessing of Jehovah
God be ever upon that place, and upon all who there seek to win their
fellows to the love and service of Jesus Christ!
When I left Glasgow, many of the young men and women of my classes
would, if it had been possible, have gone with me, to live and die among
the Heathen. Though chiefly working girls and lads in trades and mills,
their deep interest led them to unite their pence and sixpences and to
buy web after web of calico, print, and woollen stuffs, which they
themselves shaped and sewed into dresses for the women, and kilts and
pants for men, on the New Hebrides. This continued to be repeated year
by year, long after I had left them; and to this day no box from Glasgow
goes to the New Hebrides Mission which does not contain article after
article from one or other of the old Green Street hands. I do certainly
anticipate that, when they and I meet in Glory, those days in which we
learned the joy of Christian service in the Green Street Mission Halls
will form no unwelcome theme of holy and happy converse!
That able and devoted Minister of the Gospel, Dr. Bates, the Convener of
the Heathen Missions, had taken the deepest and most fatherly interest
in all our preparations. But on the morning of our final examinations he
was confined to bed with sickness; yet could not be content without
sending his daughter to wait in an adjoining room near the Presbytery
House, to learn the result, and instantly to carry him word. When she,
hurrying home, informed him that we both had passed successfully, and
that the day of our ordination as Missionaries to the New Hebrides had
been appointed, the apostolic old man praised God for the glad tidings,
and said his work was now done, and that he could depart in
peace,—having seen two devoted men set apart to preach the Gospel to
these dark and bloody Islands in answer to his prayers and tears for
many a day. Thereafter he rapidly sank, and soon fell asleep in Jesus.
He was from the first a very precious friend to me, one of the ablest
Ministers our Church ever had, by far the warmest advocate of her
Foreign Missions, and altogether a most attractive, white-souled, and
noble specimen of an ambassador for Christ, beseeching men to be
reconciled to God.
[Illustration: _Stanford’s Geog. Estab^t., London._]
CHAPTER V.
_THE NEW HEBRIDES._
License and Ordination.—At Sea.—From Melbourne to Aneityum.—Settlement
on Tanna.—Our Mission Stations.—Diplomatic Chiefs.—Painful First
Impressions.—Bloody Scenes.—The Widow’s Doom.
On the first of December, 1857, the other Missionary-designate and I
were “licensed” as preachers of the Gospel. Thereafter we spent four
months in visiting and addressing nearly every congregation and Sabbath
school in the Reformed Presbyterian Church of Scotland, that the people
might see us and know us, and thereby take a personal interest in our
work. That idea was certainly excellent, and might well be adapted to
the larger Churches, by allocating one Missionary to each province or to
so many presbyteries, sending him to address these, and training them to
regard him as their Missionary and his work as theirs. On the 23rd
March, 1858, in Dr. Symington’s church, Glasgow, in presence of a mighty
crowd, and after a magnificent sermon on “Come over and help us,” we
were solemnly ordained as Ministers of the Gospel, and set apart as
Missionaries to the New Hebrides. On the 16th April, 1858, we left the
Tail of the Bank at Greenock, and set sail in the _Clutha_ for the
Foreign Mission field.
Our voyage to Melbourne was rather tedious, but ended prosperously,
under Captain Broadfoot, a kindly, brave-hearted Scot, who did
everything that was possible for our comfort. He himself led the singing
on board at worship, which was always charming to me, and was always
regularly conducted—on deck when the weather was fair, below when it was
rough. I was also permitted to conduct Bible classes amongst the crew
and amongst the passengers, at times and places approved of by the
Captain—in which there was great joy. Nearly thirty years after, when I
returned the second time to Scotland, a gentleman of good position, and
the father of a large family in the West, saluted me warmly at the close
of one of my meetings, and reminded me that he was my precentor in the
Bible class on board the _Clutha_! He was kind enough to say that he had
never forgotten the scene and the lessons there.
Arriving at Melbourne, we were welcomed by Rev. Mr. Moor, Mr. and Mrs.
Samuel Wilson, and Mr. Wright, all Reformed Presbyterians from Geelong.
Mr. Wilson’s two children, Jessie and Donald, had been under our care
during the voyage; and my young wife and I went with them for a few days
on a visit to Geelong, while Mr. Copeland remained on board the _Clutha_
to look after our boxes and to watch for any opportunity of reaching our
destination on the Islands. He heard that an American ship, the _Francis
P. Sage_, was sailing from Melbourne to Penang; and the Captain agreed
to land us on Aneityum, New Hebrides, with our two boats and fifty
boxes, for £100. We got on board on the 12th August, but such a gale
blew that we did not sail till the 17th. On the _Clutha_ all was quiet,
and good order prevailed; in the _F. P. Sage_ all was noise and
profanity. The Captain said he kept his second mate for the purpose of
swearing at the men and knocking them about. The voyage was most
disagreeable to all of us, but fortunately it lasted only twelve days.
On the 29th we were close up to Aneityum; but the Captain refused to
land us, even in his boats; some of us suspecting that his men were so
badly used, that had they got on shore they would never have returned to
him! In any case he had beforehand secured his £100.
He lay off the island till a trader’s boat came off to see what we
wanted, and by it we sent a note to Dr. Geddie, one of the Missionaries
there. Early next morning, Monday, he came off to us in his boat,
accompanied by Mr. Mathieson, a newly-arrived Missionary from Nova
Scotia; bringing also Captain Anderson in the small mission schooner,
the _John Knox_, and a large mission boat called the _Columbia_, well
manned with crews of able and willing Natives. Our fifty boxes were soon
on board the _John Knox_, the _Columbia_, and our own boats—all being
heavily loaded and built up, except those that had to be used in pulling
the others ashore. Dr. Geddie, Mr. Mathieson, Mrs. Paton, and I, were
perched among the boxes on the _John Knox_, and had to hold on as best
we could. On sheering off from the _F. P. Sage_, one of her davits
caught and broke the mainmast of the little _John Knox_ by the deck, and
I saved my wife from being crushed to death by its fall through managing
to swing her instantaneously aside in an apparently impossible manner.
It did graze Mr. Mathieson, but he was not hurt. The _John Knox_,
already overloaded, was thus quite disabled; we were about ten miles at
sea, and in imminent danger; but the Captain of the _F. P. Sage_
heartlessly sailed away and left us to struggle with our fate.
We drifted steadily towards Tanna, an island of Cannibals, where our
goods would have been plundered and all of us cooked and eaten. Dr.
Geddie’s boat and mine had the _John Knox_ in tow; and Mr. Copeland,
with a crew of Natives, was struggling hard with his boat to pull the
_Columbia_ and her load towards Aneityum. As God mercifully ordered it,
though we had a stiff trade wind to pull against, we had a comparatively
calm sea; yet we drifted still to leeward, till Dr. Inglis going round
to the harbour in his boat, as he had heard of our arrival, saw us far
at sea, and hastened to our rescue. All the boats now, with their
willing native crews, got fastened to our schooner, and to our great joy
she began to move ahead. After pulling for hours and hours, under the
scorching rays of an almost tropical sun, we were all safely landed on
shore at Aneityum about six o’clock in the evening of August 30th, just
four months and fourteen days since we sailed from Greenock. We got a
hearty welcome from the Missionaries’ wives on the shore, Mrs. Geddie,
Mrs. Inglis, and Mrs. Mathieson, and from all our new friends, the
Christian Natives of Aneityum; and the great danger in which both life
and property had been placed at the close of our voyage, made us praise
God all the more, that He had brought us to this quiet resting-place,
around which lay the Islands of the New Hebrides, to which our eager
hearts had looked forward, and into which we entered now in the name of
the Lord.
Mr. Copeland, Mrs. Paton, and I went round the island to Dr. Inglis’s
Station, where we were most cordially received and entertained by his
dear lady, and by the Christian Natives there. As he was making several
additions to his house at that time, we received for the next few weeks
our first practical and valuable training in Mission house-building, as
well as in higher matters. Soon after, a meeting was called to consult
about our settlement, and, by the advice and with the concurrence of
all, Mr. and Mrs. Mathieson from Nova Scotia were located on the south
side of Tanna, at Umairarekar, and Mrs. Paton and I at Port Resolution,
on the same island. At first it was agreed that Mr. Copeland should be
placed along with us; but owing to the weakly state of Mrs. Mathieson’s
health, it was afterwards resolved that, for a time at least, Mr.
Copeland should live at either Station, as might seem most suitable or
most requisite. Till the close of the sailing season, his time was spent
chiefly in the _John Knox_, helping Captain Anderson in loading and
disloading the wood and house-building materials betwixt Aneityum and
Tanna; while I was occupied chiefly with the house-building and
preparatory arrangements.
Dr. Inglis and a number of his most energetic Natives accompanied us to
Kwamera, Tanna. There we purchased a site for Mission House and Church,
and laid a stone foundation, and advanced as far as practicable the
erection of a dwelling for Mr. and Mrs. Mathieson. Thence we proceeded
to Port Resolution, Tanna, and similarly purchased a site, and advanced,
to a forward stage, the house which Mrs. Paton and I were to occupy on
our settlement there. Lime, for plastering, had to be burned in kilns
from the coral rocks; and thatch, for roofing with sugar-cane leaf, had
to be prepared by the Natives at both stations before our return; for
which, as for all else, a price was duly agreed upon and was
scrupulously paid. Unfortunately we learned, when too late, that both
houses were too near the shore, exposed to unwholesome miasma, and
productive of the dreaded fever and ague,—the most virulent and
insidious enemy to all Europeans in those Southern Seas.
At both Stations, but especially at Port Resolution, we found the
Natives in a very excited and unsettled state. Threatened wars kept them
in constant terror—war betwixt distant tribes, or adjoining villages, or
nearest neighbours. The Chiefs, at both Stations, willingly sold sites
for houses, and appeared to desire Missionaries to live amongst them;
but perhaps it was with an eye to the axes, knives, fish-hooks,
blankets, and clothing, which they got in payment, or hoped for in
plunder, rather than from any thirst for the Gospel, as they were all
savages and cannibals. They warily declined to promise protection to the
Mission families and the Teachers; but they said they would not
themselves do them any harm, though they could not say what the Inland
people might do;—not a bad specimen of diplomacy, leaving an open door
for any future emergency, and neither better nor worse than the methods
by which the civilized European nations make and break their treaties in
peace and in war! Such promises meant and were intended to mean nothing.
The Natives, both on Tanna, and on my second home at Aniwa, believed
that they had kept their promise, if they inflicted no injury with their
own hands, even though they had hired others to do so. No Heathen there
could be trusted one step beyond what appeared to be his own
self-interest for the nonce; and nothing conceivable was too base or
cruel to be done, if only it served his turn. The depths of Satan,
outlined in the first chapter of the Romans, were uncovered there before
our eyes in the daily life of the people, without veil and without
excuse.
My first impressions drove me to the verge of utter dismay. On beholding
these Natives in their paint and nakedness and misery, my heart was as
full of horror as of pity. Had I given up my much-beloved work and my
dear people in Glasgow, with so many delightful associations, to
consecrate my life to these degraded creatures? Was it possible to teach
them right and wrong, to Christianize, or even to civilize them? But
that was only a passing feeling! I soon got as deeply interested in
them, and in all that tended to advance them, and to lead them to the
knowledge and love of Jesus, as ever I had been in my work at Glasgow.
We were surprised and delighted at the remarkable change produced on the
natives of Aneityum through the instrumentality of Drs. Geddie and
Inglis in so short a time; and we hoped, by prayerful perseverance in
the use of similar means, to see the same work of God repeated on Tanna.
Besides, the wonderful and blessed work done by Mrs. Inglis and Mrs.
Geddie, at their Stations, filled our wives with the buoyant hope of
being instruments in the hand of God to produce an equally beneficent
change amongst the savage women of Tanna. Mrs. Paton had been left with
Mrs. Inglis to learn all she could from her of Mission work on the
Islands, till I returned with Dr. Inglis from the house-building
operations on Tanna; during which period Mr. and Mrs. Mathieson were
also being instructed by Dr. and Mrs. Geddie. To the Tannese, Dr. Inglis
and I were objects of curiosity and fear; they came crowding to gaze on
our wooden and lime-plastered house, they chattered incessantly with
each other, and left the scene day after day with undisguised and
increasing wonderment. Possibly they thought us rather mad than wise!
Party after party of armed men, going and coming in a state of great
excitement, we were informed that war was on foot; but our Aneityumese
Teachers were told to assure us that the Harbour people would only act
on the defensive, and that no one would molest us at our work. One day
two hostile tribes met near our Station; high words arose, and old feuds
were revived. The Inland people withdrew; but the Harbour people, false
to their promises, flew to arms and rushed past us in pursuit of their
enemies. The discharge of muskets in the adjoining bush, and the horrid
yells of the savages, soon informed us that they were engaged in deadly
fights. Excitement and terror were on every countenance; armed men
rushed about in every direction, with feathers in their twisted
hair,—with faces painted red, black, and white, and some, one cheek
black, the other red, others, the brow white, the chin blue—in fact, any
colour and on any part,—the more grotesque and savage looking, the
higher the art! Some of the women ran with their children to places of
safety; but even then we saw other girls and women, on the shore close
by, chewing sugar-cane and chaffering and laughing, as if their fathers
and brothers had been engaged in a country dance, instead of a bloody
conflict. In the afternoon, as the sounds of the muskets and the yelling
of the warriors came unpleasantly near to us, Dr. Inglis, leaning
against a post for a little while in silent prayer, looked on us and
said,—
“The walls of Jerusalem were built in troublous times, and why not the
Mission House on Tanna? But let us rest for this day, and pray for these
poor Heathen.”
We retired to a native house, that had been temporarily granted to us
for rest, and there pled before God for them all. The noise and the
discharge of muskets gradually receded, as if the Inland people were
retiring; and towards evening the people around us returned to their
villages. We were afterwards informed that five or six men had been shot
dead; that their bodies had been carried by the conquerors from the
field of battle, and cooked and eaten that very night by the savages at
a boiling spring near the head of the bay, less than a mile from the
spot where my house was being built. We had also a more graphic
illustration of the surroundings into which we had come, through Dr.
Inglis’s Aneityum boy, who accompanied us as cook. When our tea was
wanted that evening, the boy could not be found. After a while of great
anxiety on our part, he returned, saying,—
“Missi, this is a dark land. The people of this land do dark works. At
the boiling spring they have cooked and feasted upon the slain. They
have washed the blood into the stream; they have bathed there till all
the waters are red. I cannot get water to make your tea. What shall I
do?”
Dr. Inglis told him that he must try for water elsewhere, till the rains
came and cleansed the polluted stream; and that, meanwhile, instead of
tea, we would drink from the cocoa-nut, as they had often done before.
The lad was quite relieved. It not a little astonished us, however, to
see that his mind regarded their killing and eating each other as a
thing scarcely to be noticed, but that it was horrible that they should
spoil the water! How much are even our deepest instincts the creatures
of mere circumstances! I, if trained like him, would probably have felt
like him.
Next evening, as we sat talking about the people and the dark scenes
around us, the quiet of the night was broken by a wild wailing cry from
the villages around, long-continued and unearthly. We were informed that
one of the wounded men, carried home from the battle, had just died; and
that they had strangled his widow to death, that her spirit might
accompany him to the other world, and be his servant there, as she had
been here. Now their dead bodies were laid side by side, ready to be
buried in the sea. Our hearts sank to think of all this happening within
earshot, and that we knew it not! Every new scene, every fresh incident,
set more clearly before us the benighted condition and shocking
cruelties of these heathen people, and we longed to be able to speak to
them of Jesus and the love of God. We eagerly tried to pick up every
word of their language, that we might, in their own tongue, unfold to
them the knowledge of the true God and the salvation from all these sins
through Jesus Christ.
Dr. Inglis and I, with the help of the Natives from Aneityum, having
accomplished all that could be done for lack of lime and sawn wood to
finish the new Mission House on Tanna, made an agreement with the
Natives for knives, calico, and axes, to burn lime and prepare other
things for our return. We then hastened back to Aneityum, that we might,
if possible, get ready for settling on Tanna before the Rainy Season set
in. That was rapidly approaching, and it brings with it discomfort and
unhealth to Europeans throughout all these Pacific Isles.
CHAPTER VI.
_LIFE AND DEATH ON TANNA._
Our Island Home.—Learning the Language.—A Religion of Fear.—With or
Without a God.—Ideas of the Invisible.—Gods and Demons.—My
Companion Missionary.—Pioneers in the New Hebrides.—Missionaries
of Aneityum.—The Lord’s Arrowroot.—Unhealthy Sites.—The Great
Bereavement.—Memorial Tributes.—Selwyn and Patteson at a Tannese
Grave.—Her Last Letter.—Last Words.—Presentiment and Mystery.
Our little missionary ship, the _John Knox_, having no accommodation for
lady passengers, and little for anybody else, except the discomfort of
lying on deck, we took advantage of a trader to convey us from Aneityum
to Tanna. The captain kindly offered to take us and about thirty casks
and boxes to Port Resolution for £5, which we gladly accepted. After a
few hours’ sailing we were all safely landed on Tanna on the 5th
November, 1858. Dr. Geddie went for a fortnight to Umairarekar, on the
south side of Tanna, to assist in the settlement of Mr. and Mrs.
Mathieson, and to help in making their house habitable and comfortable.
Mr. Copeland, Mrs. Paton, and I were left at Port Resolution, to finish
the building of our house there, and work our way into the goodwill of
the Natives as best we could. On landing there, we found the people to
be literally naked and painted savages; they were at least as destitute
of clothing as Adam and Eve after the fall, when they sewed fig-leaves
for a girdle; and even more so, for the women wore only a tiny apron of
grass, in some cases shaped like a skirt or girdle, the men an
indescribable affair, like a pouch or bag, and the children absolutely
nothing whatever!
At first they came in crowds to look at us, and at everything we did or
had. We knew nothing of their language; we could not speak a single word
to them, nor they to us. We looked at them, they at us; we smiled, and
nodded, and made signs to each other; this was our first meeting and
parting. One day I observed two men, the one lifting up one of our
articles to the other, and saying,—
“Nunksi nari enu?”
I concluded that he was asking, “What is this?” Instantly, lifting a
piece of wood, I said,—
“Nunksi nari enu?”
They smiled and spoke to each other. I understood them to be saying, “He
has got hold of our language now.” Then they told me their name for the
thing which I had pointed to. I found that they understood my question,
What is this? or, What is that? and that I could now get from them the
name of every visible or tangible thing around us! We carefully noted
down every name they gave us, spelling all phonetically, and also every
strange sound we heard from them; thereafter, by painstaking comparison
of different circumstances, we tried to ascertain their meanings,
testing our own guess by again cross-questioning the Natives. One day I
saw two males approaching, when one, who was a stranger, pointed to me
with his finger, and said,—
“Se nangin?”
Concluding that he was asking my name, I pointed to one of them with my
finger, and looking at the other, inquired,—
“Se nangin?”
They smiled, and gave me their names. We were now able to get the names
of persons and things, and so our ears got familiarized with the
distinctive sounds of their language; and being always keenly on the
alert, we made extraordinary progress in attempting bits of conversation
and in reducing their speech for the first time to a written form—for
the New Hebrideans had no literature, and not even the rudiments of an
alphabet. I used to hire some of the more intelligent lads and men to
sit and talk with us, and answer our questions about names and sounds;
but they so often deceived us, and we, doubtless, misunderstood them so
often, that this course was not satisfactory, till after we had gained
some knowledge of their language and its construction, and they
themselves had become interested in helping us. Amongst our most
interested helpers, and most trustworthy, were two aged chiefs—Nowar and
Nouka—in many respects two of Nature’s noblest gentlemen, kind at heart
to all, and distinguished by a certain native dignity of bearing. But
they were both under the leadership of the war-chief Miaki, a kind of
devil-king over many villages and tribes. He and his brother were the
recognised leaders in all deeds of darkness; they gloried in
bloodshedding, and in war, and in cannibalism; and they could always
command a following of desperate men, who lived in or about their own
village, and who were prepared to go anywhere and do anything at Miaki’s
will.
The Tannese had hosts of stone idols, charms, and sacred objects, which
they abjectly feared, and in which they devoutly believed. They were
given up to countless superstitions, and firmly glued to their dark
heathen practices. Their worship was entirely a service of fear, its aim
being to propitiate this or that Evil Spirit, to prevent calamity or to
secure revenge. They deified their chiefs, like the Romans of old, so
that almost every village or tribe had its own sacred man, and some of
them had many. They exercised an extraordinary influence for evil, these
village or tribal priests, and were believed to have the disposal of
life and death through their sacred ceremonies, not only in their own
tribe, but over all the Islands. Sacred men and women, wizards and
witches, received presents regularly to influence the gods, and to
remove sickness, or to cause it by the _Nahak_, _i.e._, incantation over
remains of food, or the skin of fruit, such as banana, which the person
has eaten, on whom they wish to operate. They also worshipped the
spirits of departed ancestors and heroes, through their material idols
of wood and stone, but chiefly of stone. They feared these spirits and
sought their aid; especially seeking to propitiate those who presided
over war and peace, famine and plenty, health and sickness, destruction
and prosperity, life and death. Their whole worship was one of slavish
fear; and, so far as ever I could learn, they had no idea of a God of
mercy or grace.
Let me here give my testimony on a matter of some importance—that among
these Islands, if anywhere, men might be found destitute of the faculty
of worship, men absolutely without idols, if such men exist under the
face of the sky. Everything seemed to favour such a discovery; but the
New Hebrides, on the contrary, are full of gods. The Natives, destitute
of the knowledge of the true God, are ceaselessly groping after Him, if
perchance they may find Him. Not finding Him, and not being able to live
without some sort of god, they have made idols of almost everything;
trees and groves, rocks and stones, springs and streams, insects and
other beasts, men and departed spirits, relics such as hair and finger
nails, the heavenly bodies and the volcanoes; in fact, every being and
everything within the range of vision or of knowledge has been appealed
to by them as God,—clearly proving that the instincts of Humanity,
however degraded, prompt man to worship and lean upon some Being or
Power outside himself, and greater than himself, in whom he lives and
moves and has his being, and without the knowledge of whom his soul
cannot find its true rest or its eternal life. Imperfect acquaintance
with the language and customs of certain tribes may easily lead early
discoverers to proclaim that they have no sense of worship and no idols,
because nothing of the kind is visible on the surface; but there is a
sort of freemasonry in Heathen Religions; they have mysterious customs
and symbols, which none, even amongst themselves, understand, except the
priests and sacred men. It pays these men to keep their devotees in the
dark—and how much more to deceive a passing inquirer! Nor need we hold
up our hands in surprise at this; it pays also nearer home, to pretend
and to perpetuate a mystery about beads and crucifixes, holy water and
relics—a state of mind not so very far removed from that of the South
Sea islander, not disproving but rather strongly proving that, whether
savage or civilized, man must either know the true God, or must find an
idol to put in His place.
Further, these very facts—that they did worship, that they believed in
spirits of ancestors and heroes, and that they cherished many legends
regarding those whom they had never seen, and handed these down to their
children—and the fact that they had ideas about the invisible world and
its inhabitants, made it not so hard as some might suppose to convey to
their minds, once their language and modes of thought were understood,
some clear idea of Jehovah God as the great uncreated Spirit Father, who
Himself created and sustains all that is. But it could not be done
off-hand, or by a few airy lessons. The whole heart and soul and life
had to be put into the enterprise. The idea that man disobeyed God, and
was a fallen and sinful creature,—the idea that God, as a Father, so
loved man that He sent His only Son Jesus to this earth to seek and to
save him,—the idea that this Jesus so lived and died and rose from the
dead as to take away man’s sin, and make it possible for men to return
to God, and to be made into the very likeness of His Son Jesus,—and the
idea that this Jesus will at death receive to the mansions of Glory
every creature under heaven that loves and tries to follow Him,—these
ideas had to be woven into their spiritual consciousness, had to become
the very warp and woof of their religion. But it could be done—that we
believed because they were men, not beasts; it had been done—that we saw
in the converts on Aneityum; and our hearts rose to the task with a
quenchless hope!
The Tannese called Heaven by the name Aneai; and we afterwards
discovered that this was the name of the highest and most beautifully
situated village on the island. Their best bit of Earth was to them the
symbol and type of Heaven; their Canaan, too, was a kind of prophecy of
another country, even a heavenly Canaan. The fact that they had an
Aneai, a promised land, opened their minds naturally to our idea of the
promised land of the future, the Aneai of the Gospel hope and faith. The
universal craving to know the greater and more powerful gods, and to
have them on their side, led them, whenever we could speak their
language, to listen eagerly to all our stories about the Jehovah God and
His Son Jesus, and all the mighty works recorded in the Bible. But when
we began to teach them that, in order to serve this Almighty and living
Jehovah God, they must cast aside all their idols and leave off every
heathen custom and vice, they rose in anger and cruelty against us, they
persecuted every one that was friendly to the Mission, and passed us
through the dreadful experiences to be hereafter recorded. It was the
old battle of History; light had attacked darkness in its very
stronghold, and it almost seemed for a season that the light would be
finally eclipsed, and that God’s Day would never dawn on Tanna!
My companion Missionary, Mr. Copeland, had to go to Aneityum and take
charge of Dr. Inglis’s Station, during the absence of that distinguished
Missionary and his devoted wife, while carrying through the press at
home the first complete Aneityumese New Testament. He succeeded
admirably in taking up and carrying forward all their work, and gave
vital assistance in translating the Old Testament into the language of
Aneityum, for his was an exact and scholarly mind. After their return,
he similarly occupied the Station of Dr. Geddie on another part of the
same island, while he sought re-invigoration in Nova Scotia on a
well-merited furlough. Thereafter, he was placed on the island of
Fotuna; and there, with Mrs. Copeland, he laboured devotedly and
zealously, till at last she died and his own health gave way to such an
extent as compelled him to retire from the Mission field. He found
congenial employment in editing, with great acceptance, the Sydney
_Presbyterian Witness_, and thereby still furthering the cause of the
Gospel and of Missions.
A glance backwards over the story of the Gospel in the New Hebrides may
help to bring my readers into touch with the events that are to follow.
The ever-famous names of Williams and Harris are associated with the
earliest efforts to introduce Christianity amongst this group of islands
in the South Pacific Seas. John Williams and his young missionary
companion Harris, under the auspices of the London Missionary Society,
landed on Erromanga on the 30th of November, 1839. Instantly, within a
few minutes of their touching land, both were clubbed to death; and the
savages proceeded to cook and feast upon their bodies. Thus were the New
Hebrides baptized with the blood of martyrs; and Christ thereby told the
whole Christian world that He claimed these Islands as His own. His
cross must yet be lifted up, where the blood of His saints has been
poured forth in His name! The poor Heathen knew not that they had slain
their best friends; but tears and prayers ascended for them from all
Christian souls, wherever the story of the martyrdom on Erromanga was
read or heard.
Again, therefore, in 1842, the London Missionary Society sent out
Messrs. Turner and Nisbet to pierce this kingdom of Satan. They placed
their standard on this same island of Tanna, the nearest to Erromanga.
In less than seven months, however, their persecution by the savages
became so dreadful, that we see them in a boat trying to escape by night
with bare life. Out on that dangerous sea they would certainly have been
lost, but the Ever-Merciful drove them back to land, and sent next
morning a trading vessel, which, contrary to custom, called there and
just in the nick of time. They, with all goods that could be rescued,
were got safely on board, and sailed for Samoa. Say not their plans and
prayers were baffled; for God heard and abundantly blessed them there,
beyond all their dreams. Dr. Turner has been specially used of God for
educating many native teachers and missionaries and in translating and
publishing edition after edition of the Bible, besides giving them many
other educational and religious books in their own language;—blessed
work, in which, while I am writing these words, he and his gifted wife
are still honourably and fruitfully engaged in the holy autumn of their
days.
After these things, the London Missionary Society again and again placed
Samoan native teachers on one or other island of the New Hebrides; but
their unhealthiness, compared with their own happier Samoa or Rarotonga,
so afflicted them with the dreaded ague and fever, besides what they
endured from the inhospitable savages themselves, that no effective
mission work had been accomplished there till at last the Presbyterian
Missionaries were led to enter upon the scene. Christianity had no
foothold anywhere on the New Hebrides, unless it were in the memory and
the blood of the martyrs of Erromanga.
The Rev. John Geddie and his wife, from Nova Scotia, were landed on
Aneityum, the most southerly island of the New Hebrides, in 1848; and
the Rev. John Inglis and his wife, from Scotland, were landed on the
other side of the same island, in 1852. An agent for the London
Missionary Society, the Rev. T. Powell, accompanied Dr. Geddie for about
a year, to advise as to his settlement and to assist in opening up the
work. Marvellous as it may seem, the Natives on Aneityum showed interest
in the missionaries from the very first, and listened to their
teachings; so that in a few years Dr. Inglis and Dr. Geddie saw about
3,500 savages throwing away their idols, renouncing their heathen
customs, and avowing themselves to be worshippers of the true Jehovah
God. Slowly, yet progressively, they unlearned their Heathenism; surely
and hopefully they learned Christianity and civilization. In course of
time a simple form of family worship was introduced into and observed by
every household on the island; God’s blessing was asked on every meal;
peace and public order were secured; and property was perfectly safe
under the sanctifying and civilizing Gospel of Christ. And by-and-by
these Missionaries lived to see the whole Bible, which they and Mr.
Copeland had so painfully translated, placed in the hands of the
Aneityumese by the aid of the British and Foreign Bible Society—that
noblest handmaid of every Missionary enterprise. But how was this
accomplished? As a boon of charity? Listen!
These poor Aneityumese, having glimpses of this Word of God, determined
to have a Holy Bible in their own mother tongue, wherein before no book
or page ever had been written in the history of their race. The
consecrated brain and hand of their Missionaries kept toiling day and
night in translating the book of God; and the willing hands and feet of
the Natives kept toiling through fifteen long but unwearying years,
planting and preparing arrowroot to pay the £1,200 required to be laid
out in the printing and publishing of the book. Year after year the
arrowroot, too sacred to be used for their daily food, was set apart as
the Lord’s portion; the Missionaries sent it to Australia and Scotland,
where it was sold by private friends, and the whole proceeds consecrated
to this purpose. On the completion of the great undertaking by the Bible
Society, it was found that the Natives had earned as much as to pay
every penny of the outlay; and their first Bibles went out to them,
purchased with the consecrated toils of fifteen years! Some of our
friends may think that the sum was large; but I know, from experience,
that if such a difficult job had been carried through the press and so
bound by any other printing establishment, the expense would have been
greater far. One book of Scripture, printed by me in Melbourne for the
Aniwans, under the auspices of the Bible Society too, cost eight
shillings per leaf, and that was the cheapest style; and this the
Aniwans also paid for by dedicating their arrowroot to God.
Let those who lightly esteem their Bibles think on these things. Eight
shillings for every leaf, or the labour and proceeds of fifteen years
for the Bible entire, did not appear to these poor converted savages too
much to pay for that Word of God, which had sent to them the
Missionaries, which had revealed to them the grace of God in Christ, and
which had opened their eyes to the wonders and glories of redeeming
love! They had felt, and we had observed, that in all lands and amongst
all branches of the human family, the Holy Bible is, wheresoever
received and obeyed, the power of God unto salvation; it had lifted them
out of savagery, and set them at the feet of the Lord Jesus. Oh, that
the pleasure-seeking men and women of the world could only taste and
feel the real joy of those who know and love the true God—a heritage
which the world and all that pertains thereto cannot give to them, but
which the poorest and humblest followers of Jesus inherit and enjoy!
My first house on Tanna was on the old site occupied by Turner and
Nisbet, near the shore for obvious reasons, and only a few feet above
tide-mark. So was that of Mr. Mathieson, handy for materials and goods
being landed, and close to the healthy breezes of the sea. Alas! we had
to learn by sad experience, like our brethren in all untried Mission
fields. The sites proved to be hot-beds for Fever and Ague, mine
especially; and much of this might have been escaped by building on the
higher ground, and in the sweep of the refreshing trade winds. For all
this, however, no one was to blame; everything was done for the best,
according to the knowledge then possessed. Our house was sheltered
behind by an abrupt hill from three to four hundred feet high, which
gave the site a feeling of cosiness. It was surrounded, and much shaded,
by beautiful bread-fruit trees, and very large cocoa-nut trees; too
largely beautiful, indeed, for they shut out many a healthy breeze that
we sorely needed! There was a long swamp all round the head of the bay,
and, the ground at the other end on which our house stood being scarcely
raised perceptibly higher, the malaria almost constantly enveloped us.
Once, after a smart attack of the fever, an intelligent Chief said to
me,—
“Missi, if you stay here, you will soon die! No Tannaman sleeps so low
down as you do, in this damp weather, or he too would die. We sleep on
the high ground, and the trade-wind keeps us well. You must go and sleep
on the hill, and then you will have better health.”
I at once resolved to remove my house to higher ground, at the earliest
practicable moment; heavy though the undertaking would necessarily be,
it seemed my only hope of being able to live on the island.
My dear young wife, Mary Ann Robson, and I were landed on Tanna on the
5th November, 1858, in excellent health and full of all tender and holy
hopes. On the 12th February, 1859, she was confined of a son; for two
days or so both mother and child seemed to prosper, and our island-exile
thrilled with joy! But the greatest of sorrows was treading hard upon
the heels of that joy! My darling’s strength showed no signs of
rallying. She had an attack of ague and fever, a few days before her
confinement; on the third day or so thereafter, it returned, and
attacked her every second day with increasing severity for a fortnight.
Diarrhœa ensued, and symptoms of pneumonia, with slight delirium at
intervals; and then in a moment, altogether unexpectedly, she died on
the 3rd March. To crown my sorrows, and complete my loneliness, the dear
babyboy, whom we had named after her father, Peter Robert Robson, was
taken from me after one week’s sickness, on the 20th March. Let those
who have ever passed through any similar darkness as of midnight feel
for me; as for all others, it would be more than vain to try to paint my
sorrows!
I knew then, when too late, that our work had been entered on too near
the beginning of the Rainy Season. We were both, however, healthy and
hearty; and I daily pushed on with the house, making things hourly more
comfortable, in the hope that long lives were before us both, to be
spent for Jesus in seeking the salvation of the perishing Heathen. Oh,
the vain yet bitter regrets, that my dear wife had not been left on
Aneityum till after the unhealthy Rainy Season! But no one advised this
course; and she, high-spirited, full of buoyant hope, and afraid of
being left behind me, or of me being left without her on Tanna, refused
to allow the thing to be suggested. In our mutual inexperience, and with
our hearts aglow for the work of our lives, we incurred this risk which
should never have been incurred; and I only refer to the matter thus, in
the hope that others may take warning.
Stunned by that dreadful loss, in entering upon this field of labour to
which the Lord had Himself so evidently led me, my reason seemed for a
time almost to give way. Ague and fever, too, laid a depressing and
weakening hand upon me, continuously recurring, and reaching oftentimes
the very height of its worst burning stages. But I was never altogether
forsaken. The ever-merciful Lord sustained me, to lay the precious dust
of my beloved Ones in the same quiet grave, dug for them close by at the
end of the house; in all of which last offices my own hands, despite
breaking heart, had to take the principal share! I built the grave round
and round with coral blocks, and covered the top with beautiful white
coral, broken small as gravel; and that spot became my sacred and
much-frequented shrine, during all the following months and years when I
laboured on for the salvation of these savage Islanders amidst
difficulties, dangers, and deaths. Whensoever Tanna turns to the Lord,
and is won for Christ, men in after-days will find the memory of that
spot still green,—where with ceaseless prayers and tears I claimed that
land for God in which I had “buried my dead” with faith and hope. But
for Jesus, and the fellowship He vouchsafed me there, I must have gone
mad and died beside that lonely grave.
The organ of the Church to which we belonged, _The Reformed Presbyterian
Magazine_, published the following words of condolence:—“In regard to
the death of Mrs. Paton, one feeling of grief and regret will fill the
hearts of all who knew her. To add a sentence to the singularly just and
graceful tribute Mr. Inglis pays to the memory of the deceased, would
only mar its pathos and effect. Such language, from one accustomed to
weigh carefully every word he pens, bespeaks at once the rare
excellences of her that is gone, as well as the heavy loss our Mission
and our Church have sustained in her death. Her parents, who gave her by
a double baptism to the Lord, have this consolation, that her death may
exert a more elevating and sanctifying influence for good, than the
longest life of many ordinary Christians. Deep sympathy with Mr. Paton
will pervade the Church, in the sore trial with which he has been
visited.”
Dr. Inglis, my brother Missionary on Aneityum, wrote to the same
Magazine:—“I trust all those who shed tears of sorrow on account of her
early death will be enabled in the exercise of faith and resignation to
say, ‘The Will of the Lord be done; the Lord gave and the Lord hath
taken away: blessed be the name of the Lord!’ I need not say how deeply
we sympathise with her bereaved parents, as well as with her sorrowing
husband. By her death the Mission has sustained a heavy loss. We were
greatly pleased with Mrs. Paton, during the period of our short
intercourse with her. Her mind, naturally vigorous, had been cultivated
by a superior education. She was full of Missionary spirit, and took a
deep interest in the native women. This was seen further, when she went
to Tanna, where, in less than three months, she had collected a class of
eight females, who came regularly to her to receive instruction. There
was about her a maturity of thought, a solidity of character, a
loftiness of aim and purpose rarely found in one so young. Trained up in
the fear of the Lord from childhood, like another Mary she had evidently
chosen that good part, which is never taken away from those possessed of
it. When she left this island, she had to all human appearance a long
career of usefulness and happiness on Earth before her, but the Lord has
appointed otherwise. She has gone, as we trust, to her rest and her
reward. The Lord has said to her, as He said to David, ‘Thou didst well
in that it was in thine heart to build a House for My Name.’ Let us
watch and pray, for our Lord cometh as a thief in the night.”
The Mission Synod at Tanna, on April 27th, 1859, passed the following
resolution:—“That this meeting deeply and sincerely sympathises with Mr.
Paton in the heavy and trying bereavement with which the Lord has seen
meet to visit him in the death of his beloved wife and child; and the
Missionaries record their sense of the loss this Mission has sustained,
in the early, sudden, and unexpected death of Mrs. Paton. Her earnest
Christian character, her devoted Missionary spirit, her excellent
education, her kind and obliging disposition, and the influence she was
fast acquiring over the Natives excited expectations of great future
usefulness. That they express their heart-felt sympathy with the parents
and other relatives of the deceased; that they recommend Mr. Paton to
pay a visit to Aneityum for the benefit of his health; that they commend
him to the tender mercies of Him who was sent to comfort all who mourn;
and that they regard this striking dispensation of God’s providence as a
loud call to themselves, to be more in earnest in attending to the state
of their own souls, and more diligent in pressing the concerns of
Eternity on the minds of others.”
Soon after her death, the good Bishop Selwyn called at Port Resolution,
Tanna, in his Mission ship. He came on shore to visit me, accompanied by
the Rev. J. C. Patteson. They had met Mrs. Paton on Aneityum in the
previous year soon after our arrival, and, as she was then the picture
of perfect health, they also felt her loss very keenly. Standing with me
beside the grave of mother and child, I weeping aloud on his one hand,
and Patteson—afterwards the Martyr Bishop of Nakupu—sobbing silently on
the other, the godly Bishop Selwyn poured out his heart to God amidst
sobs and tears, during which he laid his hands on my head, and invoked
Heaven’s richest consolations and blessings on me and my trying labours.
The virtue of that kind of Episcopal consecration I did and do most
warmly appreciate! They urged me by many appeals to take a trip with
them round the Islands, as my life was daily in great danger from the
savages; they generously offered to convey me direct to Aneityum, or
wherever I wished to go, as I greatly needed rest and change. But, with
a heart full of gratitude to them, I yet resolved to remain, feeling
that I was at the post of duty where God had placed me; and besides,
fearing that if I left once the natives would not let me land again on
returning to their island, I determined to hold on as long as possible,
though feeling very weak and suffering badly from ague.
Sorrow and love make me linger a little to quote these extracts, printed
in the _Reformed Presbyterian Magazine_ for January, 1860, from Mrs.
Paton’s last letter to her friends at home. It is dated from Port
Resolution, Tanna, 28th December, 1858.
“MY DEAR FATHER, MOTHER, AND SISTERS,—
“When I wrote last, we were just about to leave
Aneityum for Tanna, the sphere of our future labours. One can have no
idea of the dark and degraded state of these poor Heathen, unless
really living amongst them. Still we trust that the cloud which has so
long enveloped Tanna will soon be rolled away, and the light of the
Sun of Righteousness irradiate this dark land. We have been here about
two months, and so far the people among whom we live appear to be
friendly. A numerous priesthood reside in the neighbourhood of the
Volcano, from whom we anticipate much opposition, as they know that
wherever the Missionary gains a footing among the people, their
influence is lost. The Tannese are very avaricious. If one renders the
least assistance, he demands a most exorbitant pay; indeed, we can
hardly satisfy them. We have a number of male, but very few female
visitors, the latter being just slaves to do all the work. The men
disfigure their faces with red and black paint, and always carry
spears and clubs. At first I was quite shocked with their appearance,
but one soon becomes accustomed to such sights. They likewise possess
powder and muskets,—guns and tobacco being the chief objects of their
ambition. Indeed, such is their degraded condition that, were not the
power and grace of God all-sufficient, one might almost despair of
ever making any impression on them. All the Natives are in a state of
entire nudity, with this exception, that females wear short petticoats
made of grass. Young girls are very fond of beads, and sometimes have
their necks quite covered with them. They likewise bore holes in the
ear, from which they suspend large rolls (circles) of tortoise shell.
Two or three little girls come about me, whom I am teaching to sew and
sing; but no great good can be accomplished till we master their
language. We have picked up a good many words, and I trust, with the
blessing of God, will soon be able to speak to them of things
pertaining to their everlasting peace.
“Port Resolution is a most beautiful Bay. I have never seen such a
lovely spot. Indeed, everything around delights the eye, and ‘only man
is vile.’ Our house is at the head of the Bay, on the foundation of
Dr. Turner’s, from which he had to fly fifteen years ago. The sea, at
full tide, comes within a few yards of the door. Mr. Copeland is
staying with us now. During the Rainy Season, he is to be sometimes
with us, and at other times with Mr. Mathieson, who is in delicate
health. The thermometer averages from 80° to 85°. The Rainy Season
having now set in, it is not likely we will have any opportunity of
sending or receiving letters for three or four months. I am wearying
very much to hear from you. I can hardly realize that nine months have
rolled away since I left bonnie Scotia! How many changes will take
place before I again revisit it! Both my husband and I are in
excellent health, and, though the heat feels oppressive, we like the
climate very well. A Happy New Year to you all, and many happy
returns! I am writing hurriedly, as a vessel has called, and leaves
to-morrow morning. I expect to get all the news when you write, for my
interest in and affection for home and home-folks have not in the
least abated.
“Now I must conclude; with love to you all, and to all my old
companions, believe me ever your loving daughter and sister,
“MARY ANN PATON.”
Her last words were,—
“Oh, that my dear mother were here! She is a good woman, my mother, a
jewel of a woman.”
Then, observing Mr. Copeland near by, she said,—
“Oh, Mr. Copeland, I did not know you were there! You must not think
that I regret coming here, and leaving my mother. If I had the same
thing to do over again, I would do it with far more pleasure, yes, with
all my heart. Oh, no! I do not regret leaving home and friends, though
at the time I felt it keenly.”
Soon after this, looking up and putting her hand in mine, she said,—
“J. C. wrote to our Janet saying, that young Christians under their
first impressions thought they could do anything or make any sacrifice
for Jesus, and he asked if she believed it, for he did not think they
could, when tested; but Janet wrote back that she believed they could,
and (added she with great emphasis) _I believe it is true!_”
In a moment, altogether unexpectedly, she fell asleep in Jesus, with
these words on her lips. “Not lost, only gone before to be for ever with
the Lord,”—my heart keeps saying or singing to itself from that hour
till now.
Ever since the day of our happy marriage, a strange presentiment
possessed my heart that I should lose her soon and suddenly. Perhaps I
am not the first who has wrestled through such unworthy forebodings—that
that which was so precious and blessed was about to be withdrawn! Our
short united life had been cloudless and happy; I felt her loss beyond
all conception or description, in that dark land. It was verily
difficult to be resigned, left alone, and in sorrowful circumstances;
but feeling immovably assured that my God and Father was too wise and
loving to err in anything that He does or permits, I looked up to the
Lord for help, and struggled on in His work. I do not pretend to see
through the mystery of such visitations,—wherein God calls away the
young, the promising, and those sorely needed for His service here; but
this I do know and feel, that, in the light of such dispensations, it
becomes us all to love and serve our blessed Lord Jesus so that we may
be ready at His call for death and Eternity.
CHAPTER VII.
_MISSION LEAVES FROM TANNA._
Native Tannese.—“Tabooed.”—Jehovah’s Rain.—“Big Hays.”—War and
Cannibalism.—The Lot of Woman.—Sacred Days.—Preaching in
Villages.—Native Teachers.—The War Shell.—Deadly Superstitions.—A
League of Blood.—Chiefs in Council.—Defence of Women.—A League of
Peace.—Secret Disciples.—A Christo-Heathen Funeral.—Clever
Thieves.—Ships of Fire.—H.M.S. _Cordelia_.—Captain
Vernon and Miaki.—The Captain and Our Chiefs.—The _John
Williams_.—Impressions Evanescent.—A House on the Hill.—In Fever
Grips.—“Noble Old Abraham.”—Critics in Easy Chairs.
In the first letter, sent jointly by Mr. Copeland and me from Tanna to
the Church at home, the following statements are found:—
“We found the Tannese to be painted Savages, enveloped in all the
superstition and wickedness of Heathenism. All the men and children go
in a state of nudity. The older women wear grass skirts, and the young
women and girls, grass or leaf aprons like Eve in Eden. They are
exceedingly ignorant, vicious, and bigoted, and almost void of natural
affection. Instead of the inhabitants of Port Resolution being improved
by coming in contact with white men, they are rendered much worse; for
they have learned all their vices, but none of their virtues,—if such
are possessed by the pioneer traders among such races! The sandal-wood
Traders are as a class the most godless of men, whose cruelty and
wickedness make us ashamed to own them as our countrymen. By them the
poor, defenceless Natives are oppressed and robbed on every hand; and if
they offer the slightest resistance, they are ruthlessly silenced by the
musket or revolver. Few months here pass without some of them being so
shot, and, instead of their murderers feeling ashamed, they boast of how
they despatch them. Such treatment keeps the Natives always burning
under a desire for revenge, so that it is a wonder any white man is
allowed to come among them. Indeed, all Traders here are able to
maintain their position only by revolvers and rifles; but we hope a
better state of affairs is at hand for Tanna.”
The novelty of our being among them soon passed away, and they began to
show their avarice and deceitfulness in every possible way. The Chiefs
united and refused to give us the half of the small piece of land which
had been purchased, on which to build our Mission House, and when we
attempted to fence in the part they had left to us, they “tabooed” it,
_i.e._, threatened our Teachers and us with death if we proceeded
further with the work. This they did by placing certain reeds stuck into
the ground here and there around our house, which our Aneityumese
servants at once knew the meaning of, and warned us of our danger; so we
left off making the fence, that we might if possible evade all offence.
They then divided the few bread-fruit and cocoa-nut trees on the ground
amongst themselves, or demanded such payment for these trees as we did
not possess, and threatened revenge on us if the trees were injured by
any person. They now became so unreasonable and offensive, and our
dangers so increased, as to make our residence amongst them extremely
trying. At this time a vessel called; I bought from the Captain the
payment they demanded; on receiving it, they lifted the Taboo, and for a
little season appeared to be friendly again. This was the third payment
they had got for that site, and to yield was teaching them a cruel
lesson; all this we felt and clearly saw, but they had by some means to
be conciliated, if possible, and our lives had to be saved, if that
could be done without dishonour to the Christian name.
After these events, a few weeks of dry weather began to tell against the
growth of their yams and bananas. The drought was instantly ascribed to
us and our God. The Natives far and near were summoned to consider the
matter in public assembly. Next day, Nouka, the high chief, and Miaki,
the war-chief, his nephew, came to inform us, that two powerful Chiefs
had openly declared in that assembly that if the Harbour people did not
at once kill us or compel us to leave the island, they would, unless the
rain came plentifully in the meantime, summon all the Inland people and
murder both our Chiefs and us. The friendly Chiefs said,—
“Pray to your Jehovah God for rain, and do not go far beyond your door
for a time; we are all in greatest danger, and if war breaks out, we
fear we cannot protect you.”
But this friendliness was all pretence; they themselves, being sacred
men, professed to have the power of sending or withholding rain, and
tried to fix the blame of their discomfiture on us. The rage of the poor
ignorant Heathen was thereby fed against us. The Ever-Merciful, however,
again interposed on our behalf. On the following Sabbath, just when we
were assembling for worship, rain began to fall, and in great abundance.
The whole inhabitants believed, apparently, that it was sent to save us
in answer to our prayers; so they met again, and resolved to allow us to
remain on Tanna. Alas! the continuous and heavy rains brought much
sickness and fever in their train, and again their sacred men pointed to
us as the cause. Hurricane winds also blew and injured their fruits and
fruit trees,—another opportunity for our enemies to lay the blame of
everything upon the Missionaries and their Jehovah God! The trial and
the danger daily grew of living among a people so dreadfully benighted
by superstition, and so easily swayed by prejudice and passion.
On Sabbath afternoon, the 6th of January, 1860, in a severe gale, we
were surprised to see a large Sydney vessel come to anchor in the
Harbour at Port Resolution, right opposite our house. Though wind and
sea were both dangerously high, the Captain and all hands, as we were
afterwards informed, coolly went to sleep. Gradually, but quite
perceptibly, the vessel was allowed to drift as if by deliberate
intention, till she struck on the beach at the head of the Bay, and
there was soon broken up and became a total wreck. For this also the
ignorant Natives gave us credit, as for everything uncommon or
disagreeable on Tanna; but we were ever conscious that our Lord Jesus
was near us, and all trials that lead us to cling closer in fellowship
with our Saviour are really blessings in disguise. The Captain of that
vessel, known to us only as “Big Hays,” and his wife, said to be the
wife of a man in Sydney who had run away with him, and his like-minded
crew became by their shocking conduct a horrible curse to our poor
Islanders, and greatly embittered the feeling against us. They were
armed with deadly weapons, and did their wicked will amongst our
Natives, who durst not attack so large a party of desperate and
well-armed men. But they were white people, and so were the
Missionaries; to the savage mind that was enough, and revenge would be
taken upon the first white faces, however innocent, who came within
their power.
The Natives of Tanna were well-nigh constantly at war amongst
themselves, every man doing that which was right in his own eyes, and
almost every quarrel ending in an appeal to arms. Besides many battles
far inland, one was fought closely around our house, and several were
fought around the Harbour. In these conflicts, many men were bruised
with clubs and wounded with arrows, but few lives were lost, considering
the savage uproar and frenzy of the scene. In one case, of which we
obtained certain information, seven men were killed in an engagement,
and, according to Tannese custom, the warriors and their friends feasted
on them at the close of the fray, the widows of the slain being also
strangled to death, and similarly disposed of. Besides those who fell in
war, the Natives living in our quarter had killed and feasted on eight
persons, usually in sacrificial rites.
It is said, that the habitual Cannibal’s desire for human flesh becomes
so horrible that he has been known to disinter and feast upon those
recently buried. Two cases of this revolting barbarism were reported as
having occurred amongst the villagers living near us. On another
occasion the great chief Nouka took seriously unwell, and his people
sacrificed three women for his recovery! All such cruel and horrifying
practices, however, they tried to conceal from us; and many must have
perished in this way of whom we, though living at their doors, were
never permitted to hear.
Amongst the Heathen, in the New Hebrides, and especially on Tanna,
_woman_ is the down-trodden slave of man. She is kept working hard, and
bears all the heavier burdens, while he walks by her side with musket,
club, or spear. If she offends him, he beats or abuses her at pleasure.
A savage gave his poor wife a severe beating in front of our house and
just before our eyes, while in vain we strove to prevent it. Such scenes
were so common that no one thought of interfering. Even if the woman
died in his hands, or immediately thereafter, neighbours took little
notice, if any at all. And their children were so little cared for, that
my constant wonder was how any of them survived at all! As soon as they
are able to knock about, they are left practically to care for
themselves; hence the very small affection they show towards their
parents, which results in the aged who are unable to work being
neglected, starved to death, and sometimes even more directly and
violently destroyed.
A Heathen boy’s education consists in being taught to aim skilfully with
the bow, to throw the spear faultlessly at a mark, to wield powerfully
the club and tomahawk, and to shoot well with musket and revolver when
these can be obtained. He accompanies his father and brothers in all the
wars and preparations for war, and is diligently initiated into all
their cruelties and lusts, as the very prerequisite of his being
regarded and acknowledged to be a _man_ and a warrior. The girls have,
with their mother and sisters, to toil and slave in the village
plantations, to prepare all the materials for fencing these around, to
bear every burden, and to be knocked about at will by the men and boys.
Oh, how sad and degraded is the position of Woman, where the teaching of
Christ is unknown, or disregarded though known! It is the Christ of the
Bible, it is His Spirit entering into Humanity, that has lifted Woman,
and made her the helpmate and the friend of Man, not his toy or his
slave.
To the best of our observation, the Heathen, though vaguely following
some division of the week into seven days, spent the Sabbath on Tanna
much the same as their other days were spent. Even when some were led to
give up manual labours on that day, they spent it, like too many
Christians elsewhere, in visiting friends and in selfish pleasures, on
feasting and drinking. After we had been about one year on the island,
we had a morning Church Service, attended by about ten Chiefs and as
many women and children belonging to them; though, once the Service was
over, they paid no more attention to the Lord’s Day. On some of the more
Northern Islands of the group, the Heathen had a sacred day. Twice,
sailing with the _Dayspring_, we cast anchor at an Island, but could not
see a single Native till next day, when one who could speak broken
English informed us that none of the people had been seen moving about
because they were “keeping their Sunday.” A number of the Tannese spoke
a little English, but they were the worst and most treacherous
characters of all. They had imbibed the profane Trader’s language and
his hatred of Missionaries and their work; and these, added to their own
Heathen prejudices, made them the most troublesome and dangerous of men.
After the Sabbath Morning Service we used to walk many miles, visiting
all the villages within reach, even before we had got so much of their
language as to be able to speak freely to the people. Sometimes we made
a circuit amongst them, ten or twelve miles away and as many back again.
We tried to talk a little to all who were willing to listen; and we
conducted the Worship of Jehovah, wherever we could find two or three
disposed to gather together and to sit or kneel beside us. It was to
flesh and blood weary work, and in many ways disheartening—no responsive
faces and hearts there to cheer us on and lift us up into fellowship
with the Lord! But it helped us to see the people, and to get acquainted
with the districts around; it also secured for us very considerable
audiences, except when they were engaged in war.
No real progress could be made in imparting to them spiritual knowledge,
till we had attained some familiarity with their language. By finding
out, as before recorded, the Tannese for “What is this?” and “What is
his or her name?” we got the names of things and people, and made
amazing progress towards mutual intelligence. We soon found out that
there were two distinct languages spoken in and around Port Resolution;
but we confined ourselves to that which was understood as far as the
other Mission Station; and, by God’s help and great diligence, we were
able ere long to speak to them of sin and of salvation through Jesus
Christ.
Twelve Aneityumese Teachers were at this time living on Tanna, but they
had no Schools, and no Books in Tannese, for that language had never yet
been reduced to forms that could be printed. The work of the Teachers,
besides telling to the people around all that they could regarding
Christ and the Christian religion, found its highest value in presenting
through their own spirit and character a nobler type of life than any
that Heathenism could show.
When a Missionary arrives, the Teacher’s first duty is to help him in
house-building, fencing, and the many manual and other toils required in
organizing the new Station, besides accompanying him on the inland
journeys, assisting him in regard to the language as far as possible,
and in general furthering the cause. But in altogether virgin soil like
that of Tanna, the Aneityumese Teacher, or one from any other island,
had the language to acquire first of all, not less than the European
Missionary, and was therefore of little use except for manual labour,
and that too had to be carried on by signs much more than by words. Not
only has every island its own tongue, differing widely from and
unintelligible to all the others, but even the people on one side of an
island could not sometimes understand or converse with the people on the
opposite side of the same. This rendered our work in the New Hebrides
not only exceptionally difficult, but its progressive movement
distressingly slow.
Word had reached Tanna, that, in a quarrel with Sandal-wooders, the
Erromangans had murdered three white men and a number of Natives in
their employment, in revenge for the white men’s shamefully entreating
and murdering the Erromangans. On Tanna all such news were reported and
talked over, when the Chiefs and their men of war met for their evening
repast—an event that generally wound up with drinking _Kava_, which
first produced intoxication like whisky and then stupefaction like a
dose of laudanum. Excited by the rumours from Erromanga, they had drunk
more than usual, and lay about their Village Drinking-Hall in a helpless
host. Enemies from an inland tribe stealthily drew near, and discharged
their muskets amongst them in the dark, killing one man, and so,
according to their custom, war was known to be declared.
Early next morning, Miaki, the war-chief, despatched his herald to sound
the Conch and summon the people to battle. He made the Harbour and all
the country resound with it for six miles around, and the savage hordes
gathered to the call. Putting our trust in God, we quietly resolved to
attend as usual to our work and await the result. Excitement and terror
drove the Natives hither and thither. One man close to us being nearly
killed, his friends assembled in great force, and with clubs and spears,
tomahawks and muskets, drove the offending tribe more than a mile into
the bush. They, in turn, being reinforced, drove their enemies back
again to the beach. There, seated within hearing distance, they carried
on a grand sort of barbarous-Homeric scolding match, and exhausted their
rage in javelins of reproach. A great relief seemed thereby to ensue,
for the rival Chiefs thereon approached our house and entreated me to
dress their wounds! I did so, and appealed to them for peace, and got
their promise to let that conflict come to an end. Alas, for the passing
influence of such appeals,—for I learned shortly after this, on my
return from Aneityum, where I had gone for a fortnight to recruit from
the effects of an almost three months’ continuance of recurring ague and
fever, that eight of the Harbour people had been murdered near our house
at Port Resolution. The Natives got into a dreadfully unsettled state,
each one wondering in terror who would be the next to fall.
About the time of my dear wife’s death, our brother Missionary, Mr.
Mathieson, also became exceedingly unwell. His delicate frame fast gave
way, and brought with it weakness of the mind as well; and he was
removed to Aneityum apparently in a dying condition. These sad
visitations had a bad effect on the Natives, owing to their wild
superstitions about the cause of death and sickness. We had reason to
fear that they would even interfere with the precious grave, over which
we kept careful watch for a season; but God mercifully restrained them.
Unfortunately, however, one of my Aneityumese Teachers who had gone
round to Mr. Mathieson’s Station took ill and died there, and this
rekindled all their prejudices. He, poor fellow, before death said,—
“I will not again return to Port Resolution, or see my dear Missi; but
tell him that I die happy, for I love Jesus much, and am going to
Jesus!”
Hearing these things, the Natives insolently demanded me to tell them
the cause of this death, and of Mr. Mathieson’s trouble, and of the
other deaths. Other reasoning or explanation being to them useless, I
turned the tables, and demanded them to tell me why all this trouble and
death had overtaken us in their land, and whether they themselves were
not the cause of it all? Strange to say, this simple question turned the
whole current of their speculations. They held meeting after meeting to
discuss it for several days, and returned the message,—
“We do not blame you, and you must not blame us for causing these
troubles and deaths; but we believe that a Bushman must have got hold of
portion of something we had eaten, and must have thrown it to the great
Evil Spirit in the volcano, thereby bringing all these troubles and
curses.”
Another Chief vindicated himself and others thus:—“Karapanamun, the
Auruman or great Evil Spirit of Tanna, whom we all fear and worship, is
causing these troubles; for he knows that if we become worshippers of
your Jehovah God, we cannot continue to fear him, or present him with
the best of everything, as our forefathers have always done; he is angry
at you and at us all.”
The fear of the deaths and troubles being ascribed to them silenced
their talk against us for a season; but very little made them either
friends or foes, as the next event will too painfully show.
Nowhat, an old Chief of the highest rank from Aneityum, who spoke
Tannese and was much respected by the Natives all round the south side
of Tanna, came on a visit to our island. After returning home, he became
very ill and died in a few days. The deluded Tannese, hearing of his
death, ascribed it to me and the Worship, and resolved to burn our house
and property, and either murder the whole Mission party, or compel us to
leave the island. Nowhat’s brother was sent from Aneityum to talk to the
Tannese and conciliate them, but unfortunately he could not speak the
language well; and the Aneityumese Teachers felt their lives to be at
this time in such danger that they durst not accompany him as
interpreters, while I on the other hand did not understand his language,
nor he, mine. Within two days after landing, he had a severe attack of
ague and fever; and, though the vessel he came in remained eight days,
he was prostrated all the time, so that his well-intentioned visit did
us much harm. The Tannese became furious. This was proof positive, that
we were the cause of all their sickness and death. Inland and all along
the weather side of the island, when far enough away from us, they said
that the Natives were enjoying excellent health. Meeting after meeting
was held; exciting speeches were delivered; and feasts were given, for
which it was said that several women were sacrificed, cooked, and
eaten,—such being the bonds by which they entered into covenant with
each other for life or death.
On the morning of the following Sabbath, we heard what were said to be
the dying shrieks of two woman-sacrifices; but we went not near,—we had
no power to save them, and the savages only waited such a chance of
sacrificing us too. Soon after, three women came running to the Mission
House, and in tears implored us to try and protect them from being
killed by their husbands. Alas, we could only plead for them, the
Tannese and Aneityumese Teachers warning us that if we even pled we
would be instantly murdered, as the men were raging mad with the thirst
of blood. At another time, eight inland girls came running to us and sat
in front of our house all day, saying they were afraid to go home, as
the men were fighting with their women and killing them. At nightfall,
however, the poor creatures withdrew, we knew not to what fate.
The inhabitants for miles around united in seeking our destruction, but
God put it into even savage hearts to save us. Old Nowar, the Chief
under whom we lived, and the Chief next under him, Arkurat, set
themselves to rescue us. Along with Manuman and Sirawia they opposed
every plan in the public assembly for taking our lives. Some of their
people also remained friendly to us, and by the help of our Aneityumese
Teachers, warned us of danger and protected our lives. Determined not to
be baffled, a meeting of all our enemies on the island was summoned, and
it was publicly resolved that a band of men be selected and enjoined to
kill the whole of those friendly to the Mission, old Nowar among the
rest, and not only to murder the Mission party, but also a Trader who
had lately landed to live there, that no one might be left to give
information to the white men or bring punishment on the islanders.
Frenzy of excitement prevailed, and the blood-fiend seemed to over-ride
the whole assembly; when, under an impulse that surely came from the
Lord of Pity, one great warrior Chief who had hitherto kept silent,
rose, swung aloft a mighty club and smashing it earthwards, cried
aloud,—
“The man that kills Missi must first kill me,—the men that kill the
Mission Teachers must first kill me and my people,—for we shall stand by
them and defend them till death.”
Instantaneously, another Chief thundered in with the same declaration;
and the great assembly broke up in dismay. All the more remarkable was
this deliverance, as these two Chiefs lived nearly four miles inland,
and, as reputed disease makers and sacred men, were regarded as amongst
our bitterest enemies. It had happened that, a brother of the former
Chief having been wounded in battle, I had dressed his wounds and he
recovered, for which perhaps he now favoured us. But I do not put very
much value on that consideration; for too clearly did our dear Lord
Jesus interpose directly on our behalf that day. I and my defenceless
company had spent it in anxious prayers and tears; and our hearts
overflowed with gratitude to the Saviour who rescued us from the lions’
jaws.
[Illustration: “THE MAN THAT KILLS MISSI MUST FIRST KILL ME.”]
The excitement did not at once subside, men continuing to club and beat
the women for the smallest offence. At every opportunity I denounced
their conduct and rebuked them severely,—especially one wretch, who beat
his wife just in front of our house as well as one of the women who
tried to protect her. On the following day, he returned with an armed
band, and threatened our lives; but I stood up in front of their
weapons, and firmly condemned their conduct, telling that man
particularly that his conduct was bad and cowardly. At length his wrath
gave way; he grounded his club in a penitent mood, and promised to
refrain from such evil ways.
Leaving all consequences to the disposal of my Lord, I determined to
make an unflinching stand against wife-beating and widow-strangling,
feeling confident that even their natural conscience would be on my
side. I accordingly pled with all who were in power to unite and put
down these shocking and disgraceful customs. At length, ten Chiefs
entered into an agreement not to allow any more beating of wives or
strangling of widows, and to forbid all common labour on the Lord’s Day;
but alas, except for purposes of war or other wickedness, the influence
of the Chiefs on Tanna was comparatively small. One Chief boldly
declared,—
“If we did not beat our women, they would never work; they would not
fear and obey us; but when we have beaten, and killed, and feasted on
two or three, the rest are all very quiet and good for a long time to
come!”
I tried to show him how cruel it was, besides that it made them unable
for work, and that kindness would have a much better effect; but he
promptly assured me that Tannese women “could not understand kindness.”
For the sake of teaching by example, my Aneityumese Teachers and I used
to go a mile or two inland on the principal pathway, along with the
Teachers’ wives, and there, cutting and carrying home a heavy load of
firewood for myself and each of the men, while we gave only a small
burden to each of the women. Meeting many Tanna men by the way, I used
to explain to them that this was how Christians helped and treated their
wives and sisters, and then they loved their husbands and were strong to
work at home; and that as men were made stronger, they were intended to
bear the heavier burdens, and especially in all labours out of doors.
Our habits and practices had thus as much to do as, perhaps more than,
all our appeals, in leading them to glimpses of the life to which the
Lord Jesus was calling them.
Another war-burst, that caused immense consternation, passed over with
only two or three deaths; and I succeeded in obtaining the consent of
twenty Chiefs to fight no more except on the defensive,—a covenant to
which, for a considerable time, they strictly adhered, in the midst of
fierce provocations. But to gain any such end, the masses of the people
must be educated to the point of desiring it. The few cannot, in such
circumstances, act up to it, without laying themselves open to be
down-trodden and swept away by the savages around.
About this time, several men, afraid or ashamed by day, came to me
regularly by night for conversation and instruction. Having seen the
doors of the Mission House made fast and the windows blinded so that
they could not be observed, they continued with me for many hours,
asking all strange questions about the new Religion and its laws. I
remember one Chief particularly, who came often, saying to me,—
“I would be an Awfuaki man (_i.e._, a Christian) were it not that all
the rest would laugh at me; that I could not stand!”
“Almost persuaded”:—before you blame him, remember how many in Christian
lands and amid greater privileges live and die without ever passing
beyond that stage.
The wife of one of those Chiefs died, and he resolved to imitate a
Christian burial. Having purchased white calico from a Trader, he came
to me for some tape which the Trader could not supply, and told me that
he was going to dress the body as he had seen my dear wife’s dressed and
lay her also in a similar grave. He declined my offer to attend the
funeral and to pray with them, as in that case many of the villagers
would not attend. He wanted all the people to be present, to see and to
hear, as it was the first funeral of the kind ever celebrated among the
Tannese; and my friend Nowar the Chief had promised to conduct a Service
and offer prayer to Jehovah before all the Heathen. It moved me to many
strange emotions, this Christian burial, conducted by a Heathen and in
the presence of Heathens, with an appeal to the true and living God by a
man as yet darkly groping among idols and superstitions! Many were the
wondering questions from time to time addressed to me. The idea of a
resurrection from the dead was that which most keenly interested these
Natives, and called forth all their powers of inquiry and argument. Thus
the waves of hope and fear swept alternately across our lives; but we
embraced every possible opportunity of telling them the story of the
life and death of Jesus, in the strong hope that God would spare us yet
to bring the benighted Heathen to the knowledge of the true salvation,
and to love and serve the only Saviour.
[Illustration: NATIVES STEALING PROPERTY.]
Confessedly, however, it was uphill, weary, and trying work. For one
thing, these Tannese were terribly dishonest; and when there was any
special sickness, or excitement from any cause, their bad feeling
towards the Worship was displayed by the more insolent way in which they
carried off whatever they could seize. When I opposed them, the club or
tomahawk, the musket or _kawas_ (_i.e._, killing stone), being instantly
raised, intimated that my life would be taken, if I resisted them. Their
skill in stealing on the sly was phenomenal! If an article fell, or was
seen on the floor, a Tannaman would neatly cover it with his foot, while
looking you frankly in the face, and, having fixed it by his toes or by
bending in his great toe like a thumb to hold it, would walk off with
it, assuming the most innocent look in the world. In this way, a knife,
a pair of scissors, or any smaller article, would at once disappear.
Another fellow would deftly stick something out of sight amongst the
whip-cord plaits of his hair, another would conceal it underneath his
naked arm, while yet another would shamelessly lift what he coveted and
openly carry it away.
With most of them, however, the shame was not in the theft, but in doing
it so clumsily that they were discovered! Once, after continuous rain
and a hot damp atmosphere, when the sun shone out I put my bed-clothes
on a rope to dry. I stood at hand watching, as also the wives of two
Teachers, for things were mysteriously disappearing almost under our
very eyes. Suddenly, Miaki, who with his war-companions had been
watching us unobserved, came rushing to me breathless and alone,
crying,—
“Missi, come in, quick, quick! I want to tell you something and to get
your advice!”
He ran into my house, and I followed; but before he had got into his
story, we heard the two women crying out,—
“Missi, missi, come quick! Miaki’s men are stealing your sheets and
blankets!”
I ran at once, but all were gone into the bush, and with them my sheets
and blankets. Miaki for a moment looked abashed, as I charged him with
deceiving me just to give his men their opportunity. But he soon rose to
the occasion. He wrought himself into a towering rage at them,
flourished his huge club and smashed the bushes all around, shouting to
me,—
“Thus will I smash these fellows, and compel them to return your
clothes.”
Perhaps he hoped to move me to intercede for his men, and to prevent
bloodshed, as he knew that I always did, even to my own loss; but I
resisted all his tricks, and urged him to return these articles at once
if there were any honour or honesty in him or his men. Of course, he
left me but to share the plunder. He kept out of my way for a
considerable time, which showed some small glimmering of conscience
somewhere; and when I tackled him on the subject, at our first meeting,
he declared he was unable to get the articles back, which of course
showed the lying spirit, amongst them everywhere applauded,—for a lie
that succeeded, or seemed to succeed, was in their esteem a crowning
virtue.
One dark night, I heard them amongst my fowls. These I had purchased
from them for knives and calico; and they now stole them all away, dead
or alive. Had I interfered, they would have gloried in the chance to
club or shoot me in the dark, when no one could exactly say who had done
the deed. Several of the few goats, which I had for milk, were also
killed or driven away; indeed, all the injury that was possible was done
to me, short of taking away my life, and that was now frequently
attempted. Having no fires or fireplaces in my Mission House, such being
not required there,—though sometimes a fire would have been invaluable
for drying our bed-clothes in the Rainy Season,—we had a house near by
in which all our food was cooked, and there, under lock and key we
secured all our cooking utensils, pots, dishes, etc. One night, that too
was broken into, and everything was stolen. In consternation, I appealed
to the Chief, telling him what had been done. He also flew into a great
rage, and vowed vengeance on the thieves, saying that he would compel
them to return everything. But, of course, nothing was returned; the
thief could not be found! I, unable to live without something in which
to boil water, at length offered a blanket to any one that would bring
back my kettle. Miaki himself, after much professed difficulty, returned
it _minus_ the lid—that, he said, probably fishing for a higher bribe,
could not be got at any price, being at the other side of the island in
a tribe over which he had no control! In the circumstances, I was glad
to get kettle _minus_ lid—realizing how life itself may depend on so
small a luxury!
Having no means of redress, and feeling ourselves entirely at their
mercy, we strove quietly to bear all and to make as little of our trials
as possible; indeed, we bore them all gladly for Jesus’ sake. All
through these sorrows, our assurance deepened rather than faded, that if
God only spared us to lead them to love and serve the same Lord Jesus,
they would soon learn to treat us as their friend and helper. That,
however, did not do away with the hard facts of my life—being now
entirely alone amongst them, and opposed by their cruelty at every turn,
and deceived by their unfailing lies.
One morning, the Tannese, rushing towards me in great excitement,
cried,—
“Missi, Missi, there is a God, or a ship on fire, or something of fear,
coming over the sea! We see no flames, but it smokes like a volcano. Is
it a Spirit, God, or a ship on fire? What is it? what is it?”
One party after another followed in quick succession, shouting the same
questions, in great alarm, to which I replied,—
“I cannot go at once; I must dress first in my best clothes; it will
likely be one of Queen Victoria’s Men-of-war, coming to ask of me if
your conduct is good or bad, if you are stealing my property, or
threatening my life, or how you are using me?”
They pled with me to go and see it; but I made much fuss about dressing
and getting ready to meet the great Chief on the vessel, and would not
go with them. The two principal Chiefs now came running and asked,—
[Illustration: NATIVES RETURNING STOLEN PROPERTY—]
“Missi, will it be a ship of war?”
I called to them, “I think it will; but I have no time to speak to you
now, I must get on my best clothes!”
They said, “Missi, only tell us, will he ask you if we have been
stealing your things?”
I answered, “I expect he will.”
They asked, “And will you tell him?”
I said, “I must tell him the truth; if he asks, I will tell him.”
They then cried out, “Oh, Missi, tell him not! Everything shall be
brought back to you at once, and no one will be allowed again to steal
from you.”
Then said I, “Be quick! Everything must be returned before he comes.
Away, away! and let me get ready to meet the great Chief on the
Man-of-war.”
Hitherto, no thief could ever be found, and no Chief had power to cause
anything to be restored to me; but now, in an incredibly brief space of
time, one came running to the Mission House with a pot, another with a
pan, another with a blanket, others with knives, forks, plates, and all
sorts of stolen property. The Chiefs called me to receive these things,
but I replied,—
“Lay them all down at the door, bring everything together quickly; I
have no time to speak with you!”
I delayed my toilet, enjoying mischievously the magical effect of an
approaching vessel that might bring penalty to thieves. At last the
Chiefs, running in breathless haste, called out to me,—
“Missi, Missi, do tell us, is the stolen property all here?”
Of course I could not tell, but, running out, I looked on the
promiscuous heap of my belongings, and said,—
“I don’t see the lid of the kettle there yet!”
One Chief said, “No, Missi, for it is on the other side of the island;
but tell him not, I have sent for it, and it will be here to-morrow.”
I answered, “I am glad you have brought back so much; and now, if you
three Chiefs, Nauka, Miaki, and Nowar, do not run away when he comes, he
will not likely punish you; but, if you and your people run away, he
will ask me why you are afraid and I will be forced to tell him! Keep
near me and you are all safe; only there must be no more stealing from
me.”
They said, “We are in black fear, but we will keep near you, and our bad
conduct to you is done.”
The charm and joy of that morning are fresh to me still, when H.M.S.
_Cordelia_, Captain Vernon, steamed into our lovely Harbour. The
Commander, having heard rumour of my dangers on Tanna, kindly came on
shore as soon as the ship cast anchor, with two boats, and a number of
his officers and men, so far armed. He was dressed in splendid uniform,
being a tall and handsome man, and he and his attendants made a grand
and imposing show. On seeing Captain Vernon’s boat nearing the shore,
and the men glittering in gold lace and arms, Miaki the Chief left my
side on the beach and rushed towards his village. I concluded that he
had run for it through terror, but he had other and more civilized
intentions in his heathen head! Having obtained, from some trader or
visitor in previous days, a soldier’s old red coat, he had resolved to
rise to the occasion and appear in his best before the Captain and his
men. As I was shaking hands with them and welcoming them to Tanna, Miaki
returned with the short red coat on, buttoned tightly round his
otherwise naked body; and, surmounted by his ugly painted face and long
whipcords of twisted hair, it completely spoiled any appearance that he
might otherwise have had of savage freedom, and made him look a dirty
and insignificant creature.
The Captain was talking to me, his men stood in order near by,—to my
eyes, oh how charming a glimpse of Home life!—when Miaki marched up and
took his place most consequentially at my side. He felt himself the most
important personage in the scene, and with an attempt at haughty dignity
he began to survey the visitors. All eyes were fixed on the impudent
little man, and the Captain asked,—
“What sort of character is this?”
I replied, “This is Miaki, our great war Chief;” and whispered to the
Captain to be on his guard, as this man knew a little English, and might
understand or misunderstand just enough to make it afterwards dangerous
to me.
The Captain only muttered, “The contemptible creature!”
But such words were far enough beyond Miaki’s vocabulary, so he looked
on and grinned complacently.
At last he said, “Missi, this great Chief whom Queen Victoria has sent
to visit you in her Man-of-war, cannot go over the whole of this island
so as to be seen by all our people; and I wish you to ask him if he will
stand by a tree, and allow me to put a spear on the ground at his heel,
and we will make a nick in it at the top of his head, and the spear will
be sent round the island to let all the people see how tall this great
man is!”
They were delighted at the good Captain agreeing to their simple
request; and that spear was exhibited to thousands, as the vessel, her
Commander, officers, and men, were afterwards talked of round and round
the island.
Captain Vernon was extremely kind, and offered to do anything in his
power for me, thus left alone on the island amongst such savages; but,
as my main difficulties were connected with my spiritual work amongst
them rousing up their cruel prejudices, I did not see how his kindness
could effectually interpose. At his suggestion, however, I sent a
general invitation to all the Chiefs within reach, to meet the Captain
next morning at my house. True to their instincts of suspicion and fear,
they despatched all their women and children to the beach on the
opposite side of the island beyond reach of danger, and next morning my
house was crowded with armed men, manifestly much afraid. Punctually at
the hour appointed, 10 a.m., the Captain came on shore; and soon
thereafter twenty Chiefs were seated with him in my house. He very
kindly spent about an hour, giving them wise counsels and warning them
against outrages on strangers, all calculated to secure our safety and
advance the interests of our Mission work. He then invited all the
Chiefs to go on board and see his vessel. They were taken to see the
Armoury, and the sight of the big guns running so easily on rails vastly
astonished them. He then placed them round us on deck and showed them
two shells discharged towards the Ocean, at which, as they burst and
fell far off, splash—splashing into the water, the terror of the Natives
visibly increased. But, when he sent a large ball crashing through a
cocoa-nut grove, breaking the trees like straws and cutting its way
clear and swift, they were quite dumb-foundered and pled to be again set
safely on shore. After receiving each some small gift, however, they
were reconciled to the situation, and returned immensely interested in
all that they had seen. Doubtless many a wild romance was spun by these
savage heads, in trying to describe and hand down to others the wonders
of the fire-god of the sea, and the Captain of the great white Queen.
How easily it all lends itself to the service of poetry and myth!
About this time also, the London Missionary Society’s ship, the _John
Williams_, visited me, having on board the Rev. Messrs. Turner, Inglis,
Baker, and Macfarlan. They urged me to go with them on a three weeks’
trip round the Islands, as I had lately suffered much from fever and
ague, and was greatly reduced by it. But a party of Bush natives had
killed one of our Harbour people the week before, and sadly bruised
several others with their clubs, and I feared a general war of revenge
if I left—for my presence amongst them at least helped to keep the
peace. I also was afraid that, if I left, they might not allow me to
return to the island,—so I declined once more the pleasure of
much-needed change and rest. Further, as the _John Williams_ brought me
the wood for building a Church which I had bought on Aneityum, the
Tannese now plainly saw that, though their conduct had been very bad,
and I had suffered much on their island, I had no intention of leaving
them or of giving up the work of Jehovah.
Too much, perhaps, had I hoped for from the closely succeeding visits of
the good Bishop Selwyn, the gallant Captain Vernon, and the Mission ship
_John Williams_. The impressions were undoubtedly good, but evanescent;
and things soon went on as they had done before among our benighted
Tannese, led by Satan at his will, and impelled to the grossest deeds of
heathen darkness. The change by Divine grace, however, we knew to be
possible; and for this we laboured and prayed incessantly, fainting not,
or if fainting, only to rise again and tackle every duty in the name of
the Lord who had placed us there.
Fever and ague had attacked me fourteen times severely with slighter
recurring attacks almost continuously after my first three months on the
island, and I now felt the necessity of taking the hint of the Tannese
Chief before referred to,—“Sleep on the higher ground.” Having also
received medical counsel to the same effect, though indeed experience
was painfully sufficient testimony, I resolved to remove my house, and
began to look about for a suitable site. There rose behind my present
site, a hill about three hundred feet high or rather more, surrounded on
all sides by a valley, and swept by the breezes of the trade winds,
being only separated from the Ocean by a narrow neck of land. On this I
had set my heart; there was room for a Mission House and a Church, for
which indeed Nature seemed to have adapted it. I proceeded to buy up
every claim by the Natives to any portion of the hill, paying each
publicly and in turn, so that there might be no trouble afterwards. I
then purchased from a Trader the deck planks of a shipwrecked vessel,
with which to construct a house of two apartments, a bedroom and a small
store-room adjoining it, to which I purposed to transfer and add the old
house as soon as I was able.
Just at this juncture, the fever smote me again more severely than ever;
my weakness after this attack was so great, that I felt as if I never
could rally again. With the help of my faithful Aneityumese Teacher,
Abraham, and his wife, however, I made what appeared my last effort to
creep, I could not climb, up the hill to get a breath of wholesome air.
When about two-thirds up the hill, I became so faint that I concluded I
was dying. Lying down on the ground, sloped against the root of a tree
to keep me from rolling to the bottom, I took farewell of old Abraham,
of my Mission work, and of everything around! In this weak state I lay,
watched over by my faithful companion, and fell into a quiet sleep. When
consciousness returned, I felt a little stronger, and a faint gleam of
hope and life came back to my soul.
Abraham and his devoted wife, Nafatu, lifted me and carried me to the
top of the hill. There they laid me on cocoa-nut leaves on the ground,
and erected over me a shade or screen of the same; and there the two
faithful souls, inspired surely by something diviner even than mere
human pity, gave me the cocoa-nut juice to drink and fed me with native
food and kept me living—I know not for how long. Consciousness did,
however, fully return. The trade wind refreshed me day by day. The
Tannese seemed to have given me up for dead; and providentially none of
them looked near us for many days. Amazingly my strength returned, and I
began planning about my new house on the hill. Afraid again to sleep at
the old site, I slept under the tree, and sheltered by the cocoa-nut
leaf screen, while preparing my new bedroom.
[Illustration: “THERE THEY LAID ME ON COCOA-NUT LEAVES ON THE GROUND.”]
Here again, but for these faithful souls, the Aneityumese Teacher and
his wife, I must have been baffled, and would have died in the effort.
The planks of the wreck, and all other articles required they fetched
and carried, and it taxed my utmost strength to get them in some way
planted together. But life depended on it. It was at length
accomplished; and after that time I suffered comparatively little from
anything like continuous attacks of fever and ague. That noble old soul,
Abraham, stood by me as an angel of God in sickness and in danger; he
went at my side wherever I had to go; he helped me willingly to the last
inch of strength in all that I had to do; and it was perfectly manifest
that he was doing all this not from mere human love, but for the sake of
Jesus. That man had been a Cannibal in his heathen days, but by the
grace of God there he stood verily a new creature in Christ Jesus. Any
trust, however sacred or valuable, could be absolutely reposed in him;
and in trial or danger, I was often refreshed by that old Teacher’s
prayers, as I used to be by the prayers of my saintly father in my
childhood’s home. No white man could have been a more valuable helper to
me in my perilous circumstances, and no person, white or black, could
have shown more fearless and chivalrous devotion.
When I have read or heard the shallow objections of irreligious
scribblers and talkers, hinting that there was no reality in
conversions, and that Mission effort was but waste, oh, how my heart has
yearned to plant them just one week on Tanna, with the “natural” man all
around in the person of Cannibal and Heathen, and only the one
“spiritual” man in the person of the converted Abraham, nursing them,
feeding them, saving them “for the love of Jesus,”—that I might just
learn how many hours it took to convince them that Christ in man was a
reality after all! All the scepticism of Europe would hide its head in
foolish shame; and all its doubts would dissolve under one glance of the
new light that Jesus, and Jesus alone, pours from the converted
Cannibal’s eye.
Perhaps it may surprise some unsophisticated reader to learn, though
others who know more will be quite prepared for it, that this removal of
our house, as also Mr. Mathieson’s for a similar reason, was severely
criticised by the people who try to evangelize the world while sitting
in easy chairs at home. Precious nonsense appeared, for instance, in the
_Nova Scotian Church Magazine_, about my house being planted on the
fighting ground of the Natives, and thereby courting and provoking
hostilities. As matter of fact, the hill-top was too narrow to
accommodate both the Church and my house, and had to be levelled out for
that purpose, and it was besides surrounded by a deep valley on three
sides; but the arm-chair critics, unwilling to believe in the heathen
hatred of the Gospel, had to invent some reason out of their own brains
to account for my being so persecuted and plundered. In truth, we were
learning by suffering for the benefit of those who should follow us to
these Islands,—that health could be found only on the higher levels,
swept by the breath of the trade winds, and that fever and ague lay in
wait near the shore, and especially on the leeward side. Even Mr. Inglis
had his house on Aneityum removed also to the higher ground; and no
Missionary since has been located in the fever-beds by the swamp or
shore. Life is God’s great gift, to be preserved for Him, not thrown
away.
CHAPTER VIII.
_MORE MISSION LEAVES FROM TANNA._
The Blood-Fiend Unleashed.—In the Camp of the Enemy.—A Typical South
Sea Trader.—Young Rarip’s Death.—The Trader’s Retribution.—Worship
and War.—Saved from Strangling.—Wrath Restrained.—Under the
Axe.—The Clubbing of Namuri.—Native Saint and Martyr.—Bribes
Refused.—Widows Saved from Strangling.—The Sinking of the
Well.—Church-Building on Tanna.—Ancient Stone God.—Printing First
Tannese Book.—A Christian Captain.—Levelled Muskets.—A French
Refugee.—A Villainous Captain.—Like Master Like Men.—Wrecked on
Purpose.—The Kanaka Traffic.—A Heathen Festival.—Sacrifices to
Idols.—Heathen Dances and Sham Fights.—Six Native Teachers.—A
Homeric Episode.—Victims for a Cannibal Feast.—The Jaws of
Death.—Nahak or Sorcery.—Killing Me by Nahak.—Nahak
Defied.—Protected by Jehovah.—Almost Persuaded.—Escorted to the
Battlefield.—Praying for Enemies.—Our Canoe on the Reef.—A
Perilous Pilgrimage.—Rocks and Waters.
The Peace-party, my band of twenty Chiefs already spoken of, kept all
the tribes around the Harbour acting only on the defensive for a season.
But the Inland people murdered eight Chiefs from a distance who, after
paying a friendly visit to the Harbour people, were returning to their
homes. At the same time, one of the Inland Chiefs, who had pled with his
people to give up war and live at peace with surrounding tribes, was
overthrown and murdered by his own men, as also his brother and four
wives and two children, and was supplanted by another leader more akin
to their wishes and tastes. They proceeded, according to their custom of
declaring war, to shoot one of the Harbour men and to break down their
fences and plantations. So once again, the blood-fiend was
unleashed,—the young men of Tanna being as eager to get up a battle, as
young men of the world at home seem eager to get up a concert or a ball.
The Harbour people advised me to remove a mile further away from these
warriors; but the Inland tribes sent me word not to desert my house,
lest it might be burned and plundered, for that they themselves had no
quarrel against me. Early next morning, I, accompanied by Abraham and
another Aneityumese, started off to visit the Bush party, and if
possible avert the impending war, but without informing my Harbour
people. About four miles from our Station, we met the Chief of our
farthest inland friendly tribe with all his fighting men under arms.
Forcing me to disclose our errand, he reluctantly allowed us to pass.
Praying to Jesus for guidance and protection, we pressed along the path
through the thick bush four miles further still. My two attendants,
sinking into silence, betrayed growing fear; and I, after trying to
cheer them, had at their most earnest appeal to walk on also in silence,
my heart and theirs going up to Jesus in prayer. We passed many deserted
villages and plantations, but saw no living person. At last,
unexpectedly, we stumbled upon the whole host assembled on the Village
Common at a great feast; and at sight of us every man rushed for his
weapons of war. Keeping my Teachers close beside me, I walked straight
into the midst of them, unarmed of course, and cried as loud as I
possibly could in their own tongue,—
“My love to all you men of Tanna! Fear not; I am your friend; I love you
every one, and am come to tell you about Jehovah God and good conduct
such as pleases Him!”
An old Chief thereon came and took me by the hand, and, after leading me
about among the people, said,—
“Sit down beside me here and talk with me; by-and-by the people will not
be afraid.”
A few ran off to the bush in terror. Others appeared to be beside
themselves with delight. They danced round us frantically, striking the
ground and beating a canoe with their clubs, while shouting to each
other, “Missi is come! Missi is come!” The confusion grew every moment
wilder, and there was a fiendish look about the whole scene. Men and
boys rushed thronging around from every quarter, all painted in varied
and savage devices, and some with their hair stuck full of fantastic
feathers. Women and children peered through the bush, and
instantaneously disappeared. Even in that anxious moment, it struck me
that they had many more children amongst them than the people around the
shores, where women and children are destroyed by the cruelty and vices
of “civilized” visitors! After spending about an hour, conversing and
answering all questions, they apparently agreed to give up the war, and
allowed me to conduct the Worship amongst them. They then made me a
present of cocoa-nuts and sugar-cane and two fowls, which my attendants
received from them; and I, in return, presented a red shirt to the
principal Chief, and distributed a quantity of fish-hooks and pieces of
red calico amongst the rest. The leading men shook hands graciously, and
invited us often to come and see them, for after that visit they would
harm no person connected with our Mission. Meantime, the Harbour people
having learned where we had gone, had concluded that we would all be
killed and feasted upon. When we returned, with a present of food, and
informed them what we had heard and seen, their astonishment was beyond
measure; it had never been so seen after this manner on Tanna! The peace
continued for more than four weeks, an uncommonly prolonged truce. All
hands were busy at work. Many yam plantations were completed, and all
fences were got into excellent condition for a year.
The prejudices and persecutions of Heathens were a sore enough trial,
but sorer and more hopeless was the wicked and contaminating influence
of, alas, my fellow-countrymen. One, for instance, a Captain Winchester,
living with a native woman at the head of the bay as a trader, a
dissipated wretch, though a well-educated man, was angry forsooth at
this state of peace! Apparently there was not the usual demand for
barter for the fowls, pigs, etc., in which he traded. He developed at
once a wonderful interest in their affairs, presented all the Chiefs
around with powder, caps, and balls, and lent among them a number of
flash-muskets. He urged them not to be afraid of war, as he would supply
any amount of ammunition. I remonstrated, but he flatly told me that
peace did not suit his purposes! Incited and encouraged thus, these poor
Heathen people were goaded into a most unjust war on neighbouring
tribes. The Trader immediately demanded a high price for the weapons he
had lent; the price of powder, caps, and balls rose exorbitantly with
every fresh demand; his yards were crowded with poultry and pigs, which
he readily disposed of to passing vessels; and he might have amassed
great sums of money but for his vile dissipations. Captain Winchester,
now glorying in the war, charged a large hog for a wine-glass full of
powder, or three or four balls, or ten gun-caps; he was boastful of his
“good luck” in getting rid of all his old muskets and filling his yards
with pigs and fowls. Such is the infernal depth, when the misery and
ruin of many are thought to be more than atoned for by the wealth and
prosperity of a few who trade in their doom!
Miaki the war Chief had a young brother, Rarip by name, about eighteen
years of age. When this war began, he came to live with me at the
Mission House. After it had raged some time, Miaki forced him to join
the fighting men; but he escaped through the bush, and returned to me,
saying,—
“Missi, I hate this fighting; it is not good to kill men; I will live
with you!”
Again the War Chief came, and forced my dear young Rarip to join the
hosts. Of course, I could only plead; I could not prevent him. This
time, he placed him at his own side in the midst of his warriors. On
coming in sight of the enemy, and hearing their first yells as they
rushed from the bush, a bullet pierced young Rarip’s breast and he fell
dead into the arms of Miaki. The body was carried home to his brother’s
village, with much wailing, and a messenger ran to tell me that Rarip
was dead. On hasting thither, I found him quite dead, and the centre of
a tragic ceremonial. Around him, some sitting, others lying on the
ground, were assembled all the women and girls, tearing their hair,
wounding themselves with split bamboos and broken bottles, dashing
themselves headlong to the earth, painting all black their faces,
breasts, and arms, and wailing with loud lamentations! Men were also
there, knocking their heads against the trees, gashing their bodies with
knives till they ran with streaks of blood, and indulging in every kind
of savage symbol of grief and anguish. My heart broke to see them, and
to think that they knew not to look to our dear Lord Jesus for
consolation.
I returned to the Mission House, and brought a white sheet and some
tape, in which the body of dear young Rarip was wrapped and prepared for
the grave. The Natives appeared to be gratified at this mark of respect;
and all agreed that Rarip should have under my direction a Christian
burial. The men prepared the grave in a spot selected near to his own
house; I read the Word of God, and offered prayer to Jehovah, with a
psalm of praise, amidst a scene of weeping and lamentation never to be
forgotten; and the thought burned through my very soul—oh, when, when
will the Tannese realize what I am now thinking and praying about, the
life and immortality brought to light through Jesus?
As the war still raged on, and many more were killed, vengeance
threatened the miserable Trader. Miaki attacked him thus,—
“You led us into this war. You deceived us, and we began it. Rarip is
dead, and many others. Your life shall yet go for his.”
Captain Winchester, heartless as a dog so long as pigs and fowls came to
the yard at whatever cost to others’ lives, now trembled like a coward
for himself. He implored me to let him and his Marè wife sleep at my
house for safety; but I refused to allow my Mission to be in any way
identified with his crimes. The Natives from other islands, whom he kept
and wrought like slaves, he now armed with muskets for his defence; but,
having no faith in them protecting or even warning him, he implored me
to send one of my Teachers, to assist his wife in watching till he
snatched a few hours of sleep every day, and, if awake, he would sell
his life as dearly as he could by aid of musket and revolver. The
Teachers were both afraid and disinclined to go; and I could not
honestly ask them to do so. His peril and terror became so real that by
night he slept in his boat anchored out in the centre of the bay, with
his arms beside him, and a crew ready to start off at the approach of
danger and lose everything; while by day he kept watch on shore, armed,
and also ready to fly. Thus his miserable existence dragged on, keeping
watch alternatively with his wife, till a trading vessel called and
carried him off with all that he had rescued—for which deliverance we
were unfeignedly thankful! The war, which he had wickedly instigated,
lingered on for three months; and then, by a present given secretly to
two leading Chiefs, I managed to bring it to a close. But feelings of
revenge for the slain, burned fiercely in many breasts; and young men
had old feuds handed on to them by the recital of their fathers’ deeds
of blood.
All through this war, I went to the fighting ground every Sabbath, and
held worship amongst our Harbour people. Hundreds assembled around me,
and listened respectfully, but they refused to give up the war. One day,
I determined to go through the bush that lay between and speak and pray
with the enemies also. Our Harbour folks opposed me, and one leading man
said,—
“Missi, pray only for us, and your God will be strong to help us and we
will not be afraid! You must not pray with the enemy, lest He may help
them too.”
After this episode, I made it my duty always to visit both Camps, when I
went to the fighting ground, and to have worship with both,—teaching
them that Jehovah my God was angry at all such scenes and would not
fight for either, that He commanded them to live at peace.
About this time, our Sabbath audiences at the Mission numbered forty or
so. Nowar and three or four more, and only they, seemed to love and
serve Jesus. They were, however, changeable and doubtful, though they
exerted a good influence on their villages, and were generally friendly
to us and to the Worship. Events sometimes for a season greatly
increased our usefulness. For instance, one of the Sacred Men when
fishing on the coral reef was bitten by a poisonous fish. After great
agony, he died, and his relatives were preparing to strangle his two
wives that their spirits might accompany and serve him in the other
world. Usually such tragedies were completed before I ever heard of
them. On this occasion, I had called at the village that very day, and
succeeded in persuading them to bury him alone—his wives being saved
alive at my appeal. Thus the idea got to be talked of, and the horrible
custom was being undermined—the strangling of widows!
In connection with such poisonings, I may mention that some of these
fishes were deadly poisonous; others were unwholesome, and even
poisonous, only at certain seasons; and still others were always
nutritious and good. For our own part, we used fish sparingly and
cautiously; and the doubtful ones we boiled with a piece of silver in
the water. If the silver became discoloured, we regarded the fish as
unwholesome; if the silver remained pure, we could risk it.
One morning at daybreak I found my house surrounded by armed men, and a
Chief intimated that they had assembled to take my life. Seeing that I
was entirely in their hands, I knelt down and gave myself away body and
soul to the Lord Jesus, for what seemed the last time on earth. Rising,
I went out to them, and began calmly talking about their unkind
treatment of me and contrasting it with all my conduct towards them. I
also plainly showed them what would be the sad consequences, if they
carried out their cruel purpose. At last some of the Chiefs, who had
attended the Worship, rose and said,—
“Our conduct has been bad; but now we will fight for you, and kill all
those who hate you.”
[Illustration: “AT DAYBREAK I FOUND MY HOUSE SURROUNDED.”]
Grasping hold of their leader, I held him fast till he promised never to
kill any one on my account, for Jesus taught us to love our enemies and
always to return good for evil! During this scene, many of the armed men
slunk away into the bush, and those who remained entered into a bond to
be friendly and to protect us. But again their Public Assembly resolved
that we should be killed, because, as they said, they hated Jehovah and
the Worship; for it made them afraid to do as they had always done. If I
would give up visiting the villages, and praying and talking with them
about Jehovah, they intimated that they would like me to stay and trade
with them, as they liked the Traders but hated the Missionaries! I told
them that the hope of being able to teach them the Worship of Jehovah
alone kept me living amongst them; that I was there, not for gain or
pleasure, but because I loved them, and pitied their estate, and sought
their good continually by leading them to know and serve the only true
God. One of the Chiefs, who had lived in Sydney and spoke English,
replied for all the rest,—
“Missi, our fathers loved and worshipped whom you call the Devil, the
Evil Spirit; and we are determined to do the same, for we love the
conduct of our fathers. Missi Turner came here and tried to break down
our worship, but our fathers fought him and he left us. They fought also
Peta, the Samoan Teacher, and he fled. They fought and killed some of
the Samoan Teachers placed on the other side of the Harbour, and their
companions left. We killed the last foreigner that lived in Tanna before
you came here. We murdered the Aneityumese Teachers, and burned down
their houses. After each of these acts, Tanna was good; we all lived
like our fathers, and sickness and death left us. Now, our people are
determined to kill you, if you do not leave this island; for you are
changing our customs and destroying our worship, and we hate the Jehovah
Worship.”
Then, surrounded by a number of men, who had spent some years in the
Colonies, he continued in a bitter strain to this effect,—
“The people of Sydney belong to your Britain; they know what is right
and wrong as well as you; and we have ourselves seen them fishing,
feasting, cooking, working, and seeking pleasure on the Sabbath as on
any other day. You say, we do not here need to cook any food on Sabbaths
or to toil at our ovens, but you yourself cook, for you boil your kettle
on that day! We have seen the people do all the conduct at Sydney which
you call bad, but which we love. You are but one, they are many; they
are right, and you must be wrong; you are teaching lies for Worship.”
After many such speeches, I answered all the questions of the people
fully, and besides I cross-questioned my assailants on several subjects,
regarding which they grossly contradicted each other, till the majority
of voices cried out,—
“They are lying! Their words are crooked! Missi knows all the truth
about the people of Sydney!”
Alas, I had to admit that what they reported was too true regarding the
godless multitudes at home who made the Sabbath a day of pleasure, but
not regarding Jehovah’s servants. By this time, they were willing to
remain quiet, and allowed me to talk of spiritual things and of the
blessings that the Sabbath and the Bible brought to all other lands, and
to conduct in their presence and hearing the Worship of Jehovah.
But my enemies seldom slackened their hateful designs against my life,
however calmed or baffled for the moment. Within a few days of the above
events, when Natives in large numbers were assembled at my house, a man
furiously rushed on me with his axe; but a Kaserumini Chief snatched a
spade with which I had been working, and dexterously defended me from
instant death. Life in such circumstances led me to cling very near to
the Lord Jesus; I knew not, for one brief hour, when or how attack might
be made; and yet, with my trembling hand clasped in the hand once nailed
on Calvary, and now swaying the sceptre of the Universe, calmness and
peace and resignation abode in my soul.
Next day, a wild Chief followed me about for four hours with his loaded
musket, and, though often directed towards me, God restrained his hand.
I spoke kindly to him, and attended to my work as if he had not been
there, fully persuaded that my God had placed me there, and would
protect me till my allotted task was finished. Looking up in unceasing
prayer to our dear Lord Jesus, I left all in His hands, and felt
immortal till my work was done. Trials and hairbreadth escapes
strengthened my faith, and seemed only to nerve me for more to follow;
and they did tread swiftly upon each other’s heels. Without that abiding
consciousness of the presence and power of my dear Lord and Saviour,
nothing else in all the world could have preserved me from losing my
reason and perishing miserably. His words, “Lo, I am with you alway,
even unto the end of the world,” became to me so real that it would not
have startled me to behold Him, as Stephen did, gazing down upon the
scene. I felt His supporting power, as did St. Paul, when he cried, “I
can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.” It is the
sober truth, and it comes back to me sweetly after twenty years, that I
had my nearest and dearest glimpses of the face and smile of my blessed
Lord in those dread moments when musket, club, or spear was being
levelled at my life. Oh the bliss of living and enduring, as seeing “Him
who is invisible!”
One evening, I awoke three times to hear a Chief and his men trying to
force the door of my house. Though armed with muskets, they had some
sense of doing wrong, and were wholesomely afraid of a little retriever
dog which had often stood betwixt me and death. God restrained them
again; and next morning the report went all round the Harbour, that
those who tried to shoot me were “smitten weak with fear,” and that
shooting would not do. A plan was therefore deliberately set on foot to
fire the premises, and club us if we attempted to escape. But our
Aneityumese Teacher heard of it, and God helped us to frustrate their
designs. When they knew that their plots were revealed to us, they
seemed to lose faith in themselves, and cast about to circumvent us in
some more secret way. Their evil was overruled for good.
Namuri, one of my Aneityumese Teachers, was placed at our nearest
village. There he had built a house for himself and his wife, and there
he led amongst the Heathen a pure and humble Christian life. Almost
every morning, he came and reported on the state of affairs to me.
Without books or a school, he yet instructed the Natives in Divine
things, conducted the Worship, and taught them much by his good example.
His influence was increasing, when one morning a Sacred Man threw at him
the kawas, or killing stone, a deadly weapon, like a scythe stone in
shape and thickness, usually round but sometimes angular, and from
eighteen to twenty inches long. They throw it from a great distance and
with fatal precision. The Teacher, with great agility, warded his head
and received the deep cut from it in his left hand, reserving his right
hand to guard against the club that was certain to follow swiftly. The
Priest sprang upon him with his club and with savage yells. He evaded,
yet also received, many blows; and, rushing out of their hands, actually
reached the Mission House, bleeding, fainting, and pursued by howling
murderers. I had been anxiously expecting him, and hearing the noise I
ran out with all possible speed.
On seeing me, he sank down by a tree, and cried,—
“Missi, Missi, quick! and escape for your life! They are coming to kill
you; they say, they must kill us all to-day, and they have begun with
me; for they hate Jehovah and the Worship!”
I hastened to the good Teacher where he lay; I bound up, washed, and
dressed his wounds; and God, by the mystery of His own working, kept the
infuriated Tannese watching at bay. Gradually they began to disappear
into the bush, and we conveyed the dear Teacher to the Mission House. In
three or four weeks, he so far recovered by careful nursing that he was
able to walk about again. Some petitioned for him to return to the
village; but I insisted, as a preliminary, that the Harbour Chiefs
should unitedly punish him who had abused the Teacher; and this to test
them, for he had only carried out their own wishes,—Nowar excepted, and
perhaps one or two others. They made a pretence of atoning by presenting
the Teacher with a pig and some yams as a peace-offering; but I said,—
“No! such bad conduct must be punished, or we would leave their island
by the first opportunity.”
Now that Sacred Man, a Chief too, had gone on fighting with other
tribes, till his followers had all died or been slain; and, after three
weeks’ palaver, the other Chiefs seized him, tied him with a rope, and
sent me word to come and see him punished, as they did not want us after
all to leave the island. I had to go, for fear of more bloody work, and
after talk with them, followed by many fair promises, he was loosed.
All appearing friendly for some time, and willing to listen and learn,
the Teacher earnestly desired to return to his post. I pled with him to
remain at the Mission House till we felt more assured, but he replied,—
“Missi, when I see them thirsting for my blood, I just see myself when
the Missionary first came to my island. I desired to murder him, as they
now desire to kill me. Had he stayed away for such danger, I would have
remained Heathen; but he came, and continued coming to teach us, till,
by the grace of God, I was changed to what I am. Now the same God that
changed me to this, can change these poor Tannese to love and serve Him.
I cannot stay away from them; but I will sleep at the Mission House, and
do all I can by day to bring them to Jesus.”
It was not in me to keep such a man, under such motives, from what he
felt to be his post of duty. He returned to his village work, and for
several weeks things appeared most encouraging. The inhabitants showed
growing interest in us and our work, and less fear of the pretensions of
their heathen Priest, which, alas! fed his jealousy and anger. One
morning during worship, when the good Teacher knelt in prayer, the same
savage Priest sprang upon him with his great club and left him for dead,
wounded and bleeding and unconscious. The people fled and left him in
his blood, afraid of being mixed up with the murder. The Teacher,
recovering a little, crawled to the Mission House, and reached it about
mid-day in a dying condition. On seeing him, I ran to meet him, but he
fell near the Teacher’s house, saying,—
“Missi, I am dying. They will kill you also. Escape for your life.”
Trying to console him, I sat down beside him, dressing his wounds and
nursing him. He was quite resigned; he was looking up to Jesus, and
rejoicing that he would soon be with Him in Glory. His pain and
suffering were great, but he bore all very quietly, as he said and kept
saying, “For the sake of Jesus! For Jesu’s sake!” He was constantly
praying for his persecutors,—
“O Lord Jesus, forgive them, for they know not what they are doing. Oh,
take not away all Thy servants from Tanna! Take not away Thy Worship
from this dark island! O God, bring all the Tannese to love and follow
Jesus!”
To him, Jesus was all and in all; and there were no bands in his death.
He passed from us, in the assured hope of entering into the Glory of his
Lord. Humble though he may appear in the world’s esteem, I knew that a
great man had fallen there in the service of Christ, and that he would
take rank in the glorious Army of the Martyrs. I made for him a coffin,
and dug his grave near the Mission House. With prayers, and many tears,
we consigned his remains to the dust in the certainty of a happy
resurrection. Even one such convert was surely a triumphant reward for
Dr. and Mrs. Geddie, whom God had honoured in bringing him to Jesus. May
they have many like him for their crown of joy and rejoicing in the
great day!
Immediately after this, a number of Chiefs and followers called on me at
the Mission House, professing great friendliness, and said,—
“Mr. Turner gave our fathers great quantities of calico, axes, and
knives, and they became his friends. If you would give the people some
just now they would be pleased. They would stop fighting against the
Worship.”
I retorted, “How was it then, if they were pleased, that they persecuted
Messrs. Turner and Nisbet till they had to leave the island? Your
conduct is deceitful and bad. I never will reward you for bad actions
and for murder! No present will be given by me.”
They withdrew sullenly, and seemed deeply disappointed and offended.
On one occasion, when a Chief had died, the Harbour people were all
being assembled to strangle his widow. One of my Aneityumese Teachers,
hearing of it, hastened to tell me. I ran to the village, and with much
persuasion, saved her life. A few weeks thereafter she gave birth to a
young chieftain, who prospered well. If our Harbour people told the
truth, the widows of all who fell in war were saved by our pleading.
Immediately after the foregoing incident, a Sacred Man was dying, and a
crowd of people were assembled awaiting the event in order to strangle
his three wives. I spoke to them of the horrid wickedness of such
conduct. I further reasoned with them, that God had made us male and
female, the sexes so balanced, that for every man that had three or a
dozen wives, as many men generally had none, and that this caused great
jealousy and quarrelling. I showed them further, that these widows being
spared would make happy and useful wives for other kind and loving
husbands. After the Worship, I appealed to the Chief and he replied,—
“Missi, it was a practice introduced to Tanna from the island of
Aneityum. It was not the custom of our fathers here to strangle widows.
And, as the Aneityumese have given it up since they became worshippers
of Jehovah, it is good that we now should give it up on Tanna too.”
Thus these three widows were saved; and we had great hope in Christ that
the ghastly practice would soon disappear from Tanna.
An incident of this time created great wonder amongst the Natives;
namely, the Sinking of a Well. We had, heretofore, a boiling spring to
drink from, the water of which literally required in that climate days
to cool down; we had also a stagnant pool at the lower end of a swamp in
which the Natives habitually bathed, the only available fresh water
bath! Beyond that, no drinking water could be had for six or seven
miles. I managed to sink a well, near the Mission House, and got about
twelve feet deep a good supply of excellent fresh water, though, strange
to say, the surface of the well rose and fell regularly with every tide!
This became the universal supply for us and for the Natives all round
the Harbour and for miles inland. Hundreds of Natives from all parts of
Tanna flocked to examine this greatest wonder they had ever seen—rain
rising up out of the earth. I built it round with a kind of stone
brought in my boat from the other side of the bay; and for many years it
was the only fresh water supply for the Natives all around. Some years
later a native Chief sank a well about a mile nearer the entrance to the
Harbour at his own village, and built it round with the bricks that I
had purchased for house-building; these he grabbed and thus
appropriated! Many a vessel, calling at the Harbour, was glad to get her
casks refilled at my well, and all were apparently more friendly because
of it; but the Sinking of this Well produced no such revolution as on
Aniwa,—to be hereafter related.
For fully three months, all our available time, with all the native help
which I could hire, was spent in erecting a building to serve for Church
and School. It was fifty feet long, by twenty-one feet six inches broad.
The studs were three feet apart, and all fixed by tenon and mortise into
upper and lower wall plates. The beautiful roof of iron, wood, and
sugar-cane leaf, was supported by three massive pillars of wood, sunk
deeply into the ground. The roof extended about three feet over the wall
plates, both to form a verandah and to carry the rain-drop free beyond
the walls. It was made of sugar-cane leaf and cocoa-nut leaves all
around. The floor was laid with white coral, broken small, and covered
with cocoa-nut leaf mats, such as those on which the Natives sat.
Indeed, it was as comfortable a House of Prayer as any man need wish for
in the tropics, though having only open spaces for doors and windows! I
bought the heavy wood for it on Aneityum—price, fifty pairs of native
trousers; and these again were the gift of my Bible Class in Glasgow,
all cut and sewed by their own hands. I gave also one hundred and thirty
yards of cloth, along with other things, for other needful wood.
My Tannese people at first opposed the erection of a Church. They did
not wish Jehovah to secure a House on their island. On the opening day,
only five men, three women, and three children were present, besides our
Aneityumese Teachers. But after the morning service, on that day, I
visited ten villages, and had worship in each. The people were generally
shy and unfriendly. They said that we were the cause of the prevailing
sickness and fever. They had no idea of any sickness or death being
natural, but believed that all such events were caused by some one
_nahaking_, _i.e._, bewitching them. Hence their incessant feuds; and
many were murdered in blind revenge.
As we were preparing a foundation for the Church, a huge and
singular-looking round stone was dug up, at sight of which the Tannese
stood aghast. The eldest Chief said,—
“Missi, that stone was either brought there by Karapanamun (the Evil
Spirit), or hid there by our great Chief who is dead. That is the Stone
God to which our forefathers offered human sacrifices; these holes held
the blood of the victim till drunk up by the Spirit. The Spirit of that
stone eats up men and women and drinks their blood, as our fathers
taught us. We are in greatest fear!”
A Sacred Man claimed possession, and was exceedingly desirous to carry
it off; but I managed to keep it, and did everything in my power to show
them the absurdity of these foolish notions. Idolatry had not, indeed,
yet fallen throughout Tanna, but one cruel idol, at least, had to give
way for the erection of God’s House on that benighted land.
An ever-memorable event was the printing of my first book in Tannese.
Thomas Binnie, Esq., Glasgow, gave me a printing-press and a font of
type. Printing was one of the things I had never tried, but having now
prepared a booklet in Tannese, I got my press into order, and began
fingering the type. But book-printing turned out to be for me a much
more difficult affair than house-building had been. Yet by dogged
perseverance I succeeded at last. My biggest difficulty was how to
arrange the pages properly! After many failures, I folded a piece of
paper into the number of leaves wanted, cut the corners, folding them
back, and numbering as they would be when correctly placed in the book;
then folding all back without cutting up the sheet, I found now by these
numbers how to arrange the pages in the frame or case for printing, as
indicated on each side. And do you think me foolish, when I confess that
I shouted in an ecstasy of joy when the first sheet came from the press
all correct? It was about one o’clock in the morning. I was the only
white man then on the island, and all the Natives had been fast asleep
for hours! Yet I literally pitched my hat into the air, and danced like
a schoolboy round and round that printing-press; till I began to think,
Am I losing my reason? Would it not be liker a Missionary to be upon my
knees, adoring God for this first portion of His blessed Word ever
printed in this new language? Friend, bear with me, and believe me, that
was as true worship as ever was David’s dancing before the Ark of his
God! Nor think that I did not, over that first sheet of God’s Word ever
printed in the Tannese tongue, go upon my knees too, and then, and every
day since, plead with the mighty Lord to carry the light and joy of His
own Holy Bible into every dark heart and benighted home on Tanna! But
the Tannese had a superstitious dread of books, and especially of God’s
Book. I afterwards heard that Dr. Turner had printed a small primer in
Tannese, translated by the help of the Samoan Teachers; but this I never
saw till near the close of my work on Tanna. Dr. Geddie sent me a copy,
but it was more Samoan than Tannese, especially in its spelling, and I
could make little or nothing of it.
Shortly after this, I was greatly refreshed by the visit of an American
whaler, the _Camden Packet_, under Captain Allan. He, his chief officer,
and many of his double company of seamen, were decided Christians—a
great contrast to most of the Traders that had called at Port
Resolution. The Captain cordially invited me on board to preach and
conduct a religious service. That evening I enjoyed exceedingly—wells in
the desert! The Captain introduced me, saying,—
“This is my ship’s company. My first officer and most of my men are real
Christians, trying to love and serve Jesus Christ. We have been three
years out on this voyage, and are very happy with each other. You would
never hear or see worse on board of this vessel than you see now. And
God has given us gratifying success.”
He afterwards told me that he had a very valuable cargo of sperm oil on
board, the vessel being nearly filled up with it. He was eager to leave
supplies, or do something for me, but I needed nothing that he could
give. His mate, on examining my boat, found a hole in her, and several
planks split and bulged in, as I had gone down on a reef with her when
out on Mission work, and narrowly escaped drowning. Next morning, the
Captain, of his own accord, set his carpenter to repair the boat, and
left it as good as new. Not one farthing of recompense would any of them
take from me; their own Christian love rewarded them, in the
circumstances. I had been longing for a chance to send it to Sydney for
repairs, and felt deeply thankful for such unexpected and generous aid.
The Captain would not admit that the delay was any loss to him,—his
boats spending the day in purchasing cocoa-nuts and provisions from the
Natives for his own ship. Oh, how the Christlike spirit knits together
all true followers of Christ! What other earthly or human tie could have
so bound that stranger to me? In the heart of Christ we met as brothers.
Dangers again darkened round me. One day, while toiling away at my
house, the war Chief, his brother, and a large party of armed men
surrounded the plot where I was working. They all had muskets, besides
their own native weapons. They watched me for some time in silence, and
then every man levelled a musket straight at my head. Escape was
impossible. Speech would only have increased my danger. My eyesight came
and went for a few moments. I prayed to my Lord Jesus, either Himself to
protect me, or to take me home to His Glory. I tried to keep working on
at my task, as if no one was near me. In that moment, as never before,
the words came to me,—“Whatsoever ye shall ask in My name, I will do
it;” and I knew that I was safe. Retiring a little from their first
position, no word having been spoken, they took up the same attitude
somewhat farther off, and seemed to be urging one another to fire the
first shot. But my dear Lord restrained them once again, and they
withdrew, leaving me with a new cause for trusting Him with all that
concerned me for Time and Eternity. Perils seemed, however, to enclose
me on every hand, and my life was frequently attempted. I had to move
about more cautiously than ever, some days scarcely daring to appear
outside my Mission premises. For I have ever most firmly believed, and
do believe, that only when we use every lawful and possible means for
the preservation of our life, which is God’s second greatest gift to man
(His Son being the first), can we expect God to protect us, or have we
the right to plead His precious promises.
The vessel of one calling himself Prince de Jean Beuve, a French
refugee, who had become a naturalized American, visited Port Resolution.
He said, he had to escape from his own country for political offences.
His large and beautiful ship was fitted up and armed like a Man-of-war.
She was manned chiefly by slaves, whom he ruled with an iron hand. What
a contrast to Captain Allan’s whaler! Yet he also was very sympathetic
and kind to me. Having heard rumour of my trials and dangers, he came on
shore, as soon as his ship cast anchor, with a body of armed men. He was
effusively polite, with all a Frenchman’s gush and gesticulation, and
offered to do anything possible for me. He would take me to Aneityum or
Sydney or wherever I wished. The ship was his own; he was sailing
chiefly for pleasure, and he had called at our Islands to see if
sufficient trade could be opened up to justify his laying on a line of
steamers to call here in their transit. He urged me, I believe
sincerely, to give him the pleasure of taking me and my belongings to
some place of safety. But I was restrained from leaving, through the
fear that I would never be permitted to return, and that Christ’s work
would suffer. In the still burning hope of being able to lead the
Tannese to love and serve Jesus, I declined with much gratitude his
genuine kindness. He looked truly sorry to leave me in the circumstances
wherein I was placed. After two hours on shore, he returned to his ship
towards evening.
Knowing that the Tannese were threatening to burn my former house, which
I wished to remove to higher ground and add to the room I now occupied
on the hill, I took advantage of the presence of the Prince’s vessel,
and set my Aneityumese Teachers and some friendly Natives to prepare for
the task; but unfortunately, I forgot to send word to the Frenchman
regarding my plans and aims. We removed the sugar-cane leaf thatch from
the roof of the house, and began burning it on cleared ground, so that I
might be able to save the heavy wood which could not be replaced on
Tanna. Our French friend, on seeing the flames rising up furiously, at
once loaded his heavy guns, and prepared his men for action. Under great
excitement, he came ashore with a large number of armed men, leaving the
rest on board ready at a given signal to protect them with shot and
shell. Leaving one half of those brought on shore to guard the boats, he
came running towards my house, followed by the other half, wet with
perspiration, and crying,—
“Fer are dey? fer are dey? De scoundrels! I vill do for dem, and protect
you. I sall punish dem, de scoundrels!”
He was so excited, he could scarcely compose himself to hear my
explanations, which, when understood, he laughed at heartily. He again
urged me to leave in his vessel; he could not bear me to lead such a
life amongst savages. I explained to him my reasons for not leaving the
island, but these he seemed unable to understand. He put his men through
drill on shore, and left them under officers, ready for action at a
moment’s warning, saying they would all be the better for a day on
shore. He wished to take pot luck with me at our Mission House of one
room for all purposes! My humble dinner and tea must have been anything
but a treat for him, but he seemed to relish the deliverance for once
from all the conventionalisms of the world. Before he left, he sent of
his own accord for all the Chiefs within reach, and warned them that if
they hurt me or took my life, he would return with his Man-of-war and
punish them, by killing themselves and firing their villages; and that a
British Man-of-war would also come and set their island on fire. They
promised all possible good conduct, being undoubtedly put into great
terror. The kind-hearted Frenchman left, with profuse expressions of
admiration for my courage and of pity for my lot. No doubt he thought me
a foolish dreamer of dreams.
A miserable contrast befell us in the bad impression produced by the
conduct of one of Captain T——’s vessels in the Sydney sandal-wood trade.
Whale-boats had been sent out with Mr. Copeland and myself from Glasgow,
as part of the necessary equipment of every Missionary on these Islands.
Mine being rather large and heavy, I had sold it to one of T——’s
captains; but the other had also been left to my care. After having used
my boat for about twelve months—the best boat in that trade only being
expected to last two years—the Captain called on Mr. Copeland, and got a
note from him to me regarding the sale of his boat too. He declared,
when calling on me, that Mr. Copeland had authorized him to get his boat
from me in exchange for mine, which he had now been using for a year. I
asked for the letter, and found it to be authority for me to sell his
boat for cash only and at the same price as mine. Captain V—— then raged
at me and stormed, declaring that he would return my old boat, and take
the other in defiance of me. Swearing dreadfully, he made for his ship,
and returned with a large party of men whom he had picked up amongst the
Islands. Collecting also a company of Tannese, and offering them
tobacco, he broke down the fence, burst into the boat-house, and began
to draw out the boat. Here I reached the spot, and sternly opposed them.
He swore and foamed at me, and before the natives knocked and pulled me
about, even kicking at me, though I evaded his blows. Standing by, I
said in Tannese,—
“You are helping that man to steal my boat; he is stealing it as you
see.”
On hearing this, the Tannese ran away, and his own party alone could not
do it. In great wrath, he went off again to his vessel, and brought on
shore as much tobacco as could be held in a large handkerchief tied by
the four corners; but even for that, our own Natives refused to help
him. He offered it then to a crowd of Inland savages, gathered at the
head of the bay, who, regardless of my remonstrances, launched the boat,
he raging at and all but striking me. Instead of returning, however, the
other boat to the house, he merely set it adrift from his vessel, and it
was carried on to the reef, where it remained fast, and was knocked
about by the waves. After his vessel left, I, with much difficulty, got
it off and brought it to the boat-house. Imagine, when such was their
tyrannical treatment of a Missionary and a British fellow-subject, how
they would act towards these poor native Islanders.
By the earliest opportunity, I wrote all the facts of the case to his
employer, Captain T—— of Sydney, but got not even a reply, while Captain
V—— continued in their trade, a scourge to these Islands, and a
dishonour to his country and to humanity. Unfriendly Tannese now said,—
“When a white man from his own country can so pull and knock the
Missionary about and steal his boat and chain without being punished for
it, we also may do as we please!”
I hesitate not to record my conviction that that man’s conduct had a
very bad effect, emboldening them in acts of dishonesty and in attempts
upon my life till the Mission Station was ultimately broken up. After I
had to escape from Tanna, with bare life in my hand, one of the same
Captain’s vessels called at Port Resolution and gave the Natives about
three pounds weight of useless tobacco, purchasable at Sydney for less
than one shilling per pound, to allow them to take away my boat, with
oars, sails, mast, and all other belongings. They also purchased all the
plunder from my house. Both boats were so large and so strongly built,
that by adding a plank or two they turned them into small-decked
schooners, admirably suited for the sandal-wood traffic round the
shores, while larger vessels lay at safe anchorage to receive what they
collected. Once, when Dr. Inglis and I met in Sydney, we called on
Captain T—— and stated the whole case, asking reasonable payment at
least for the boats. He admitted that the boats had been taken and were
in his service, and agreed to pay us for the boats if we would repay the
large sum invested therein by his Captains. Calling one of his clerks,
he instructed him to trace in the office record how much had been paid
to the Tannese for the Missionary’s boat.
The young man innocently returned the reply, “Three pounds of tobacco.”
In anger, he said, “I understood that a larger value had been given!”
The clerk assured him, “That is the only record.”
Captain T——, after discussing the worth of the boat as being about £80,
agreed to give us £60, but in writing out the cheque, threw down the pen
and shouted, “I’ll see you —— first!”
Offering £50, to which we agreed, he again resiled, and declared he
would not give a penny above £30.
We appealed to him to regard this as a debt of honour, and to cease
haggling over the price, as he well knew how we had been wronged in the
matter.
Finally we left him declaring, “I am building similar boats just now at
£25 apiece; I will send you one of them, and you may either take that or
want!”
We left, glad to get away on any terms from such a character; and,
though next year he did send one of his promised boats for me to
Aneityum, yet the conduct of his degraded servants engaged in the
sandal-wood trade had a great share in the guilt of breaking up and
ruining our Mission. Thousands upon thousands were made by it yearly, so
long as it lasted; but it was a trade steeped in human blood and
indescribable vice, nor could God’s blessing rest on them and their
ill-gotten gains. Oh, how often did we pray at that time to be delivered
from the hands of unreasonable and wicked men! Sandal-wood traders
murdered many of the Islanders when robbing them of their wood, and the
Islanders murdered many of them and their servants in revenge. White
men, engaged in the trade, also shot dead and murdered each other in
vicious and drunken quarrels, and not a few put end to their own lives.
I have scarcely known one of them who did not come to ruin and poverty;
the money that came even to the shipowners was a conspicuous curse.
Fools there made a mock at sin, thinking that no one cared for these
poor savages, but their sin did find them out, and God made good in
their experience His own irrepealable law, “The wages of sin is death.”
Ships, highly insured, were said to be sent into our Island trade to be
deliberately wrecked. One Sabbath evening, towards dark, the notorious
Captain H——, in command of a large ship, allowed her to drift ashore and
be wrecked without any apparent effort to save her. Next morning, the
whole company were wading about in the water and pretending to have lost
everything! The Captain, put in prison when he returned to Sydney for
running away with another man’s wife and property, imposed on Mr.
Copeland and myself, getting all the biscuits, flour, and blankets we
could spare for his destitute and shipwrecked company. We discovered
afterwards that she was lying on a beautiful bank of sand, only a few
yards from the shore, and that everything contained in her could be
easily rescued without danger to life or limb! What we parted with was
almost necessary for our life and health; of course he gave us an order
on Captain T—— for everything, but not one farthing was ever repaid. At
first he made a pretence of paying the Natives for food received; but
afterwards, an armed band went inland night by night and robbed and
plundered whatever came to hand. The Natives, seeing the food of their
children ruthlessly stolen, were shot down without mercy when they dared
to interfere; and the life of every white man was marked for speedy
revenge. Glad were we when a vessel called, and carried away these white
heathen Savages.
The same Captain T—— also began the shocking Kanaka labour-traffic to
the Colonies, after the sandal-wood trade was exhausted, which has since
destroyed so many thousands of the Natives in what was nothing less than
Colonial slavery, and has largely depopulated the Islands either
directly or indirectly. And yet he wrote, and published in Sydney, a
pamphlet declaring that he and his sandal-wooders and Kanaka labour
collectors had done more to civilize the Islanders than all our Mission
efforts combined. Civilize them, indeed! By spreading disease and vice,
misery and death amongst them, even at the best; at the worst, slaving
many of them till they perished at their toils, shooting down others
under one or other guilty pretence, and positively sweeping thousands
into an untimely grave. A common cry on their lips was,—
“Let them perish and let the white men occupy these Isles.”
It was such conduct as this, that made the Islanders suspect all
foreigners and hate the white man and seek revenge in robbery and
murder. One Trader, for instance, a sandal-wooder and collector of
Kanakas, living at Port Resolution, abominably ill-used a party of
Natives. They determined in revenge to plunder his store. The cellar was
underneath his house, and he himself slept above the trap-door by which
alone it could be entered. Night and day he was guarded by armed men,
Natives of adjoining islands, and all approaches to his premises were
watched by savage dogs that gave timely warning. He felt himself secure.
But the Tannese actually constructed a tunnel underground from the bush,
through which they rolled away tobacco, ammunition, etc., and nearly
emptied his cellar! My heart bled to see men so capable and clever thus
brutally abused and demoralized and swept away. By the Gospel, and the
civilization which it brings, they were capable of learning anything and
being trained to a useful and even noble manhood. But all influence that
ever I witnessed from these Traders was degrading, and dead against the
work of our Missions.
The Chief, Nowar Noukamara, usually known as Nowar, was my best and
most-to-be-trusted friend He was one of the nine or ten who were most
favourable to the Mission work, attending the Worship pretty regularly,
conducting it also in their own houses and villages, and making
generally a somewhat unstable profession of Christianity. One or more of
them often accompanied me on Sabbath, when going to conduct the Worship
at inland villages, and sometimes they protected me from personal
injury. This Nowar influenced the Harbour Chiefs and their people for
eight or ten miles around to get up a great feast in favour of the
Worship of Jehovah. All were personally and specially invited, and it
was the largest Assembly of any kind that I ever witnessed on the
Islands.
When all was ready, Nowar sent a party of Chiefs to escort me and my
Aneityumese Teachers to the feast. Fourteen Chiefs, in turn, made
speeches to the assembled multitude; the drift of all being, that war
and fighting be given up on Tanna,—that no more people be killed by
nahak, for witchcraft and sorcery were lies,—that Sacred Men no longer
profess to make wind and rain, famine and plenty, disease and
death,—that the dark heathen talk of Tanna should cease, that all here
present should adopt the Worship of Jehovah as taught to them by the
Missionary and the Aneityumese,—and that all the banished Tribes should
be invited to their own lands to live in peace! These strange speeches
did not draw forth a single opposing voice. Doubtless these men were in
earnest, and had there been one master mind to rule and mould them,
their regeneration had dawned. Though for the moment a feeling of
friendliness prevailed, the Tannese were unstable as water and easily
swayed one way or the other. They are born talkers, and can and will
speechify on all occasions, but most of it means nothing, bears no
fruit.
After these speeches, a scene followed which gradually assumed shape as
an idolatrous ceremonial and greatly horrified me. It was in connection
with the immense quantity of food that had been prepared for the feast,
especially pigs and fowls. A great heap had been piled up for each Tribe
represented, and a handsome portion also set apart for the Missionary
and his Teachers. The ceremony was this, as nearly as I could follow it.
One hundred or so of the leading men marched into the large cleared
space in the centre of the assembled multitudes, and stood there facing
each other in equal lines, with a man at either end closing up the
passage between. At the middle they stood eight or ten feet apart,
gradually nearing till they almost met at either end. Amid tremendous
silence for a few moments all stood hushed; then every man kneeled on
his right knee, extended his right hand, and bent forward till his face
nearly touched the ground. Thereon the man at the one end began
muttering something, his voice rising ever louder as he rose to his
feet, when it ended in a fearful yell as he stood erect. Next the two
long lines of men, all in a body, went through the same ceremonial,
rising gradually to their feet, with mutterings deepening into a howl,
and heightening into a yell as they stood erect. Finally, the man at the
other end went through the same hideous forms. All this was thrice
deliberately repeated, each time with growing frenzy. And then, all
standing on their feet, they united as with one voice in what sounded
like music running mad up and down the scale, closing with a long,
deep-toned, hollow howl as of souls in pain. With smiles of joy, the men
then all shook hands with each other. Nowar and another Chief briefly
spoke, and the food was then divided and exchanged, a principal man of
each Tribe standing by to receive and watch his portion.
At this stage, Nowar and Nerwangi, as leaders, addressed the Teachers
and the Missionary to this effect:—
“This feast is held to move all the Chiefs and People here to give up
fighting, to become friends, and to worship your Jehovah God. We wish
you to remain, and to teach us all good conduct. As an evidence of our
sincerity, and of our love, we have prepared this pile of food for you.”
In reply, I addressed the whole multitude, saying how pleased I was with
their speeches and with the resolutions and promises which they all had
made. I further urged them to stick fast by these, and that grand fruits
would arise to their island, to themselves and to their children.
Having finished a brief address, I then walked forward to the very
middle of the circle, and laid down before them a bundle of stripes of
red calico and pieces of white calico, a number of fish-hooks, knives,
etc. etc., requesting the two Chiefs to divide my offering of goodwill
among the Tribes assembled, and also the pile of food presented to us,
as a token of my love and friendship to them all.
Their insisting upon me taking their present of food, laid upon me an
unpleasant and dangerous necessity of explaining my refusal. I again
thanked them very warmly, and explained that, as they had in my presence
given away all their food to an Idol God and asked his blessing on it as
a sacrifice, even to Karapanamun, the great Evil Spirit, my people and I
durst not and could not eat of it, for that would be to have fellowship
with their Idols and to dishonour Jehovah God. Christians could
acknowledge only the one true and living God, and ask His blessing on
their food, and offer it and themselves in thanksgiving unto Him, but
unto no cruel or evil Spirit. Yet I explained to them how much I thanked
them, and how I loved them just as much as if we had eaten all their
gifts, and how it would please us to see them all, along with my own
gifts, divided amongst their Tribes.
Not without some doubt, and under considerable trial, did I take this
apparently unfriendly attitude. But I feared to seem even to approve of
any act of devil-worship, or to confirm them in it, being there to
discourage all such scenes, and to lead them to acknowledge only the
true God. I felt as if guilty and as if the hat were rising from my
head, when I heard them imprecating and appeasing their God, without
being able to show them the God of Love and the better way into His
presence through Jesus Christ. My opportunity to do so arose over the
refusal of the food offered unto Idols, and I told them of the claims of
Jehovah, the jealous God, who would not share His worship with any
other. But all the time I felt this qualm,—that it were better to eat
food with men who acknowledged some God and asked his blessing than with
those white Heathens at home, who asked the blessing of no God, nor
thanked Him, in this worse than the dog which licks the hand that feeds
it! Nowar and Nerwangi explained in great orations what I meant, and how
I wished all to be divided amongst the assembled Tribes to show my love.
With this, all seemed highly satisfied.
Heathen dances were now entered upon, their paint and feathers and
ornaments adding to the wildness of the scene. The men seemed to dance
in an inside ring, and the women in an outside ring, at a considerable
distance from each other. Music was supplied by singing and clapping of
hands. The order was perfect, and the figures highly intricate. But I
have never been able to associate dancing with things lovely and of good
report! After the dancing, all retired to the bush, and a kind of sham
fight followed on the public cleared ground. A host of painted savages
rushed in and took possession with songs and shoutings. From the bush,
on the opposite side, the chanting of women was heard in the distance,
louder and louder as they approached. Snatching from a burning fire
flaming sticks, they rushed on the men with these, beating them and
throwing burning pieces of wood among them, till with deafening yells
amongst themselves and amidst shouts of laughter from the crowd, they
drove them from the space, and danced thereon and sang a song of
victory. The dancing and fighting, the naked painted figures, and the
constant yells and shoutings gave one a weird sensation, and suggested
strange ideas of Hell broken loose.
The final scene approached, when the men assisted their women to fill
all the allotted food into baskets, to be carried home and eaten there;
for the different Tribes do not sit down together and eat together as we
would do; their coming together is for the purpose of exchanging and
dividing the food presented. And now they broke into friendly confusion,
and freely walked about mingling with each other; and a kind of savage
rehearsal of Jonathan and David took place. They stripped themselves of
their fantastic dresses, their handsomely woven and twisted grass
skirts, leaf skirts, grass and leaf aprons; they gave away or exchanged
all these, and their ornaments and bows and arrows, besides their less
romantic calico and print dresses more recently acquired. The effusion
and ceremonial of the gifts and exchanges seemed to betoken a loving
people; and so they were for the feast—but that laid not aside a single
deadly feud, and streams of blood and cries of hate would soon efface
all traces of this day.
I had now six Stations, opened up and ministered to by Aneityumese
Teachers, at the leading villages along the coast, and forming links in
a chain towards the other Mission Establishment on Tanna. And there were
villages prepared to receive as many more. These Teachers had all been
cannibals once, yet, with one exception, they proved themselves to the
best of my judgment to be a band of faithful and devoted followers of
Christ. Their names were Abraham, Kowari, Nomuri, Nerwa, Lazarus, and
Eoufati. I visited them periodically and frequently, encouraging and
guiding them, as well as trying to interest the villagers in their
teaching and work. But, whenever war broke out they had all to return to
the Mission House, and sleep there for safety by night, visiting their
Stations, if practicable, by the light of day. My poor dear Teachers,
too, had to bear persecutions for Jesu’s sake, as the following incident
will sorrowfully prove.
A native woman, with some murderous purpose in her heart, pretended
great friendship to the excellent wife of one of my fellow-labourers.
She was specially effusive in bringing to her dishes of food from time
to time. Having thus gained confidence, she caught a little black fish
of those parts, known to be deadly poisonous, and baked it up in a mess
for the unsuspecting Teacher’s wife. On returning, she boasted of what
she had done, and thereon a friendly neighbour rushed off to warn the
other, but arrived just to learn that the fatal meal had been taken.
Beyond all reach of human skill, this unknown martyr for Christ died
soon after in great agony, and doubtless received her Master’s reward.
In helping to open up new Stations, those dear native Teachers often
bore the greatest hardships and indignities with a noble self-denial and
positively wonderful patience. Nothing known to men under Heaven could
have produced their new character and disposition, except only the grace
of God in Christ Jesus. Though still marred by many of the faults of
Heathenism, they were at the roots of their being literally new
creatures, trying, according to their best light, to live for and to
please their new Master, Jesus Christ. This shone out very conspicuously
in these two apostolic souls, Abraham and Kowari, as leaders among all
the devoted band.
Let me recall another occasion, on which I prevented a war. Early one
morning, the savage yells of warring Tribes woke me from sleep. They had
broken into a quarrel about a woman, and were fiercely engaged with
their clubs. According to my custom, I rushed in amongst them, and, not
without much difficulty, was blessed in separating them before deadly
wounds had been given or received. On this occasion, the Chiefs of both
Tribes, being very friendly to me, drove their people back from each
other at my earnest appeals. Sitting down at length within earshot, they
had it out in a wild scolding match, a contest of lung and tongue.
Meanwhile I rested on a canoe midway betwixt them, in the hope of
averting a renewal of hostilities. By-and-by an old Sacred Man, a Chief
called Sapa, with some touch of savage comedy in his breast, volunteered
an episode which restored good humour to the scene. Leaping up, he came
dancing and singing towards me, and there, to the amusement of all,
re-enacted the quarrel, and mimicked rather cleverly my attempt at
separating the combatants. Smashing at the canoe with his club, he
yelled and knocked down imaginary enemies; then, rushing first at one
party and then at the other, he represented me as appealing and
gesticulating and pushing them afar from each other, till he became
quite exhausted. Thereon he came and planted himself in great glee
beside me, and looked around as if to say,—“You must laugh, for I have
played.” At this very juncture, a loud cry of “Sail O!” broke upon our
ears, and all parties leapt to their feet, and prepared for a new
sensation; for in those climes, everything—war itself—is a smaller
interest than a vessel from the Great Unknown World sailing into your
Harbour.
Not many days thereafter, a very horrible transaction occurred. Before
daybreak, I heard shot after shot quickly discharged in the Harbour. One
of my Teachers came running, and cried,—
“Missi, six or seven men have been shot dead this morning for a great
feast. It is to reconcile Tribes that have been at war, and to allow a
banished Tribe to return in peace.”
I learned that the leading men had in council agreed upon this
sacrifice, but the name of each victim was kept a secret till the last
moment. The torture of suspense and uncertainty seemed to be borne by
all as part of their appointed lot, nor did they prepare as if
suspecting any dread assault. Before daylight, the Sacred Men allocated
a murderer to the door of each house where a victim slept. A signal shot
was fired; all rushed to their doors, and the doomed ones were shot and
clubbed to death as they attempted to escape. Their bodies were then
borne to a sacred tree, and hung up there by the hands for a time, as an
offering to the Gods. Being taken down, they were carried ceremoniously
and laid out on the shore near my house, placed under a special guard.
Information had reached me that my Teachers and I were also destined
victims for this same feast, and sure enough we espied a band of armed
men, the killers, despatched towards our premises. Instantaneously I had
the Teachers and their wives and myself securely locked into the Mission
House; and, cut off from all human hope, we set ourselves to pray to our
dear Lord Jesus, either Himself to protect us or to take us to His
glory. All through that morning and forenoon we heard them
tramp-tramping round our house, whispering to each other, and hovering
near window and door. They knew that there were a double-barrelled
fowling-piece and a revolver on the premises, though they never had seen
me use them, and that may, under God, have held them back in dread. But
such a thought did not enter our souls even in that awful time. I had
gone to save, and not to destroy. It would be easier for me at any time
to die than to kill one of them. Our safety lay in our appeal to that
blessed Lord who had placed us there, and to whom all power had been
given in Heaven and on Earth. He that was with us was more than all that
could be against us. This is strength; this is peace:—to feel, in
entering on every day, that all its duties and trials have been
committed to the Lord Jesus,—that, come what may, He will use us for His
own glory and our real good!
All through that dreadful morning, and far into the afternoon, we thus
abode together, feeling conscious that we were united to this dear Lord
Jesus, and we had sweet communion with Him, meditating on the wonders of
His person and the hopes and glories of His kingdom. Oh, that all my
readers may learn something of this in their own experience of the Lord!
I can wish them nothing more precious. Towards sundown, constrained by
the Invisible One, they withdrew from our Mission House, and left us
once more in peace. They bore away the slain to be cooked, and
distributed amongst the Tribes, and eaten in their feast of
reconciliation; a covenant sealed in blood, and soon, alas, to be buried
in blood again! For many days thereafter, we had to take unusual care,
and not unduly expose ourselves to danger; for dark characters were seen
prowling about in the bush near at hand, and we knew that our life was
the prize. We took what care we could, and God the Lord did the rest, or
rather He did all—for His wisdom guided us, and His power baffled them.
Shortly thereafter, war was again declared by the Inland people
attacking our Harbour people. It was an old quarrel; and the war was
renewed and continued, long after the cause thereof had passed away.
Going amongst them every day, I did my utmost to stop hostilities,
setting the evils of war before them, and pleading with the leading men
to renounce it. Thereon arose a characteristic incident of Island and
Heathen life. One day I held a Service in the village where morning
after morning their Tribes assembled, and declared that if they would
believe in and follow the Jehovah God, He would deliver them from all
their enemies and lead them into a happy life. There were present three
Sacred Men, Chiefs, of whom the whole population lived in
terror,—brothers or cousins, heroes of traditional feats, professors of
sorcery, and claiming the power of life and death, health and sickness,
rain and drought, according to their will. On hearing me, these three
stood up and declared they did not believe in Jehovah, nor did they need
His help, for they had the power to kill my life by Nahak (_i.e._,
sorcery or witchcraft), if only they could get possession of any piece
of the fruit or food that I had eaten. This was an essential condition
of their black art; hence the peel of a banana or an orange, and every
broken scrap of food, is gathered up by the Natives, lest it should fall
into the hands of the Sacred Men, and be used for Nahak. This
superstition was the cause of most of the bloodshed and terror upon
Tanna; and being thus challenged, I asked God’s help, and determined to
strike a blow against it. A woman was standing near with a bunch of
native fruit in her hand, like our plums, called quonquore. I asked her
to be pleased to give me some; and she, holding out a bunch, said,—
“Take freely what you will!”
Calling the attention of all the Assembly to what I was doing, I took
three fruits from the bunch, and taking a bite out of each, I gave them
one after another to the three Sacred Men, and deliberately said in the
hearing of all,—
“You have seen me eat of this fruit, you have seen me give the remainder
to your Sacred Men; they have said they can kill me by Nahak, but I
challenge them to do it if they can, without arrow or spear, club or
musket, for I deny that they have any power against me or against any
one by their Sorcery.”
The challenge was accepted; the Natives looked terror-struck at the
position in which I was placed! The ceremony of Nahak was usually
performed in secret,—the Tannese fleeing in dread, as Europeans would
from the touch of the plague; but I lingered and eagerly watched their
ritual. As the three Chiefs arose, and drew near to one of the Sacred
Trees, to begin their ceremonial, the Natives fled in terror, crying,—
“Missi, away! Alas, Missi!”
But I held on at my post of observation. Amidst wavings and
incantations, they rolled up the pieces of the fruit from which I had
eaten, in certain leaves of this Sacred Tree into a shape like a waxen
candle; then they kindled a sacred fire near the root, and continued
their mutterings, gradually burning a little more and a little more of
the candle-shaped things, wheeling them round their heads, blowing upon
them with their breaths, waving them in the air, and glancing wildly at
me as if expecting my sudden destruction. Wondering whether after all
they did not believe their own lie, for they seemed to be in dead
earnest, I, more eager than ever to break the chains of such vile
superstition, urged them again and again, crying,—
“Be quick! Stir up your Gods to help you! I am not killed yet; I am
perfectly well!”
At last they stood up and said,—
“We must delay till we have called all our Sacred Men. We will kill
Missi before his next Sabbath comes round. Let all watch, for he will
soon die and that without fail.”
I replied, “Very good! I challenge all your Priests to unite and kill me
by Sorcery or Nahak. If on Sabbath next I come again to your village in
health, you will all admit that your Gods have no power over me, and
that I am protected by the true and living Jehovah God!”
For every day throughout the remainder of that week, the Conchs were
sounded, and over that side of the island all their Sacred Men were at
work trying to kill me by their arts. Now and again messengers arrived
from every quarter of the island, inquiring anxiously after my health,
and wondering if I was not feeling sick, and great excitement prevailed
amongst the poor deluded idolaters.
Sabbath dawned upon me peacefully, and I went to that village in more
than my usual health and strength. Large numbers assembled, and when I
appeared they looked at each other in terror, as if it could not really
be I, myself, still spared and well. Entering into the public ground, I
saluted them to this effect,—
“My love to you all, my friends! I have come again to talk to you about
the Jehovah God and His Worship.”
The three Sacred Men, on being asked, admitted that they had tried to
kill me by Nahak, but had failed; and on being questioned, why they had
failed, they gave the acute and subtle reply, that I also was myself a
Sacred Man, and that my God being the stronger had protected me from
their Gods. Addressing the multitude, I answered thus,—
“Yea, truly; my Jehovah God is stronger than your Gods. He protected me,
and helped me; for He is the only living and true God, the only God that
can hear or answer any prayer from the children of men. Your Gods cannot
hear prayers, but my God can and will hear and answer you, if you will
give heart and life to Him, and love and serve Him only. This is my God,
and He is also your friend if you will hear and follow His voice.”
Having said this, I sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, and
addressed them,—
“Come and sit down all around me, and I will talk to you about the love
and mercy of my God, and teach you how to worship and please Him.”
Two of the Sacred Men then sat down, and all the people gathered round
and seated themselves very quietly. I tried to present to them ideas of
sin, and of salvation through Jesus Christ, as revealed to us in the
Holy Scriptures.
The third Sacred Man, the highest in rank, a man of great stature and
uncommon strength, had meantime gone off for his warrior’s spear, and
returned brandishing it in the air and poising it at me. I said to the
people,—
“Of course he can kill me with his spear, but he undertook to kill me by
Nahak or Sorcery, and promised not to use against me any weapons of war;
and if you let him kill me now, you will kill your friend, one who lives
among you and only tries to do you good, as you all know so well. I know
that if you kill me thus, my God will be angry and will punish you.”
Thereon I seated myself calmly in the midst of the crowd, while he
leaped about in rage, scolding his brothers and all who were present for
listening to me. The other Sacred Men, however, took my side, and, as
many of the people also were friendly to me and stood closely packed
around me, he did not throw his spear. To allay the tumult and obviate
further bloodshed, I offered to leave with my Teachers at once, and, in
doing so, I ardently pled with them to live at peace. Though we got
safely home, that old Sacred Man seemed still to hunger after my blood.
For weeks thereafter, go where I would, he would suddenly appear on the
path behind me, poising in his right hand that same Goliath spear. God
only kept it from being thrown, and I, using every lawful precaution,
had all the same to attend to my work, as if no enemy were there,
leaving all other results in the hands of Jesus. This whole incident
did, doubtless, shake the prejudices of many as to Sorcery; but few even
of converted Natives ever get entirely clear of the dread of Nahak.
If not truly converted, the two Priests were fast friends of mine from
that day, as also another leading man in the same district. They also
received an Aneityumese Teacher to their village, protecting and showing
kindness to him; one of the Sacred Men who could speak his language
lived almost constantly with him, and some young people were allowed
daily to attend our School. These two and a number of others began to
wear a kilt, and some a shirt also. Three of them especially, if not
Christians, appeared to be not far from the Kingdom of God, and did all
that was in their power to protect and to assist me. A few began to pray
to Jehovah in their houses, offering a kind of rude family worship, and
breathing out such prayers and desires as I had taught them for the
knowledge of the true God and only Saviour. And these, as my companions,
accompanied me from place to place when I visited their district.
But let us return to the war. Many Chiefs and villages were now involved
in it; and a large part of the bush over the country between had been
consumed by fire, to prevent surprises. Yet, our Harbour people being
assembled one night for consultation, a number of the Inland warriors
crept near unobserved and discharged a volley of muskets amongst them.
Several were shot dead, and in the darkness and confusion the enemy got
clear away. Revenge and self-preservation now united our people as one
man, and every man assembled for action on the borders of the hostile
Tribes. I again visited them on the fighting ground. As I was seen
approaching, the two old Priests, my friends, came to receive and escort
me, protected by their clubs and muskets,—the one blind of an eye lost
in war marching before me, and the other behind me with poised spear and
mighty club. Seating me in a central position, they assembled all the
warriors, except the watchmen, and these savage men listened attentively
to my message, and bowed quietly during prayer. God only knows what may
be the fruit in some dark benighted soul! The whole host of them ceased
firing, till the two friendly Priests had again conveyed me safely
beyond the reach of danger.
Going among them frequently thus, they treated me with exceptional
kindness, till one Sabbath I determined to go over and talk with the
enemy also, in the hope of getting this sad war put an end to. Our
people were sternly opposed to this, not for fear of my safety, but lest
I prayed for the enemy and my God might help them in the war. But my two
friends, the old Priests, persuaded them to let me go, and to cease
their shooting till my return. They had an idea to buy, in this way, my
intercession with Jehovah exclusively on their behalf; but I explained
to them as on former occasions, that I was there for the good of all
alike, that I loved them all and sought to lead them to give up war and
bad conduct, for my God would hear and bless only those who feared and
loved and obeyed Him. I had a long interview with the enemies also,
arguing against the evils of war, and urging them to give it up. They
were so far friendly; they allowed me to have worship amongst them, and
I returned in safety before another musket was discharged on either
side. The war still went on, though more languidly; but after a time the
leaders entered into a kind of truce, and peace reigned for a season.
The other Mission Station, on the south-west side of Tanna, had to be
visited by me from time to time. Mr. and Mrs. Mathieson, there, were
both in a weak state of health, having a tendency to consumption. On
this account they visited Aneityum several times. They were earnestly
devoted to their work, and were successful so far as health and the time
allowed to them permitted. At this juncture, a message reached me that
they were without European food, and a request to send them a little
flour if possible. The war made the journey overland impossible. A
strong wind and a high sea round the coast rendered it impracticable for
my boat to go. The danger to life from the enemy was so great, that I
could not hire a crew. I pled therefore with Nowar and Manuman, and a
few leading men to take one of their best canoes, and themselves to
accompany me. I had a large flat-bottomed pot with a close-fitting lid,
and that I pressed full of flour; and, tying the lid firmly down, I
fastened it right in the centre of the canoe, and as far above
water-mark as possible. All else that was required we tied around our
own persons. Sea and land being as they were, it was a perilous
undertaking, which only dire necessity could have justified. They were
all good swimmers, but as I could not swim the strongest man was placed
behind me, to seize me and swim ashore, if a crash came.
Creeping round near the shore all the way, we had to keep just outside
the great breakers on the coral reef, and were all drenched through and
through with the foam of an angry surf. We arrived, however, in safety
within two miles of our destination, where lived the friends of my
canoe’s company, but where a very dangerous sea was breaking on the
reef. Here they all gave in, and protested that no further could they
go; and truly their toil all the way with the paddles had been severe. I
appealed to them, that the canoe would for certain be smashed if they
tried to get on shore, that the provisions would be lost, and some of us
probably drowned. But they turned to the shore, and remained for some
time thus, watching the sea. At last their Captain cried,—“Missi, hold
on! There’s a smaller wave coming; we’ll ride in now.”
[Illustration: THE DANGEROUS LANDING THROUGH THE SURF.]
My heart rose to the Lord in trembling prayer! The wave came rolling on;
every paddle with all their united strength struck into the sea; and
next moment our canoe was flying like a sea-gull on the crest of the
wave towards the shore. Another instant, and the wave had broken on the
reef with a mighty roar, and rushed passed us hissing in clouds of foam.
My company were next seen swimming wildly about in the sea, Manuman, the
one-eyed Sacred Man, alone holding on by the canoe, nearly full of
water, with me still clinging to the seat of it, and the very next wave
likely to devour us. In desperation, I sprang for the reef, and ran for
a man half-wading, half-swimming to reach us; and God so ordered it,
that just as the next wave broke against the silvery rock of coral, the
man caught me and partly swam with me through its surf, partly carried
me till I was set safely ashore. Praising God, I looked up and saw all
the others nearly as safe as myself, except Manuman, my friend, who was
still holding on by the canoe in the face of wind and sea, and bringing
it with him. Others ran and swam to his help. The paddles were picked up
amid the surf. A powerful fellow came towards me with the pot of flour
on his head, uninjured by water. The Chief who held on by the canoe got
severely cut about the feet, and had been badly bruised and knocked
about; but all the rest escaped without further harm, and everything
that we had was saved. Amongst friends, at last, they resolved to await
a favourable wind and tide to return to their own homes. Singing in my
heart unto God, I hired a man to carry the pot of flour, and soon
arrived at the Mission Station.
Supplying the wants of our dear friends, Mr. and Mrs. Mathieson, whom we
found as well as could be expected, we had to prepare, after a few hours
of rest, to return to our own Station by walking overland through the
night. I durst not remain longer away, lest my own house should be
plundered and broken into. Though weak in health, my fellow-Missionaries
were both full of hope, and zealous in their work, and this somewhat
strange visit was a pleasant blink amidst our darkness. Before I had
gone far on my return journey, the sun went down, and no Native could be
hired to accompany me. They all told me that I would for certain be
killed by the way. But I knew that it would be quite dark before I
reached the hostile districts, and that the Heathen are great cowards in
the dark and never leave their villages at night in the darkness, except
in companies for fishing and such-like tasks. I skirted along the
sea-shore as fast as I could, walking and running alternately; and, when
I got within hearing of voices, I slunk back into the bush till they had
safely passed, and then groped my way back near the shore, that being my
only guide to find a path.
Having made half the journey, I came to a dangerous path, almost
perpendicular, up a great rock round the base of which the sea roared
deep. With my heart lifted up to Jesus, I succeeded in climbing it,
cautiously grasping roots, and resting by bushes, till I reached safely
to the top. There, to avoid a village, I had to keep crawling slowly
along the bush near the sea, on the top of that great ledge of rock; a
feat I could never have accomplished even in daylight without the
excitement, but I felt that I was supported and guided in all that life
or death journey by my dear Lord Jesus. I had to leave the shore, and
follow up the bank of a very deep ravine to a place shallow enough for
one to cross, and then through the bush away for the shore again. By
holding too much to the right, I missed the point where I intended to
reach it. Small fires were now visible through the bush; I heard the
voices of the people talking in one of our most heathen villages.
Quietly drawing back, I now knew where I was, and easily found my way
towards the shore; but on reaching the Great Rock, I could not in the
darkness find the path down again. I groped about till I was tired. I
feared that I might stumble over and be killed; or, if I delayed till
daylight, that the savages would kill me. I knew that one part of the
rock was steep-sloping, with little growth or none thereon, and I
searched about to find it, resolved to commend myself to Jesus and slide
down thereby that I might again reach the shore and escape for my life.
Thinking I had found this spot, I hurled down several stones and
listened for their splash that I might judge whether it would be safe.
But the distance was too far for me to hear or judge. At high tide the
sea there was deep; but at low tide I could wade out of it and be safe.
The darkness made it impossible for me to see anything. I let go my
umbrella, shoving it down with considerable force, but neither did it
send me back any news.
Feeling sure, however, that this was the place I sought, and knowing
that to await the daylight would be certain death, I prayed to my Lord
Jesus for help and protection, and resolved to let myself go. First, I
fastened all my clothes as tightly as I could, so as not to catch on
anything; then I lay down at the top on my back, feet foremost, holding
my head downwards on my breast to keep it from striking on the rock;
then, after one cry to my Saviour, having let myself down as far as
possible by a branch, I at last let go, throwing my arms forward and
trying to keep my feet well up. A giddy swirl, as if flying through the
air, took possession of me; a few moments seemed an age; I rushed
quickly down, and felt no obstruction till my feet struck into the sea
below. Adoring and praising my dear Lord Jesus, who had ordered it so, I
regained my feet; it was low tide, I had received no injury, I found my
umbrella, and, wading through, I found the shore path easier and lighter
than the bush had been. The very darkness was my safety, preventing the
Natives from rambling about. I saw no person to speak to, till I reached
a village quite near to my own house, fifteen or twenty miles from where
I had started; here I left the sea path and promised young men some
fish-hooks to guide me the nearest way through the bush to my Mission
Station, which they gladly and heartily did. I ran a narrow risk in
approaching them; they thought me an enemy, and I arrested their muskets
only by a loud cry,—
“I am Missi! Don’t shoot; my love to you, my friends!”
Praising God for His preserving care, I reached home, and had a long
refreshing sleep. The Natives, on hearing next day how I had come all
the way in the dark, exclaimed,—
“Surely any of us would have been killed! Your Jehovah God alone thus
protects you and brings you safely home.”
With all my heart, I said, “Yes! and He will be your protector and
helper too, if only you will obey and trust in Him.”
Certainly that night put my faith to the test. Had it not been the
assurance that I was engaged in His service, and that in every path of
duty He would carry me through or dispose of me therein for His glory, I
could never have undertaken either journey. St. Paul’s words are true
to-day and for ever,—“I can do all things through Christ which
strengtheneth me.”
CHAPTER IX.
_DEEPENING SHADOWS._
Welcome Guests.—A Fiendish Deed.—The Plague of Measles.—A Heroic
Soul.—Horrors of Epidemic.—A Memorable New Year.—A Missionary
Attacked.—In the Valley of the Shadow.—Blow from an Adze.—A
Missionary’s Death.—Mrs. Johnston’s Letter.—A Heavy Loss.—The
Story of Kowia.—Kowia’s Soliloquy.—The Passing of Kowia.—Mortality
of Measles.—Fuel to the Fire.—Hurricanes.—A Spate of Blood and
Terror.—Nowar Vacillates.—The Anger of the Gods.—Not Afraid to
Die.—Martyrs of Erromanga.—Visit to the Gordons.—Their
Martyrdom.—Vindication of the Gordons.—Gordon’s Last Letter.—Plots
of Murder.—Death by Nahak.—Nowar Halting Again.—Old Abraham’s
Prayer.—Miaki at the Mission House.—Satanic Influences.—Perplexity
Deepening.—Selwyn’s Testimony.—Rotten Tracts.—Captain and Mate of
_Blue Bell_.—My Precious Dog.—Fishing Nets and Kawases.—The Taro
Plant.—The Kava Drink.—Katasian and the Club Scene.—The
Yams.—Sunshine and Shadow.—The Teachers Demoralized.—The Chief’s
Alphabet.—Our Evil Genius.—Ships of Fire Again.—Commodore
Seymour’s Visit.—Nouka and Queen ’Toria.—The Dog to his Vomit
Again.
In September, 1860, I had the very great pleasure of welcoming, as
fellow-labourers to Tanna, the Rev. S. F. Johnston and his wife, two
able and pious young Missionaries from Nova Scotia. Having visited the
whole group of the New Hebrides, they preferred to cast their lot on
Tanna. During the Rainy Season, and till they had acquired a little of
the language, and some preparation had been made of a Station for
themselves, I gladly received them as my guests. The company was very
sweet to me! I gave them about fourteen Tannese words to be committed to
memory every day, and conversed with them, using the words already
acquired; so that they made very rapid progress, and almost immediately
were of some service in the Mission work. No man could have desired
better companions in the ministry of the Gospel.
About this time I had a never-to-be-forgotten illustration of the
infernal spirit that possessed some of the Traders towards these poor
Natives. One morning, three or four vessels entered our Harbour and cast
anchor off Port Resolution. The Captains called on me; and one of them,
with manifest delight, exclaimed,—
“We know how to bring down your proud Tannese now! We’ll humble them
before you!”
I answered, “Surely you don’t mean to attack and destroy these poor
people?”
He answered, not abashed but rejoicing, “We have sent the measles to
humble them! That kills them by the score! Four young men have been
landed at different ports, ill with measles, and these will soon thin
their ranks.”
Shocked above measure, I protested solemnly and denounced their conduct
and spirit, but my remonstrances only called forth the shameless
declaration,—
“Our watchword is,—Sweep these creatures away and let white men occupy
the soil!”
Their malice was further illustrated thus: they induced Kepuku, a young
Chief, to go off to one of their vessels, promising him a present. He
was the friend and chief supporter of Mr. Mathieson and of his work.
Having got him on board, they confined him in the hold amongst Natives
lying ill with measles. They gave him no food for about four-and-twenty
hours; and then, without the promised present, they put him ashore far
from his own home. Though weak and excited, he scrambled back to his
Tribe in great exhaustion and terror. He informed the Missionary that
they had put him down amongst sick people, red and hot with fever, and
that he feared their sickness was upon him. I am ashamed to say that
these Sandal-wood and other Traders were our own degraded countrymen;
and that they deliberately gloried in thus destroying the poor Heathen.
A more fiendish spirit could scarcely be imagined, but most of them were
horrible drunkards, and their traffic of every kind amongst these
Islands was, generally speaking, steeped in human blood.
The measles, thus introduced, became amongst our islanders the most
deadly plague. It spread fearfully, and was accompanied by sore throat
and diarrhœa In some villages, man, woman, and child were stricken, and
none could give food or water to the rest. The misery, suffering, and
terror were unexampled, the living being afraid sometimes even to bury
the dead. Thirteen of my own Mission party died of this disease; and, so
terror-stricken were the few who survived, that when the little Mission
schooner _John Knox_ returned to Tanna, they all packed up and returned
to their own Aneityum, except my own dear old Abraham.
At first, thinking that all were on the wing, he also had packed his
things, and was standing beside the others ready to leave with them. I
drew near to him, and said,—
“Abraham, they are all going; are you also going to leave me here alone
on Tanna, to fight the battles of the Lord?”
He asked, “Missi, will you remain?”
I replied, “Yes; but, Abraham, the danger to life is now so great that I
dare not plead with you to remain, for we may both be slain. Still, I
cannot leave the Lord’s work now.”
The noble old Chief looked at the box and his bundles, and, musing,
said,—
“Missi, our danger is very great now.”
I answered, “Yes; I once thought you would not leave me alone to it;
but, as the vessel is going to your own land, I cannot ask you to remain
and face it with me!”
He again said, “Missi, would you like me to remain alone with you,
seeing my wife is dead and in her grave here?”
I replied, “Yes, I would like you to remain; but, considering the
circumstances in which we will be left alone, I cannot plead with you to
do so.”
He answered, “Then, Missi, I remain with you of my own free choice, and
with all my heart. We will live and die together in the work of the
Lord. I will never leave you while you are spared on Tanna.”
So saying, and with a light that gave the foregleam of a martyr’s glory
to his dark face, he shouldered his box and bundles back to his own
house; and thereafter, Abraham was my dear companion and constant
friend, and my fellow-sufferer in all that remains still to be related
of our Mission life on Tanna.
Before this plague of measles was brought amongst us, Mr. Johnston and I
had sailed round in the _John Knox_ to Black Beach on the opposite side
of Tanna and prepared the way for settling Teachers there. And they were
placed soon after by Mr. Copeland and myself with encouraging hopes of
success, and with the prospect of erecting there a Station for Mr. and
Mrs. Johnston. But this dreadful imported epidemic blasted all our
dreams. Mr. Johnston and his wife devoted themselves, from the very
first, and assisted me in every way to alleviate the dread sufferings of
the Natives. We carried medicine, food, and even water, to the
surrounding villages every day, few of themselves being able to render
us much assistance. Nearly all who took our medicine and followed
instructions as to food, etc., recovered; but vast numbers of them would
listen to no counsels, and rushed into experiments which made the attack
fatal all around. When the trouble was at its height, for instance, they
would plunge into the sea, and seek relief; they found it in almost
instant death. Others would dig a hole into the earth, the length of the
body and about two feet deep; therein they laid themselves down, the
cold earth feeling agreeable to their fevered skins; and when the earth
around them grew heated, they got friends to dig a few inches deeper,
again and again, seeking a cooler and cooler couch. In this ghastly
effort many of them died, literally in their own graves, and were buried
where they lay! It need not be surprising, though we did everything in
our power to relieve and save them, that the Natives associated us with
the white men who had so dreadfully afflicted them, and that their blind
thirst for revenge did not draw fine distinctions between the Traders
and the Missionaries. Both were whites—that was enough.
The 1st January, 1861, was a New Year’s Day ever to be remembered. Mr.
and Mrs. Johnston, Abraham and I, had spent nearly the whole time in a
kind of solemn yet happy festival. Anew in a holy covenant before God,
we unitedly consecrated our lives and our all to the Lord Jesus, giving
ourselves away to His blessed service for the conversion of the Heathen
on the New Hebrides. After evening family worship, Mr. and Mrs. Johnston
left my room to go to their own house, only some ten feet distant; but
he returned to inform me that there were two men at the window, armed
with huge clubs, and having black painted faces. Going out to them and
asking them what they wanted, they replied,—
“Medicine for a sick boy.”
With difficulty, I persuaded them to come in and get it. At once, it
flashed upon me, from their agitation and their disguise of paint, that
they had come to murder us. Mr. Johnston had also accompanied us into
the house. Keeping my eye constantly fixed on them, I prepared the
medicine and offered it. They refused to receive it, and each man
grasped his killing stone. I faced them firmly and said,—
“You see that Mr. Johnston is now leaving, and you too must leave this
room for to-night. To-morrow, you can bring the boy or come for the
medicine.”
Seizing their clubs, as if for action, they showed unwillingness to
withdraw, but I walked deliberately forward and made as if to push them
out, when both turned and began to leave.
Mr. Johnston had gone in front of them and was safely out. But he bent
down to lift a little kitten that had escaped at the open door; and at
that moment one of the savages, jerking in behind, aimed a blow with his
huge club, in avoiding which Mr. Johnston fell with a scream to the
ground. Both men sprang towards him, but our two faithful dogs
ferociously leapt in their faces and saved his life. Rushing out, but
not fully aware of what had occurred, I saw Mr. Johnston trying to raise
himself, and heard him cry,—
“Take care! these men have tried to kill me, and they will kill you!”
Facing them sternly I demanded,—
“What is it that you want? He does not understand your language. What do
you want? Speak with me.”
Both men, thereon, raised their great clubs and made to strike me; but
quick as lightning these two dogs sprang at their faces and baffled
their blows. One dog was badly bruised, and the ground received the
other blow that would have launched me into Eternity. The best dog was a
little crossbred retriever, with terrier’s blood in him, splendid for
warning of the approaching dangers, and which had already been the means
of saving my life several times. Seeing how matters stood, I now hounded
both dogs furiously upon them and the two savages fled. I shouted after
them,—
“Remember, Jehovah God sees you and will punish you for trying to murder
His servants!”
In their flight, a large body of men, who had come eight or ten miles to
assist in the murder and plunder, came slipping here and there from the
bush and joined them fleeing too. Verily, “the wicked flee, when no man
pursueth.” David’s experience and assurance came home to us, that
evening, as very real:—“God is our refuge and our strength ... therefore
we will not fear.” But, after the danger was all past, I had always a
strange feeling of fear, more perhaps from the thought that I had been
on the verge of Eternity and so near the great White Throne than from
any slavish fear. During the crisis, I felt generally calm, and firm of
soul, standing erect and with my whole weight on the promise, “Lo! I am
with you alway.” Precious promise! How often I adore Jesus for it, and
rejoice in it! Blessed be His name.
I, now accustomed to such scenes on Tanna, retired to rest and slept
soundly; but my dear fellow-labourer, as I afterwards learned, could not
sleep for one moment. His pallor and excitement continued next day,
indeed for several days; and after that, though he was naturally lively
and cheerful, I never saw him smile again. He told me next morning,—
“I can only keep saying to myself, Already on the verge of Eternity! How
have I spent my time? What good have I done? What zeal for souls have I
shown? Scarcely entered on the work of my life, and so near death! O my
friend, I never realized what death means, till last night!” So saying,
he covered his face with both hands, and left me to hide himself in his
own room. For that morning, 1st January, 1861, the following entry was
found in his Journal:—“To-day, with a heavy heart and a feeling of
dread, I know not why, I set out on my accustomed wanderings amongst the
sick. I hastened back to get the Teacher and carry Mr. Paton to the
scene of distress. I carried a bucket of water in one hand and medicine
in the other; and so we spent a portion of this day endeavouring to
alleviate their sufferings, and our work had a happy effect also on the
minds of others.” In another entry, on 22nd December he wrote:—“Measles
are making fearful havoc amongst the poor Tannese. As we pass through
the villages, mournful scenes meet the eye; young and old prostrated on
the ground, showing all these painful symptoms which accompany loathsome
and malignant diseases. In some villages few are left able to prepare
food, or to carry drink to the suffering and dying. How pitiful to see
the sufferers destitute of every comfort, attention, and remedy that
would ameliorate their suffering or remove their disease! As I think of
the tender manner in which we are nursed in sickness, the many remedies
employed to give relief, with the comforts and attention bestowed upon
us, my heart sickens, and I say, Oh my ingratitude and the ingratitude
of Christian people! How little we value our Christian birth, education,
and privileges, etc.”
Having, as above recorded, consecrated our lives anew to God on the
first day of January, I was, up till the sixteenth of the month,
accompanied by Mr. Johnston and sometimes also by Mrs. Johnston on my
rounds in the villages amongst the sick, and they greatly helped me. But
by an unhappy accident, I was laid aside when most sorely needed. When
adzing a tree for house-building, I observed that Mahanan the war
Chief’s brother had been keeping too near me and that he carried a
tomahawk in his hand; and, in trying both to do my work and to keep an
eye on him, I struck my ankle severely with the adze. He moved off
quickly, saying,—“I did not do that,” but doubtless rejoicing at what
had happened. The bone was badly hurt, and several of the blood-vessels
cut. Dressing it as well as I could, and keeping it constantly soaked in
cold water, I had to exercise the greatest care. In this condition
amidst great sufferings, I was sometimes carried to the villages to
administer medicine to the sick, and to plead and pray with the dying.
On such occasions, in this mode of transit even, the conversations that
I had with dear Mr. Johnston were most solemn and greatly refreshing. He
had, however, scarcely ever slept since the first of January, and during
the night of the sixteenth he sent for my bottle of laudanum. Being
severely attacked with ague and fever, I could not go to him, but sent
the bottle, specifying the proper quantity for a dose, but that he quite
understood already. He took a dose for himself, and gave one also to his
wife, as she too suffered from sleeplessness. This he repeated three
nights in succession, and both of them obtained a long, sound, and
refreshing sleep. He came to my bedside, where I lay in the ague-fever,
and said with great animation, amongst other things,—
“I have had such a blessed sleep, and feel so refreshed! What kindness
in God to provide such remedies for suffering man!”
At mid-day his dear wife came to me crying,—
“Mr. Johnston has fallen asleep, so deep that I cannot awake him.”
My fever had reached the worst stage, but I struggled to my feet, got to
his bedside, and found him in a state of coma, with his teeth fixed in
tetanus. With great difficulty we succeeded in slightly rousing him;
with a knife, spoon, and pieces of wood, we forced his teeth open, so as
to administer an emetic with good effects, and also other needful
medicines. For twelve hours, we had to keep him awake by repeated cold
dash in his face, by ammonia, and by vigorously moving him about. He
then began to speak freely; and next day he rose and walked about a
little. For the two following days, he was sometimes better and
sometimes worse; but we managed to keep him up till the morning of the
21st, when he again fell into a state of coma from which we failed to
rouse him. At two o’clock in the afternoon, he fell asleep, another
martyr for the testimony of Jesus in those dark and trying Isles,
leaving his young wife in indescribable sorrow, which she strove to bear
with Christian resignation. Having made his coffin and dug his grave, we
two alone at sunset laid him to rest beside my own dear wife and child,
close by the Mission House.
In Mrs. Johnston’s account, in a letter to friends regarding his death,
she says:—
“Next morning, the 17th, he rose quite well. He slept well the night
before from having taken a dose of laudanum. He also gave some to me, as
I had been ill all the day, having slept little for two or three
nights.... Two men helped Mr. Paton to his bedside, as I found him lying
very low in fever, yet he waited on Mr. Johnston affectionately. For
some time, while he was in Mr. Paton’s hands, I could scarcely keep
myself up at all. We thought it was from the laudanum I had taken. I had
to throw myself down every few minutes.... For some weeks after, I was
almost constantly bedfast. I ate little; still I felt no pain, but very
stupid.... At times, we have services with the Natives. For a week past,
we have scarcely gone to bed without fears. One night, our house was
surrounded with crowds of armed men, ready at any moment to break in
upon us for our lives. We have had to sit in the house for days past,
with the doors locked, to prevent any of the savages from entering; for
every party seems to be united against us now. The great sickness that
prevails amongst them is the cause of this rage. They say, we made the
disease, and we must be killed for it; that they never died off in this
way before the religion came amongst them, etc., etc.”
Mrs. Johnston recovered gradually, returned by the first opportunity to
Aneityum, and for nearly three years taught the girls’ School at Dr.
Geddie’s Station. Thereafter she was married to my dear friend the Rev.
Joseph Copeland, and spent with him the remainder of her life on Fotuna,
working devotedly in the service of the Mission, seeking the salvation
of the Heathen.
The death of Mr. Johnston was a heavy loss. From his landing on Tanna,
he appeared to enjoy excellent health, and was always very active,
bright, and happy, till after that attack by the savages with their
clubs on New Year’s Day. From that night, he never again was the same.
He never admitted that he had got a blow, but I fear his nervous system
must have been unhinged by the shock and horror of the scene. He was
genuinely lamented by all who knew him. Our intercourse on Tanna was
very sweet, and I missed him exceedingly. Not lost to me, however; only
gone before!
Another tragedy followed, with, however, much of the light of Heaven
amid its blackness, in the story of Kowia, a Tannese Chief of the
highest rank. Going to Aneityum in youth, he had there become a true
Christian. He married an Aneityumese Christian woman, with whom he lived
very happily and had two beautiful children. Some time before the
measles reached our island, he returned to live with me as a Teacher and
to help forward our work on Tanna. He proved himself to be a decided
Christian; he was a real Chief amongst them, dignified in his whole
conduct, and every way a valuable helper to me. Everything was tried by
his own people to induce him to leave me and to renounce the Worship,
offering him every honour and bribe in their power. Failing these, they
threatened to take away all his lands, and to deprive him of
Chieftainship, but he answered,—
“Take all! I shall still stand by Missi and the Worship of Jehovah.”
From threats, they passed to galling insults, all which he bore
patiently for Jesu’s sake. But one day, a party of his people came and
sold some fowls, and an impudent fellow lifted them after they had been
bought and offered to sell them again to me. Kowia shouted,—
“Don’t purchase these, Missi; I have just bought them for you, and paid
for them!”
Thereon the fellow began to mock at him. Kowia, gazing round on all
present and then on me, rose like a lion awaking out of sleep, and with
flashing eyes exclaimed,—
“Missi, they think that because I am now a Christian I have become a
coward! a woman! to bear every abuse and insult they can heap upon me.
But I will show them for once that I am no coward, that I am still their
Chief, and that Christianity does not take away but gives us courage and
nerve.”
Springing at one man, he wrenched in a moment the mighty club from his
hands, and swinging it in air above his head like a toy, he cried,—
“Come any of you, come all against your Chief! My Jehovah God makes my
heart and arms strong. He will help me in this battle as He helps me in
other things, for He inspires me to show you that Christians are no
cowards, though they are men of peace. Come on, and you will yet know
that I am Kowia your Chief.”
All fled as he approached them; and he cried,—
“Where are the cowards now?” and handed back to the warrior his club.
After this they left him at peace.
He lived at the Mission House, with his wife and children, and was a
great help and comfort to Abraham and myself. He was allowed to go more
freely and fearlessly amongst the people, than any of the rest of our
Mission staff. The ague and fever on me at Mr. Johnston’s death, so
increased and reduced me to such weakness that I had become insensible,
while Abraham and Kowia alone attended to me. On returning to
consciousness, I heard as in a dream Kowia lamenting over me, and
pleading that I might recover, so as to hear and speak with him before
he died. Opening my eyes and looking at him, I heard him say,—
“Missi, all our Aneityumese are sick. Missi Johnston is dead. You are
very sick, and I am weak and dying. Alas, when I too am dead, who will
climb the trees and get you a cocoa-nut to drink? And who will bathe
your lips and brow?” Here he broke down into deep and long weeping, and
then resumed,—“Missi, the Tanna men hate us all on account of the
Worship of Jehovah; and I now fear He is going to take away all His
servants from this land, and leave my people to the Evil One and his
service!” I was too weak to speak, so he went on, bursting into a
soliloquy of prayer: “O Lord Jesus, Missi Johnston is dead; Thou hast
taken him away from this land. Missi Johnston the woman and Missi Paton
are very ill; I am sick, and Thy servants the Aneityumese are all sick
and dying. O Lord, our Father in Heaven, art Thou going to take away all
Thy servants, and Thy Worship from this dark land? What meanest Thou to
do, O Lord? The Tannese hate Thee and Thy Worship and Thy servants, but
surely, O Lord, Thou canst not forsake Tanna and leave our people to die
in the darkness! Oh, make the hearts of this people soft to Thy Word and
sweet to Thy Worship; teach them to fear and love Jesus; and oh, restore
and spare Missi, dear Missi Paton, that Tanna may be saved!”
Touched to the very fountains of my life by such prayers, from a man
once a Cannibal, I began under the breath of God’s blessing to revive.
A few days thereafter, Kowia came again to me, and rousing me out of
sleep, cried,—
“Missi, I am very weak; I am dying. I come to bid you farewell, and go
away to die. I am nearing death now, and I will soon see Jesus.”
I spoke what words of consolation and cheer I could muster, but he
answered.—
“Missi, since you became ill my dear wife and children are dead and
buried. Most of our Aneityumese are dead, and I am dying. If I remain on
the hill, and die here at the Mission House, there are none left to help
Abraham to carry me down to the grave where my wife and children are
laid. I wish to lie beside them, that we may rise together in the Great
Day when Jesus comes. I am happy, looking unto Jesus! One thing only
deeply grieves me now; I fear God is taking us all away from Tanna, and
will leave my poor people dark and benighted as before, for they hate
Jesus and the Worship of Jehovah. O Missi, pray for them, and pray for
me once more before I go!”
He knelt down at my side, and we prayed for each other and for Tanna. I
then urged him to remain at the Mission House, but he replied,—
“O Missi, you do not know how near to death I am! I am just going, and
will soon be with Jesus, and see my wife and children now. While a
little strength is left, I will lean on Abraham’s arm, and go down to
the graves of my dear ones and fall asleep there, and Abraham will dig a
quiet bed and lay me beside them. Farewell, Missi, I am very near death
now; we will meet again in Jesus and with Jesus!”
With many tears he dragged himself away; and my heart-strings seemed all
tied round that noble simple soul, and felt like breaking one by one as
he left me there on my bed of fever all alone. Abraham sustained him,
tottering to the place of graves; there he lay down, and immediately
gave up the ghost and slept in Jesus; and there the faithful Abraham
buried him beside his wife and children. Thus died a man who had been a
cannibal Chief, but by the grace of God and the love of Jesus changed,
transfigured into a character of light and beauty. What think ye of
this, ye scoffers at Missions? What think ye of this, ye sceptics as to
the reality of conversion? He died, as he had lived since Jesus came to
his heart; without a fear as to death, with an ever-brightening
assurance as to salvation and glory through the blood of the Lamb of
God, that blood which had cleansed him from all his sins, and had
delivered him from their power. I lost, in losing him, one of my best
friends and most courageous helpers; but I knew, that day, and I know
now, that there is one soul at least from Tanna to sing the glories of
Jesus in Heaven—and, oh, the rapture when I meet him there!
Before leaving this terrible plague of measles, I may record my belief
that it swept away, with the accompanying sore throat and diarrhœa, a
third of the entire population of Tanna; nay, in certain localities more
than a third perished. The living declared themselves unable to bury the
dead, and great want and suffering ensued. The Teacher and his wife and
child, placed by us at Black Beach, were also taken away; and his
companion, the other Teacher there, embraced the first opportunity to
leave along with his wife for his own island, else his life would have
been taken in revenge. Yet, from all accounts afterwards received, I do
not think the measles were more fatal on Tanna than on the other Islands
of the group. They appear to have carried off even a larger proportion
on Aniwa, the future scene of my many sorrows but of greater triumphs.
A new incentive was added to the already cruel superstitions of the
Natives. The Sandal-wooders, our degraded fellow-countrymen, in order to
divert attention from themselves, stirred the Natives with the wild
faith that the Missionaries and the Worship had brought all this
sickness, and that our lives should be taken in revenge. Some Captains,
on calling with their ships, made a pretence of refusing to trade with
the Natives as long as I was permitted to live on the island. One Trader
offered to come on shore and live amongst the Tannese, and supply them
with tobacco and powder, and caps and balls, on condition that the
Missionary and Abraham were got out of the way! He knew that these were
their greatest wants, and that they eagerly desired these things, but he
refused to make any sales to them, till we were murdered or driven away.
This was fuel to their savage hate, and drove them mad with revenge, and
added countless troubles to our lot.
Hurricane and tempest also fought against us at that time. On the 3rd,
and again on the 10th March, 1861, we had severe and destructive storms.
They tore up and smashed bread-fruit, chestnut, cocoa-nut, and all kinds
of fruit trees. The ground was strewn thick with half-ripe and wasted
fruits. Yam plantations and bananas were riven to pieces, and fences and
houses lay piled in a common ruin. My Mission House was also greatly
injured; and the Church, on which I had spent many weeks of labour, was
nearly levelled with the ground. Trees of forty years’ growth were
broken like straws, or lifted by the roots and blown away. At the other
Station, all Mr. Mathieson’s premises except one bedroom were swept off
in the breath of the hurricane. The sea rose alarmingly and its waves
rolled far inland, causing terrible destruction. Had not the merciful
Lord left one bedroom at my Station and one at Mr. Mathieson’s partly
habitable, I know not what in the circumstances we could have done. Men
of fifty years declared that never such a tempest had shaken their
Islands. Canoes were shivered on the coral rocks, and Villages were left
with nothing but ruins to mark where they had been. Though rain poured
in torrents, I had to keep near my fallen house for hours and hours to
prevent the Natives from carrying away everything I had in this world;
and after the second storm, all my earthly belongings had to be secured
in the one still-standing room.
Following upon this came another spate of thirst for our blood, which
was increased in the following manner. Miaki the war Chief had an infant
son, who had just died. They told us that four men were slain at the
same time, that their spirits might serve and accompany him in the other
world; and that our death also was again resolved upon. For four days
they surrounded our diminished premises. We locked ourselves all up in
that single bedroom, and armed savages kept prowling about to take our
lives. What but the restraining pity of the Lord kept them from breaking
in upon us? They killed our fowls. They cut down and destroyed all our
remaining bananas. They broke down the fence around the plantation, and
tried to burn it, but failed. They speared and killed some of the few
goats—my sole supply of milk. We were helpless, and kept breathing out
our souls in prayer; and God did preserve us, but, oh, what a trying
time!
The horror grew, when shortly thereafter we learned that our people near
the Harbour had killed four men and presented their bodies to certain
Chiefs who feasted on them; and that they in return had given large fat
hogs to our people, one for each of ten bodies which our people had
formerly presented to them. Within a few months, thirteen or fourteen
persons, nearly all refugees or prisoners of war, were reported to us as
killed and feasted upon. We generally heard nothing of these murders
till all was over, but in any case, I would have been helpless against
their bloodthirst, even had I exposed myself to their savage enmity.
They sent two dead bodies to our nearest village, where still we
conducted Worship every Sabbath when we durst appear amongst them; but
our people refused to receive them, saying, “Now we know that it is
wrong to kill and eat our fellow-creatures.” A Chief from another
village, being present, eagerly received them and carried them off to a
great feast for which he was preparing.
At this juncture, our friendly Chief Nowar seemed to become afraid. His
life also had been threatened; and our life had been often attempted of
late. Society around was all in turmoil, and Nowar urged us all to leave
and take refuge in Aneityum till these dangers blew past, and he himself
would accompany us. I refused, however, to leave. Indeed, there was no
immediate means of escape, except my boat,—which would have been almost
madness in an open sea voyage of fifty miles, with only Nowar and the
Teachers, all inexperienced hands. Nowar, being angry and afraid, took
his revenge by laying aside his shirt and kilt, returning to his heathen
nakedness and paint, attending the meetings of the savages, and
absenting himself from the Sabbath Worship. But after about three weeks
he resumed the Christian garments, and, feeling that the danger had for
the time passed over, he returned to us as friendly as ever. Poor Nowar!
if he only knew what thousands of Christians at home do every day just
to save their skins; and then if he only knew how hardly these
Christians can speak against Heathen converts!
My first baptism on Tanna was that of a Teacher’s child. About fifty
persons were present, and Miaki the war Chief was there also. Alas, that
child died in the plague of measles, and of course the Worship was
blamed. Deaths, hurricanes all seemed to be turned against us. A
thunderstorm came in the wake of the last hurricane. A man and a woman
were killed. Not far from my house, the hill was struck, a large mass
was dislodged from its shoulder and hurled into the valley below. This
was the manifest token to them that the Gods were angry and that we were
the cause! God’s grace alone kept us from sinking, and the hope of yet
seeing them delivered from their Heathenism, and brought to love and
serve Jesus Christ. For that everything could be borne; and I knew that
this was the post of duty, for it was the Lord undoubtedly that placed
me there.
One day, about this time, I heard an unusual bleating amongst my few
remaining goats, as if they were being killed or tortured. I rushed to
the goathouse, and found myself instantly surrounded by a band of armed
men. The snare had caught me, their weapons were raised, and I expected
next instant to die. But God moved me to talk to them firmly and kindly;
I warned them of their sin and its punishment; I showed them that only
my love and pity led me to remain there seeking their good, and that if
they killed me they killed their best friend. I further assured them
that I was not afraid to die, for at death my Saviour would take me to
be with Himself in Heaven, and to be far happier than I had ever been on
Earth; and that my only desire to live was to make them all as happy, by
teaching them to love and serve my Lord Jesus. I then lifted up my hands
and eyes to the Heavens, and prayed aloud for Jesus to bless all my dear
Tannese, and either to protect me or to take me home to Glory as He saw
to be for the best. One after another they slipped away from me, and
Jesus restrained them once again. Did ever mother run more quickly to
protect her crying child in danger’s hour, than the Lord Jesus hastens
to answer believing prayer, and send help to His servants in His own
good time and way, so far as it shall be for His glory and their good? A
woman may forget her child, yet will not I forget thee, saith the Lord.
Oh, that all my readers knew and felt this, as in those days and ever
since I have felt that His promise is a reality, and that He is with His
servants to support and bless them even unto the end of the world!
May, 1861, brought with it a sorrowful and tragic event, which fell as
the very shadow of doom across our path; I mean the martyrdom of the
Gordons on Erromanga. Rev. G. N. Gordon was a native of Prince Edward
Island, Nova Scotia, and was born in 1822. He was educated at the Free
Church College, Halifax, and placed as Missionary on Erromanga, in June,
1857. Much troubled and opposed by the Sandal-wooders, he had yet
acquired the language and was making progress by inroads on Heathenism.
A considerable number of young men and women embraced the Christian
Faith, lived at the Mission House, and devotedly helped him and his
excellent wife in all their work. But the hurricanes and the measles,
already referred to, caused great mortality in Erromanga also; and the
degraded Traders, who had introduced the plague, in order to save
themselves from revenge, stimulated the superstitions of the Heathen,
and charged the Missionaries with causing sickness and all other
calamities. The Sandal-wooders hated him for fearlessly denouncing and
exposing their hideous atrocities.
When Mr. Copeland and I placed the Native Teachers at Black Beach,
Tanna, we ran across to Erromanga in the _John Knox_, taking a harmonium
to Mrs. Gordon, just come to their order from Sydney. When it was opened
out at the Mission House, and Mrs. Gordon began playing on it and
singing sweet hymns, the native women were in ecstasies. They at once
proposed to go off to the bush and cut each a burden of long grass, to
thatch the printing-office which Mr. Gordon was building in order to
print the Scriptures in their own tongue, if only Mrs. Gordon would play
to them at night and teach them to sing God’s praises. They joyfully did
so, and then spent a happy evening singing those hymns. Next day being
Sabbath, we had a delightful season there, about thirty attending Church
and listening eagerly. The young men and women, living at the Mission
House, were being trained to become Teachers. They were reading a small
book in their own language, telling them the story of Joseph; and the
work every way seemed most hopeful. The Mission House had been removed a
mile or so up a hill, partly for Mrs. Gordon’s health, and partly to
escape the annoying and contaminating influence of the Sandal-wooders on
his Christian Natives.
On 20th May, 1861, he was still working at the roofing of the
printing-office, and had sent his lads to bring each a load of the long
grass to finish the thatching. Meantime, a party of Erromangans from a
district called Bunk-Hill, under a Chief named Lovu, had been watching
him. They had been to the Mission House inquiring, and they had seen him
send away his Christian lads. They then hid in the bush, and sent two of
their men to the Missionary to ask for calico. On a piece of wood he
wrote a note to Mrs. Gordon to give them two yards each. They asked him
to go with them to the Mission House, as they needed medicine for a sick
boy, and Lovu their Chief wanted to see him. He tied up in a napkin a
meal of food, which had been brought to him but not eaten, and started
to go with them. He requested the native Narubulet to go on before, with
his companion; but they insisted upon his going in front. In crossing a
streamlet, which I visited shortly afterwards, his foot slipped. A blow
was aimed at him with a tomahawk which he caught; the other man struck,
but his weapon was also caught. One of the tomahawks was then wrenched
out of his grasp. Next moment, a blow on the spine laid the dear
Missionary low, and a second on the neck almost severed the head from
the body. The other Natives then rushed from their ambush, and slashed
him to pieces, and began dancing round him with frantic shoutings. Mrs.
Gordon, hearing the noise, came out and stood in front of the Mission
House, looking in the direction of her husband’s working place and
wondering what had happened. Ouben, one of the party, who had run
towards the Station the moment that Mr. Gordon fell, now approached her.
A merciful clump of trees had hid from her eyes all that had occurred,
and she said to Ouben,—
“What’s the cause of that noise?”
He replied, “Oh, nothing! only the boys amusing themselves!”
Saying, “Where are the boys?” she turned round.
Ouben slipped stealthily behind her, sank his tomahawk into her back,
and with another blow almost severed her head!
Such was the fate of those two devoted servants of the Lord; loving in
their lives, and in their deaths scarcely divided—their spirits, in the
crown of martyrdom, entered Glory together, to be welcomed by Williams
and Harris, whose blood was shed on the same dark isle for the name and
cause of Jesus. They had laboured four years on Erromanga, amidst trials
and dangers manifold, and had not been without tokens of blessing in the
Lord’s work. Never more earnest and devoted Missionaries lived or died
in the Heathen field. Other accounts, indeed, have been published, and
another was reported to me by Mr. Gordon’s Christian lads; but the above
combines faithfully the principal facts in the story. One young
Christian lad from a distance saw Mr. Gordon murdered; and a woman saw
Mrs. Gordon fall. The above facts are vouched for by a Mr. Milne, one of
the few respectable Sandal-wooders, who was there at the time, and
helped the Christian Natives to bury the remains, which he says were
painfully mutilated.
Some severe criticisms, of course, were written and published by those
angelic creatures who judge all things from their own safe and easy
distance. Mr. Gordon’s lack of prudence was sorely blamed, forsooth! One
would so like to see these people just for one week in such trying
circumstances. As my near fellow-labourer and dearest friend, I know
what was the whole spirit of the man’s life, his watchful care, his
ceaseless anxiety to do everything that in his judgment was for God’s
glory and the prosperity of the Mission, and my estimate of him and of
his action to the last fills me with supreme regard to his memory. The
Rev. Dr. Inglis of Aneityum, best qualified of all men living to form an
opinion, wrote:—
“Mr. Gordon was a strong, bold, fearless, energetic, self-denying, and
laborious Missionary; eager, earnest, and unwearied in seeking the
salvation of the Heathen.... Even if Mr. Gordon was to blame for any
imprudence, no blame of this kind could be attached to Mrs. Gordon. Hers
was a weak, gentle, loving spirit; quiet and uncomplaining, prudent,
earnest, and devoted to Christ. She was esteemed and beloved by all who
knew her.”
My Amen follows, soft and deep, on all that he has written; and I add,
Mr. Gordon was doing what any faithful and devoted Missionary would in
all probability for the Master’s sake in similar circumstances have
done. Those who charge him with imprudence would, doubtless, grievously
blame Stephen for bringing that stoning upon himself, which he could so
easily have escaped!
Mr. Gordon, in his last letter to me, of date 15th February, 1861,
says:—
“MY DEAR BROTHER,—
“I have news of the best and of the worst character to
communicate. A young man died in December, in the Lord, as we believe.
We are still preserved in health at our work by the God of all grace,
whose power alone could have preserved us in all our troubles, which
have come upon us by the measles _per_ the _Blue Bell_. Ah, this is a
season which we will not soon forget. Some settlements are nearly
depopulated, and the principal Chiefs are nearly all dead! And oh, the
indescribable fiendish hatred that exists against us! There is quite a
famine here. The distress is awful, and the cry of mourning perpetual.
A few on both sides of the Island who did not flee from the Worship of
God are living, which is now greatly impressing some and exciting the
enmity of others. I cannot now write of perils. We feel very anxious
to hear from you. If you have to flee, Aneityum of course is the
nearest and best place to which you can go. Confidence in us is being
restored. Mana, a native Teacher, remains with us for safety from the
fury of his enemies. I cannot visit as usual. The persecution cannot
be much worse on Tanna. I hope the worst is past. Mrs. G. unites in
love to you, and to Mr. and Mrs. Johnston. In great haste,
“I remain, dear Brother, Yours truly,
“G. N. GORDON.”
Let every reader, in view of this epistle, like a voice from the World
Unseen, judge of the spirit of the man of God who penned it, and of the
causes that were even then at work and were bringing about his sorrowful
death. Cruel superstition, measles, and the malignant influences of the
godless Traders,—these on Erromanga, as elsewhere, were the forces at
work that brought hatred and murder in their train.
Immediately thereafter, a Sandal-wood Trader brought in his boat a party
of Erromangans by night to Tanna. They assembled our Harbour Chiefs and
people, and urged them to kill us and Mr. and Mrs. Mathieson and the
Teachers, or allow them to do so, as they had killed Mr. and Mrs.
Gordon. Then they proposed to go to Aneityum and kill the Missionaries
there, as the Aneityumese Natives had burned their Church, and thus they
would sweep away the Worship and the servants of Jehovah from all the
New Hebrides. Our Chiefs, however, refused, restrained by the Merciful
One, and the Erromangans returned to their own island in a sulky mood.
Notwithstanding this refusal, as if they wished to reserve the murder
and plunder for themselves, our Mission House was next day thronged with
armed men, some from Inland, others from Mr. Mathieson’s Station. They
loudly praised the Erromangans! The leaders said again and again in my
hearing,—
“The men of Erromanga killed Missi Williams long ago. We killed the
Rarotongan and Samoan Teachers. We fought Missi Turner and Missi Nisbet,
and drove them from our island. We killed the Aneityumese Teachers on
Aniwa, and one of Missi Paton’s Teachers too. We killed several white
men, and no Man-of-war punished us. Let us talk over this, about killing
Missi Paton and the Aneityumese, till we see if any Man-of-war comes to
punish the Erromangans. If not, let us unite, let us kill these
Missionaries, let us drive the worship of Jehovah from our land!”
An Inland Chief said or rather shouted in my hearing,—
“My love to the Erromangans! They are strong and brave men, the
Erromangans. They have killed their Missi and his wife, while we only
talk about it. They have destroyed the Worship and driven away Jehovah!”
I stood amongst them and protested,—
“God will yet punish the Erromangans for such wicked deeds. God has
heard all your bad talk, and will punish it in His own time and way.”
But they shouted me down, amidst great excitement, with the cry,—
“Our love to the Erromangans! Our love to the Erromangans!”
After I left them, Abraham heard them say,—
“Miaki is lazy. Let us meet in every village, and talk with each other.
Let us all agree to kill Missi and the Aneityumese for the first of our
Chiefs that dies.”
On Tanna, as on Erromanga, the Natives have no idea of death coming to
any one naturally, or sickness or any disease; everything comes by
Nahak, or sorcery. When one person grows sick or dies, they meet to talk
over it and find out who has bewitched or killed him, and this ends in
fixing upon some individual upon whom they take revenge, or whom they
murder outright. Thus many wars arise on Tanna, for the friends or the
tribe of the murdered man generally seek a counter-revenge; and so the
blood-fiend is let loose over all the island, and from island to island
throughout the whole of the New Hebrides.
The night after the visit of the Erromangan boat, and the sad news of
Mr. and Mrs. Gordon’s death the Tannese met on their village
dancing-grounds and held high festival in praise of the Erromangans. Our
best friend, old Nowar, the Chief, who had worn shirt and kilt for some
time and had come regularly to, the Worship, relapsed once more; he
painted his face, threw off his clothing, resumed his bow and arrows,
and his tomahawk, of which he boasted that it had killed very many men
and at least one woman! On my shaming him for professing to worship
Jehovah and yet uniting with the Heathen in rejoicing over the murder of
His servants on Erromanga, he replied to this effect,—
“Truly, Missi, they have done well. If the people of Erromanga are
severely punished for this by the Man-of-war, we will all hear of it;
and our people will then fear to kill you and the other Missionaries, so
as to destroy the Worship of Jehovah. Now, they say, the Erromangans
killed Missi Williams and the Samoan, Rarotongan, and Aneityumese
Teachers, besides other white men, and no Man-of-war has punished either
them or us. If they are not punished for what has been done on
Erromanga, nothing else can keep them here from killing you and me and
all who worship at the Mission House!”
I answered,—“Nowar, let us all be strong to love and serve Jehovah
Jesus. If it be for our good and His glory, He will protect us; if not,
He will take us to be with Himself. We will not be killed by their bad
talk. Besides, what avails it to us, when dead and gone, if even a
Man-of-war should come and punish our murderers?”
He shrugged his shoulders, answering,—“Missi, by-and-by you will see.
Mind, I tell you the truth. I know our Tannese people. How is it that
Jehovah did not protect the Gordons and the Erromangan worshippers? If
the Erromangans are not punished, neither will our Tannese be punished,
though they murder all Jehovah’s people!”
I felt for Nowar’s struggling faith, just trembling on the verge of
cannibalism yet, and knowing so little of the true Jehovah.
Groups of Natives assembled suspiciously near us and sat whispering
together. They urged old Abraham to return to Aneityum by the very first
opportunity, as our lives were certain to be taken, but he replied,—
“I will not leave Missi.”
Abraham and I were thrown much into each other’s company, and he stood
by me in every danger. We conducted family prayers alternately; and that
evening he said during the prayer in Tannese, in which language alone we
understood each other,—
“O Lord, our Heavenly Father, they have murdered Thy servants on
Erromanga. They have banished the Aneityumese from dark Tanna. And now
they want to kill Missi Paton and me! Our great King, protect us, and
make their hearts soft and sweet to Thy Worship. Or, if they are
permitted to kill us, do not Thou hate us, but wash us in the blood of
Thy dear Son Jesus Christ. He came down to Earth and shed His blood for
sinners; through Him forgive us our sins and take us to Heaven—that good
place where Missi Gordon the man and Missi Gordon the woman and all Thy
dear servants now are singing Thy praise and seeing Thy face. Our Lord,
our hearts are pained just now, and we weep over the death of Thy dear
servants; but make our hearts good and strong for Thy cause, and take
Thou away all our fears. Make us two and all Thy servants strong for
Thee and for Thy Worship; and if they kill us two, let us die together
in Thy good work, like Thy servants Missi Gordon the man and Missi
Gordon the woman.”
In this manner his great simple soul poured itself out to God, and my
heart melted within me as it had never done under any prayer poured from
the lips of cultured Christian men!
Under the strain of these events, Miaki came to our house, and attacked
me in hearing of his men to this effect:—
“You and the Worship are the cause of all the sickness and death now
taking place on Tanna! The Erromanga men killed Missi Gordon the man and
also the woman, and they are all well long ago. The Worship is killing
us all; and the Inland people will kill us for keeping you and the
Worship here; for we love the conduct of Tanna, but we hate the Worship.
We must kill you and it, and we shall all be well again.”
I tried to reason firmly and kindly with them, showing them that their
own conduct was destroying them, and that our presence and the Worship
could only be a blessing to them in every way, if only they would accept
of it and give up their evil ways. I referred to a poor girl, whom Miaki
and his men had stolen and abused, that they knew such conduct to be
bad, and that God would certainly punish them for it.
He replied, “Such is the conduct of Tanna. Our fathers loved and
followed it, we love and follow it, and if the Worship condemns it, we
will kill you and destroy the Worship.”
I said, “The Word of the Holy God condemns all bad conduct, and I must
obey my God in trying to lead you to give it up, and to love and serve
His Son Jesus our Saviour. If I refuse to obey my God, He will punish
me.”
He replied, “Missi, we like many wives to attend us and to do our work.
Three of my wives are dead and three are yet alive. The Worship killed
them and my children. We hate it. It will kill us all.”
I answered, “Miaki, is it good for you to have so many wives, and many
of your men to have none? Who waits on them? Who works for them? They
cannot get a wife, and so, having to work for themselves, they are led
to hate you and all the Chiefs who have more wives than one. You do not
love your wives, else you would not slave them and beat them as you do.”
But he declared that his heart was good, that his conduct was good, and
that he hated the teaching of the Worship. He had a party of men staying
with him from the other side of the island, and he sent back a present
of four large fat hogs to their Chiefs, with a message as to the killing
of the Mathiesons. If that were done, his hands would be strengthened in
dealing with us.
Satan seemed to fill that man’s heart. He incited his people to steal
everything from us, and to annoy us in every conceivable way. They
killed one of my precious watch-dogs, and feasted upon it. So sad was
the condition of Tanna, that if a man were desperate enough in
wickedness, if he killed a number of men and tyrannized over others, he
was dignified with the name and rank of a Chief. This was the secret of
Miaki’s influence, and of his being surrounded by the outlaws and
refugees, not only of his own but even other islands. It was all founded
upon terror and upheld by cruelty. The Sacred Man, for instance, who
murdered my Teacher, and a young man who threw three spears at me, which
by God’s help I avoided, were both praised and honoured for their deeds.
But the moment they were laid aside by measles and unable to retaliate,
their flatterers turned upon them and declared that they were punished
for their bad conduct against Jehovah and His servants and His Worship!
To know what was best to be done, in such trying circumstances, was an
abiding perplexity. To have left altogether, when so surrounded by
perils and enemies, at first seemed the wisest course, and was the
repeated advice of many friends. But again, I had acquired the language,
and had gained a considerable influence amongst the Natives, and there
were a number warmly attached both to myself and to the Worship. To have
left would have been to lose all, which to me was heart-rending;
therefore, risking all with Jesus, I held on while the hope of being
spared longer had not absolutely and entirely vanished. God only knows
how deep and genuine were my pity and affection for the poor Tannese,
labouring and longing to bring them from their dark idolatry and
heathenism to love and serve and please Jesus Christ as their God and
Saviour. True, some of the awfully wise people wrote, as in the case of
Mr. Gordon, much nonsense about us and the Tanna Mission. They knew, of
course, that I was to blame, and they from safe distances could see that
I was not in the path of duty!
Perhaps, to people less omnisciently sure, the following quotation from
a letter of the late A. Clark, Esq., J.P., Auckland, New Zealand, will
show what Bishop Selwyn thought of my standing fast on Tanna at the post
of duty, and he knew what he was writing about. He says,—
“In addition, Bishop Selwyn told us that he had seen the Commodore
(Seymour), who told him that at Tanna the Natives were in a very
insulting and hostile state of mind; so much so that he felt it his duty
to offer Mr. Paton a passage in his ship to Auckland or some other place
of safety. He said, ‘Talk of bravery! talk of heroism! The man who leads
a forlorn hope is a coward in comparison with him, who, on Tanna, thus
alone, without a sustaining look or cheering word from one of his own
race, regards it as his duty to hold on in the face of such dangers. We
read of the soldier, found after the lapse of ages among the ruins of
Herculaneum, who stood firm at his post amid the fiery rain destroying
all around him, thus manifesting the rigidity of the discipline amongst
those armies of ancient Rome which conquered the World. Mr. Paton was
subjected to no such iron law. He might, with honour, when offered to
him, have sought a temporary asylum in Auckland, where he would have
been heartily received. But he was moved by higher considerations. He
chose to remain, and God knows whether at this moment he is in the land
of the living!’ When the bishop told us that he declined leaving Tanna
by H.M.S. _Pelorus_, he added, ‘And I like him all the better for so
doing!’”
For my part I feel quite confident that, in like circumstances, that
noble Bishop of God would have done the same. I, born in the bosom of
the Scottish Covenant, descended from those who suffered persecution for
Christ’s honour, would have been unworthy of them and of my Lord had I
deserted my post for danger only. Yet not to me, but to the Lord who
sustained me, be all the praise and the glory! On his next visit to
these Islands, the good Bishop brought a box of Mission goods to me in
his ship, besides £90 for our work from Mr. Clark and friends in
Auckland. His interest in us and our work was deep and genuine, and was
unmarred on either side by any consciousness of ecclesiastical
distinctions. We were one in Christ, and, when next we meet again in the
glory of our Lord, Bishop and Presbyter will be eternally one in that
blessed fellowship.
The following incident illustrates the depth of native superstition. One
morning two Inland Chiefs came running to the Mission House, breathless,
and covered with perspiration. One of them held up a handful of
half-rotten tracts, crying,—
“Missi, is this a part of God’s Word, the sacred Book of Jehovah? or is
it the work, the words, the book of man?”
I examined them and replied, “These are the work, the words, and the
book of man, not of Jehovah.”
He questioned me again: “Missi, are you certain that it is not the Word
of Jehovah?”
I replied, “It is only man’s work and man’s book.”
He continued then, “Missi, some years ago, Kaipai, a sacred Chief, and
certain Tannese, went on a visit to Aneityum, and Missi Geddie gave him
these books. On his return, when he showed them to the Tannese, the
people were all so afraid of them, for they thought they were the sacred
Books of Jehovah, that they met for consultation and agreed solemnly to
bury them. Yesterday, some person in digging had disinterred them, and
at once our Inland people said that our dead Chief had buried a part of
Jehovah’s Word, which made Him angry, and that He had therefore caused
the Chiefs death and the plague of measles, etc. Therefore they were now
assembled to kill the dead Chief’s son and daughter in revenge! But,
before that should be done, I persuaded them to send these books, to
inquire of you if this be part of Jehovah’s Book, and if the burying of
it caused all these diseases and deaths.”
I assured him that these books never caused either sickness or death to
any human being; and that none of us can cause sickness or death by
sorcery; that burying these Tracts did not make Jehovah angry, nor cause
evil to any creature. “You yourselves know,” I said, “the very ships
that brought the measles and caused the deaths; and you killed some of
the young men who were landed sick with the disease.”
The Inland Chief declared, “Missi, I am quite satisfied; no person shall
be put to death over these books now.”
They went off, but immediately returned, saying, “Missi, have you any
books like these to show to us? And will you show us the sacred Book of
Jehovah beside them?”
I showed them a Bible, and then a handful of Tracts with pictures like
those they had brought; and I offered them the Bible and specimens of
these Tracts, that they might show both to the people assembled. The
Tracts they received, but the Bible they refused to touch. They
satisfied the Inland people and prevented bloodshed; but oh, what a
depth of superstition to be raised out of! and how easily life might be
sacrificed at every turn!
On another occasion I had the joy of saving the lives of Sandal-wood
Traders, to whom neither I nor the Mission owed anything, except for
Christ’s sake. The _Blue Bell_ cast anchor in the Harbour on a beautiful
morning, and the Captain and Mate immediately came on shore. They had
letters for me; but, on landing, they were instantly surrounded by the
Chiefs and people, who formed a ring about them on the beach and called
for me to come. The two white men stood in the midst, with many weapons
pointed at them, and death if they dared to move. They shouted to me,—
“This is one of the Vessels which brought the measles. You and they made
the sickness, and destroyed our people. Now, if you do not leave with
this vessel, we will kill you all.”
Of course, their intention was to frighten me on board just as I was,
and leave my premises for plunder! I protested,—
“I will not leave you; I cannot leave you in this way; and if you murder
these men or me, Jehovah will punish you. I am here for your good; and
you know how kind I have been to you all, in giving you medicine,
knives, axes, blankets, and clothing. You also know well that I have
never done ill to one human being, but have constantly sought your good.
I will not and cannot leave you thus.”
In great wrath they cried, “Then will we kill you and this Captain and
Mate.”
I kept reasoning with them against such conduct, standing firmly before
them and saying, “If you do kill me, Jehovah will punish you; the other
men in that vessel will punish you before they sail; and a Man-of-war
will come and burn your villages and canoes and fruit trees.”
I urged the two men to try and get into their boat as quickly as
possible, in silence, while I kept arguing with the Natives. The letters
which they had for me, the savages forbade me to take into my hands,
lest thereby some other foreign disease should come to their island.
Miaki exclaimed in great wrath that my medicine had killed them all; but
I replied,—
“My medicine with God’s blessing saved many lives. You know well that
all who followed my rules recovered from the measles, except only one
man, and are living still. Now, you seek to kill me for saving your
lives and the lives of your people!”
I appealed to Yorian, another Chief, if the medicine had not saved his
life when he appeared to be dying, which he admitted to be the truth.
The men had now slipped into their boat and were preparing to leave.
Miaki shouted,—
“Let them go! Don’t kill them to-day.” Then he called to the Captain,
“Come on shore and trade with us to-morrow.”
Next day they foolishly came on shore and began to trade. Natives
surrounded the boat with clubs and tomahawks. But Miaki’s heart failed
him when about to strike; and he called out,—
“Missi said that, if we kill them, a Man-of-war will come and take
revenge on us.”
In the altercation that followed, the men thrust the boat into deep
water and forced it out of the grasp of the savages; but they caught the
Captain’s large Newfoundland dog and kept it prisoner. As a compensation
for this disappointment, Miaki urged that my life and Abraham’s be at
once taken, but again Nowar’s firm opposition and God’s goodness rescued
us from the jaws of the lion. The _Blue Bell_ left next morning, and the
dog remained behind, as no one from the vessel would venture ashore.
Revenge for the murder of the four men killed to accompany Miaki’s
child, threatened to originate another war; but the Chiefs for eight
miles around met, and, after much speechifying, agreed that as they were
all weak for war, owing to the measles and the want of food through the
hurricanes, they should delay it till they all grew stronger. Nowar was,
however, greatly excited, and informed me that Miaki had urged the
people of an inland district to shoot Nowar and Abraham and me, and he
pled with us again to take him and flee to Aneityum,—impossible except
by canoe, and perhaps impossible even so. That night and the following
night they tried to break into my house. On one occasion my valuable dog
was let out, and cleared them away. Next night I shouted at them from
inside, when they thought me asleep, and they decamped again. Indeed,
our continuous danger caused me now oftentimes to sleep with my clothes
on, that I might start at a moment’s warning. My faithful dog would give
a sharp bark and awake me. At other times, she would leap up and pull at
the clothes till I awoke, and then she turned her head quietly and
indicated by a wondrous instinct where the danger lay. God made them
fear this precious creature, and often used her in saving our lives.
Soon after this six Inland Chiefs came to see me. We had a long talk on
the evils of war, and the blessings of the Worship of Jehovah. I gave
each a knife and a fork and a tin plate, and they promised to oppose the
war which Miaki was forcing on. A man came also with a severe gash in
his hand, which a fish had given him; I dressed it, and he went away
very grateful and spread everywhere the news of healing, a kind of
Gospel which he and they could most readily appreciate.
Another incident made them well-disposed for a season; namely, the use
of a fishing-net. Seeing that the Natives had so little food—there
being, in fact, a famine after the hurricane—I engaged an inland Tribe
to make a net forty feet long and very broad. Strange to say, the Inland
people who live far from the sea make the best fishing materials, which
again they sell to the Harbour people for the axes, knives, blankets,
and other articles obtained from calling vessels. They also make the
killing-stones, and trade with them amongst the shore people all round
the island. This _kawas_ or killing-stone is made of blue whinstone,
eighteen to twenty-four inches long, an inch and a half across,
perfectly straight, and hewn as round and neat as any English tradesman
could have done it, exactly like a large scythe stone, such as they use
on the harvest fields in Scotland. The kawas seems to be peculiar to
Tanna, at least I have not seen it on any other island. The Natives,
with pieces of very hard heavy wood of the same size and shape, are
taught to throw it from infancy at a given mark; in warfare, it is
thrown first; where it strikes it stuns or kills, and then they spring
forward with their large double-handed heavy club. Every man and boy
carries his killing-stone and other weapons, even when moving about
peaceably in his own village, war being, in fact, the only regular
occupation for men!
Well, these same Inland people, the sort of artisans of the island,
being mostly the women and the girls, manufactured for me this huge
fishing-net. The cord was twisted from the fibre made out of the bark of
their own trees, and prepared with immense toil and care; and not
without touches of skill and taste, when woven and knotted and
intertwined. This net I secured, and lent about three days each to every
village all round the Harbour and near it. One night I saw them carrying
home a large hog, which they had got from an Inland Chief for a portion
of the fish which they had taken. I thought it right to cause them to
return the net to the Mission House every Saturday evening, that they
might not be tempted to use it on Sabbath. It was a great help to them,
and the Harbour yielded them much wholesome food in lieu of what the
hurricane had destroyed.
When, about this time, the _John Knox_ came to anchor in the bay, a
Native was caught in the act of stealing from her. Angry at being
discovered, he and his friends came to shoot me, pretending that it was
because the _John Knox_ knew they were in want of food and had not
brought them a load of Taro from Aneityum. Taro is a plant of the genus
_Arum_, the _Æsculentum_, or _Colocasia Æsculenta_, well known all
through Polynesia. The Natives spread it in a very simple way. Cutting
off the leaves, with a very little of the old bulb still attached, they
fix these in the ground, and have the new Taro about a year after that.
It is of several kinds and of a great variety of colours—white, yellow,
blue, etc. It grows best in ground irrigated by streams of pure water,
or in shallow, swampy ground, over which the water runs. The dry-ground
Taro is small and inferior, compared to the water-grown roots.
Nutritious and pleasant, not unlike the texture of cheese when laid in
slices on the table, in size and appearance like a Swedish turnip, it
can be either boiled or baked. Hurricanes may destroy all other native
food, but the Taro lies uninjured below the water; hence on islands,
where it will grow, it forms one of the most permanent and valuable of
all their crops.
Our people also demanded that the _John Knox_ should bring them kava and
tobacco. Kava is the plant, _Piper Methysticum_, from which they make a
highly intoxicating drink. The girls and boys first chew it, and spit
the juice into a basin; there it is mixed with water, and then strained
through a fibrous cloth-like texture, which they get from the top of the
cocoa-nut trees, where it surrounds the young nuts, and drops off with
them when they are ripe. This they freely drink; it does not make them
violent, but stupefies them and induces sleep like opium. A portion is
always poured out to their Gods; and the dregs in every mouth after
drinking are always spit out with the exclamation, “That’s for you,
Kumesam!” It is sometimes offered and partaken of with very great
ceremony; but its general use is as a soporific by the men, regularly
after the evening meal. Women and children are not allowed to drink it.
Many men have been attacked and murdered at night, when lying enfeebled
and enfolded by kava. That, indeed, is their common mode of taking
revenge and of declaring war. These angry men, who came to me about the
_John Knox_, tried to smash in my window and kill my faithful dog; but I
reasoned firmly and kindly with them, and they at last withdrew.
At that time, though my life was daily attempted, a dear lad, named
Katasian, was coming six miles regularly to the Worship and to receive
frequent instruction. One day, when engaged in teaching him, I caught a
man stealing the blind from my window. On trying to prevent him, he
aimed his great club at me, but I seized the heavy end of it with both
my hands as it swung past my head, and held on with all my might. What a
prayer went up from me to God at that dread moment! The man, astonished
and abashed at my kind words and appeal, slunk away and left me in
peace.
I had planted a few Yams, of the genus _Dioscoria_; a most valuable
article of food, nearly as precious as potatoes were to the poor in
Ireland, and used very much in the same way. Years after, when I went to
Melbourne, I took one from Aniwa, by no means the largest, weighing
seventy-two pounds, and another, forty-two. The things, however, that I
planted on Tanna the Natives stole and carried away, making themselves
extremely troublesome. But God never took away from me the consciousness
that it was still right for me to be kind and forgiving, and to hope
that I might lead them to love and imitate Jesus.
For a season thereafter, the friendly feeling grew on every side. The
Natives prepared, for payment, an excellent foundation for a new Church,
by levelling down the hill near to my Mission House. Any number of men
offered to work for calico, knives, axes, etc. All the fences were
renewed, and the Mission premises began to look nice once more, at
least, in my eyes. My work became encouraging, and I had many
opportunities of talking with them about the Worship and Jehovah. This
state of matters displeased Miaki and his men; and one day, having been
engaged thus, I rushed back only in time to extinguish a fire which they
had kindled under the verandah and close to the door of my house. Our
watch had to be unrelaxing. A cousin of Miaki’s, for instance, sold me a
fish as good for food which he knew to be poisonous, but Nowar saw in
time and warned me of its deadly character. Miaki then threatened to
shoot any of the Inland people who came to work or to receive
instruction, yet larger numbers came than before, but they came fully
armed! Nouka, the high Chief of the Harbour, Miaki’s uncle, came and sat
beside us often, and said,—
“Miaki breaks my heart! He deceives Missi. He hates the Worship of
Jehovah.”
For some time, Nouka and his wife and daughter—a handsome girl, his only
child—and Miaki’s principal wife and her two sons, and nine Chiefs
attended Worship regularly at the Mission House, on Sabbaths and on the
afternoon of every Wednesday. In all, about sixty persons somewhat
regularly waited on our ministrations at this time; and amidst all
perils I was encouraged, and my heart was full of hope. Yet one evening,
when feeling more consoled and hopeful than ever before, a musket was
discharged at my very door, and I was constrained to realize that we
were in the midst of death. Father, our times are in Thy hand.
As my work became more encouraging, I urgently applied to the
Missionaries on Aneityum for more Teachers, but none could be found
willing to return to Tanna. The plague of measles had almost demoralized
them. Even on Aneityum, where they had medicine and would follow the
Missionaries’ advice, no fewer than eleven hundred had been cut off; and
the mortality was very much greater on such islands as Tanna, Aniwa,
etc., where they were still Heathen, and either had not or would not
follow medical counsels. Of my Teachers and their wives ten were swept
away in the epidemic, and the few that were left were so disheartened
that they escaped to their own land at the first opportunity, as before
recorded, excepting only dear old faithful Abraham. But I need not
wonder; smaller perils deter God’s people at home from many a call of
duty.
In my Mission School, I offered as a prize a red shirt for the first
Chief who knew the whole Alphabet without a mistake. It was won by an
Inakaki Chief, who was once a terror to the whole community. Afterwards,
when trying to teach the A B C to others, he proceeded in something like
this graphic style:—
“A is a man’s legs with the body cut off; B is like two eyes; C is a
three-quarters moon; D is like one eye; E is a man with one club under
his feet and another over his head; F is a man with a large club and a
smaller one,” etc., etc.; L was like a man’s foot; Q was the talk of the
dove, etc. Then he would say, “Remember these things; you will soon get
hold of the letters and be able to read. I have taught my little child,
who can scarcely walk, the names of them all. They are not hard to hold,
but soft and easy. You will soon learn to read the book, if you try it
with all your heart!”
But Miaki was still our evil genius, and every incident seemed to be
used by him for one settled purpose of hate. A Kaserumini Chief, for
instance, and seven men took away a young girl in a canoe to Aniwa, to
be sold to friends there for tobacco leaf, which the Aniwans cultivated
extensively. They also prepared to take revenge there for a child’s
death, killed in their belief by the sorcery of an Aniwan. When within
sight of the shore, the canoes were upset and all were said to have been
devoured by sharks, excepting only one canoe out of six. This one
returned to Tanna and reported that there were two white Traders living
on Aniwa, that they had plenty of ammunition and tobacco, but that they
would not come to Tanna as long as a Missionary lived there. Under this
fresh incitement, a party of Miaki’s men came to my house, praising the
Erromangans for the murder of their Missionaries and threatening me.
Even the friendly Nowar said, “Miaki will make a great wind and sink any
Man-of-war that comes here. We will take the Man-of-war and kill all
that are on board. If you and Abraham do not leave us we will kill you
both, for we must have the Traders and the powder.”
Just as they were assuming a threatening attitude, other Natives came
running with the cry, “Missi, the _John Knox_ is coming into the
Harbour, and two great ships of fire, Men-of-war behind her, coming very
fast!”
I retorted upon Nowar and the hostile company, “Now is your time! Make
all possible haste! Let Miaki raise his great wind now; get all your men
ready; I will tell them that you mean to fight, and you will find them
always ready!”
Miaki’s men fled away in unconcealed terror; but Nowar came to me and
said, “Missi, I know that my talk is all lies, but if I speak the truth,
they will kill me!”
I answered, “Trust in Jehovah, the same God who sent these vessels now,
to protect us from being murdered.”
But Nowar always wavered.
And now from all parts of the island those who were most friendly
flocked to us. They were clamorous to have Miaki and some others of our
enemies punished by the Man-of-war in presence of the Natives; and then
they would be strong to speak in our defence and to lead the Tannese to
worship Jehovah.
Commodore Seymour, Captain Hume, and Dr. Geddie came on shore. After
inquiring into everything, the Commodore urged me to leave at once, and
very kindly offered to remove me to Aneityum, or Auckland, or any place
of safety that I preferred. Again, however, I hesitated to leave my dear
benighted Tannese, knowing that both Stations would be instantly broken
up, that all the influence gained would be thrown away, that the Church
would lose all that had been expended, and above all, that those
friendly to us would be left to persecution and destruction. For a long
time I had seldom taken off my clothes at night, needing to be
constantly on the alert to start at a moment’s notice; yet, while hope
burned within my soul I could not withdraw, so I resolved to risk all
with my dear Lord Jesus, and remained at my post. At my request,
however, they met and talked with all the leaders who could be assembled
at the Mission House. The Natives declared frankly that they liked me
but did not like the Worship. The Commodore reminded them that they had
invited me to land among them, and had pledged their word more than once
to protect me; he argued with them that as they had no fault to find
with me, but only with the Worship, which could do them only good, they
must bind themselves to protect my life. Miaki and others promised and
gave him their hands to do so. Lathella, an Aneityumese Chief, who was
with Dr. Geddie, interpreted for him and them, Dr. Geddie explaining
fully to Lathella in Aneityumese what the Commodore said in English, and
Lathella explaining all to the Tannese in their own tongue.
At last old Nouka spoke out for all and said, “Captain Paddan and all
the Traders tell us that the Worship causes all our sickness and death.
They will not trade with us, nor sell us tobacco, pipes, powder, balls,
caps, and muskets, till we kill our Missi like the Erromangans, but
after that they will send a Trader to live among us and give us plenty
of all these things. We love Missi. But when the Traders tell us that
the Worship makes us sick, and when they bribe us with tobacco and
powder to kill him or drive him away, some believe them and our hearts
do bad conduct to Missi. Let Missi remain here, and we will try to do
good conduct to Missi; but you must tell Queen ’Toria of her people’s
bad treatment of us, and that she must prevent her Traders from killing
us with their measles, and from telling us lies to make us do bad
conduct to Missi! If they come to us and talk as before, our hearts are
very dark and may again lead us to bad conduct to Missi.”
After this little parley, the Commodore invited us all on board, along
with the Chiefs. They saw about three hundred brave marines ranked up on
deck, and heard a great cannon discharged. For all such efforts to
impress them and open their eyes, I felt profoundly grateful; but too
clearly I knew and saw that only the grace of God could lastingly change
them!
They were soon back to their old arguments, and were heard saying to one
another, “If no punishment is inflicted on the Erromangans for murdering
the Missi there, we fear the bad conduct of the Tannese will continue.”
No punishment was inflicted at Erromanga, and the Tannese were soon as
bold and wicked as ever. For instance, while the Man-of-war lay in the
Harbour, Nowar kept himself closely concealed; but no sooner had she
sailed than the cowardly fellow came out, laughing at the others, and
protesting that he was under no promise and was free to act as he
pleased! Yet in the hour of danger he generally proved to be our friend;
such was his vacillating character. Nor was Miaki very seriously
impressed. Mr. Mathieson shortly thereafter sent his boat round to me,
being again short of European food. On his crew leaving her to deliver
their message to me, some of Miaki’s men at once jumped into the boat
and started off round the island in search of kava. I went to Miaki, to
ask that the boat might be brought back soon, but on seeing me he ran
for his club and aimed to strike me. I managed to seize it, and to hold
on, pleading with God and talking with Miaki, till by the interference
of some friendly Natives his wrath was assuaged a little. Returning
home, I sent food overland to keep them going till the boat returned,
which she did in about eight days. Thus light and shadow pursued each
other, the light brightening for a moment, but upon the whole the
shadows deepening.
CHAPTER X.
_FAREWELL SCENES._
The War Fever.—Forced to the War Council.—A Truce among the
Chiefs.—Chiefs and People.—The Kiss of Judas.—The Death of
Ian.—The Quivering Knife.—A War of Revenge.—In the Thick of the
Battle.—Tender Mercies of the Wicked.—Escape for Life.—The Loss of
All.—Under the Tomahawk.—Jehovah is Hearing.—The Host Turned
Back.—The War against Manuman.—Traps Laid.—House Broken Up.—War
against our Friends.—A Treacherous Murderer.—On the Chestnut
Tree.—Bargaining for Life.—Five Hours in a Canoe.—Kneeling on the
Sands.—Faimungo’s Farewell.—“Follow! Follow!”—A Race for
Life.—Ringed Round with Death.—Faint yet Pursuing.—Out of the
Lion’s Jaws.—Brothers in Distress.—Intervening Events.—A
Cannibal’s Taste.—Pillars of Cloud and of Fire.—Passing by on the
other Side.—Kapuku and the Idol Gods.—A Devil Chief.—In Perils
Oft.—Through Fire and Water.—“Sail O! Sail O!”—Let Me Die.—In
Perils on the Sea.—Tannese Visitors.—The Devil Chief of
Tanna.—Speckled and Spotted.—Their Desired Haven.—“I am Left
Alone.”—My Earthly All.—Eternal Hope.—Australia to the Rescue.—For
my Brethren’s Sake.—A New Holy League.—The Uses of Adversity.—The
Arm-Chair Critics Again.—Concluding Note.—Prospectus of Part
Second.
A time of great excitement amongst the Natives now prevailed. War, war,
nothing but war was spoken of! Preparations for war were being made in
all the villages far and near. Fear sat on every face, and armed bands
kept watching each other, as if uncertain where the war was to begin or
by whom. All work was suspended, and that war spirit was let loose which
rouses the worst passions of human nature. Again we found ourselves the
centre of conflict, one party set for killing us or driving us away; the
other wishing to retain us, while all old bitter grievances were also
dragged into their speeches.
Miaki and Nouka said, “If you will keep Missi and his Worship, take him
with you to your own land, for we will not have him to live at the
Harbour.”
Ian, the great Inland Chief, rose in wrath and said, “On whose land does
the Missi live, yours or ours? Who fight against the Worship and all
good, who are the thieves and murderers, who tell the lies, you or we?
We wish peace, but you will have war. We like Missi and the Worship, but
you hate them and say, ‘Take him to your own land!’ It is our land on
which he now lives; it is his own land which he bought from you, but
which our fathers sold Missi Turner long ago. The land was not yours to
sell; it was really ours. Your fathers stole it from us long ago by war;
but we would not have asked it back, had you not asked us to take Missi
away. Now we will defend him on it, and he will teach us and our people
in our own land!”
So meeting after meeting broke into fiery speech, and separated with
many threats.
To the next great meeting I was invited, but did not go, contenting
myself with a message pleading that they should live at peace and on no
account go to war with each other. But Ian himself came for me.
I said, “Ian, I have told you my whole heart. Go not to that meeting. I
will rather leave the island or die, than see you going to war about
me!”
He answered, “Missi, come with me, come now!”
I replied, “Ian, you are surely not taking me away to kill me? If you
are, my God will punish it.”
His only reply was, “Follow me, follow me quickly.”
I felt constrained to go.
He strode on before me till we reached the great village of his
ancestors. His followers, armed largely with muskets as well as native
weapons, filled one half the Village Square or dancing ground. Miaki,
Nouka, and their whole party sat in manifest terror upon the other half.
Marching into the centre, he stood with me by his side, and proudly
looking round, exclaimed,—
“Missi, these are my men and your friends! We are met to defend you and
the Worship.” Then pointing across to the other side, he cried aloud,
“These are your enemies and ours! The enemies of the Worship, the
disturbers of the peace on Tanna! Missi, say the word, and the muskets
of my men will sweep all opposition away, and the Worship will spread
and we will all be strong for it on Tanna. We will not shoot without
your leave; but if you refuse they will kill you and persecute us and
our children, and banish Jehovah’s Worship from our land.”
I said, “I love all of you alike. I am here to teach you how to turn
away from all wickedness, to worship and serve Jehovah, and to live in
peace. How can I approve of any person being killed for me or for the
Worship? My God would be angry at me and punish me, if I did!”
He replied, “Then, Missi, you will be murdered and the Worship
destroyed.”
I then stood forth in the middle before them all and cried, “You may
shoot or murder me, but I am your best friend. I am not afraid to die.
You will only send me the sooner to my Jehovah God, whom I love and
serve, and to my dear Saviour Jesus Christ, who died for me and for you,
and who sent me here to tell you all His love. If you will only love and
serve Him and give up your bad conduct, you will be happy. But if you
kill me, His messenger, rest assured that He will in His own time and
way punish you. This is my word to you all; my love to you all!”
So saying, I turned to leave; and Ian strode sullenly away and stood at
the head of his men, crying,—
“Missi, they will kill you! they will kill us, and you will be to
blame!”
Miaki and Nouka, full of deceit, now cried out,—
“Missi’s word is good! Let us all obey it. Let us all worship.”
An old man, Sirawia, one of Ian’s under-chiefs, then said,—
“Miaki and Nouka say that the land on which Missi lives was theirs;
though they sold it to him, and he has paid them for it, they all know
that it was ours, and is yet ours by right; but if they let Missi live
on it in peace, we will all live at peace, and worship Jehovah. And if
not, we will surely claim it again.”
Miaki and his party hereon went off to their plantations, and brought a
large present of food to Ian and his men as a peace-offering. This they
accepted; and the next day Ian and his men brought Miaki a return
present and said,—
“You know that Missi lives on our land? Take our present, be friends,
and let him live quietly and teach us all. Yesterday you said his word
was good, obey it now, else we will punish you and defend the Missi.”
Miaki accepted the token, and gave good promises for the future. Ian
then came to the hill-top near our house, by which passed the public
path, and cried aloud in the hearing of all,—
“Abraham, tell Missi that you and he now live on our land. This path is
the march betwixt Miaki and us. We have this day bought back the land of
our fathers by a great price to prevent war. Take of our bread-fruits
and also of our cocoa-nuts what you require, for you are our friends and
living on our land, and we will protect you and the Worship!”
For some time things moved on quietly after this. An inland war,
however, had continued for months. As many as ten men, they said, were
sometimes killed in one day and feasted on by the warriors. Thousands
had been thereby forced down from the mountains, and sought protection
under Ian and his people. All the people claiming connection with his
Tribe were called Naraimini; the people in the Volcano district were
called the Kaserumini; and the Harbour Tribes were the Watarenmini; and
so on all over the island. In such divisions, there might be from two to
twenty Chiefs and Villages under one leader, and these stood by each
other for purposes defensive and offensive. Now Nouka and Miaki had been
frustrated in all their plans to get the Inland and the Harbour people
involved in the war, as their own followers were opposed to it. In
violation of his promises, however, Nouka invited all the men who wished
to go to the war to meet him one morning, and only one appeared! Nouka,
in great wrath, marched off to the war himself, but, as no one followed,
he grew faint-hearted, and returned to his own village. On another
morning, Miaki summoned all his fighting men; but only his own brother
and six lads could be induced to accompany him, and with these he
started off. But the enemy, hearing of his coming, had killed two of his
principal allies the night before, and Miaki, learning this, turned and
fled to his own house, and was secretly laughed at by his tribe.
Next day, Nouka came to me professing great friendship and pleading with
me to accompany him and Miaki to talk with the Kaserumini, and persuade
them to give up the war. He was annoyed and disappointed when I refused
to go. Nowar and others informed me, two days thereafter, that three
persons had died in that district, that others were sick, and that the
Heathen there had resolved to kill me in revenge as the cause of all. As
Nouka’s wife was one of the victims, this scheme was concocted to entrap
me. I was warned on no account to leave my house at night for a
considerable time, but to keep it locked up and to let no one in after
dark. The same two men from that district who had tried to kill Mr.
Johnston and me, were again appointed and were watching for Abraham and
me, lurking about in the evenings for that purpose. Again I saw how the
Lord had preserved me from Miaki and Nouka! Truly all are safe who are
in God’s keeping; and nothing can befall them, except for their real
good and the glory of their Lord.
Chafed at the upsetting of all their plans and full of revenge, Nouka
and Miaki and their allies declared publicly that they were now going to
kill Ian by sorcery, _i.e._, by Nahak, more feared by the poor Tannese
than the field of battle. Nothing but the grace of God and the
enlightenment of His Spirit through the Scriptures, has ever raised
these Natives above that paralyzing superstition. But, thank God, there
are now, while I write this (1887), about twelve thousand in the New
Hebrides who have been thus enlightened and lifted out of their terrors,
for the Gospel is still, as of old, the power of God unto salvation!
Strange to say, Ian became sick shortly after the Sacred Men had made
the declaration about their Nahak-sorcery. I attended him, and for a
time he recovered, and appeared very grateful. But he soon fell sick
again. I sent him and the Chief next under him a blanket each; I also
gave shirts and calico to a number of his leading men. They wore them
and seemed grateful and pleased. Ian, however, gradually sank and got
worse. He had every symptom of being poisoned, a thing easily
accomplished, as they know and use many deadly poisons. His sufferings
were very great, which prevented me from ascribing his collapse to mere
superstitious terror. I did all that could be done; but all thought him
dying, and of course by sorcery. His people were angry at me for not
consenting before to their shooting of Miaki; and Miaki’s people were
now rejoicing that Ian was being killed by Nahak.
One night, his brother and a party came for me to go and see Ian, but I
declined to go till the morning for fear of the fever and ague. On
reaching his village, I saw many people about, and feared that I had
been led into a snare; but I at once entered into his house to talk and
pray with him, as he appeared to be dying. After prayer, I discovered
that I was left alone with him, and that all the people had retired from
the village; and I knew that, according to their custom, this meant
mischief. Ian said,—
[Illustration: “SUDDENLY HE DREW ... A LARGE BUTCHER-LIKE KNIFE.”]
“Come near me, and sit by my bedside to talk with me, Missi.”
I did so, and while speaking to him he lay as if lost in a swoon of
silent meditation. Suddenly he drew from the sugar-cane leaf thatch
close to his bed, a large butcher-like knife, and instantly feeling the
edge of it with his other hand, he pointed it to within a few inches of
my heart and held it quivering there, all a-tremble with excitement. I
durst neither move nor speak, except that my heart kept praying to the
Lord to spare me, or if my time was come to take me home to Glory with
Himself. There passed a few moments of awful suspense. My sight went and
came. Not a word had been spoken, except to Jesus; and then Ian wheeled
the knife around, thrust it into the sugar-cane leaf, and cried to me,—
“Go, go quickly!”
Next moment I was on the road. Not a living soul was to be seen about
the village. I understood then that it had been agreed that Ian was to
kill me, and that they had all withdrawn so as not to witness it, so
that when the Man-of-war came to inquire about me Ian would be dead, and
no punishment could overtake the murderer. I walked quietly till quite
free of the village, lest some hid in their houses might observe me.
Thereafter, fearing that they, finding I had escaped, might overtake and
murder me, I ran for my life a weary four miles till I reached the
Mission House, faint, yet praising God for such a deliverance. Poor Ian
died soon after, and his people strangled one of his wives and hanged
another, and took out the three bodies together in a canoe and sank them
in the sea.
Miaki was jubilant over having killed his enemy by Nahak; but the Inland
people now assembled in thousands to help Sirawia and his brother to
avenge that death on Miaki, Nouka and Karewick. These, on the other
hand, boasted that they would kill all their enemies by Nahak-sorcery,
and would call up a hurricane to destroy their houses, fruit trees, and
plantations. Miaki and a number of his men also came to the Mission
House; but, observing his sullen countenance, I asked kindly after his
wife who was about to be confined, and gave a blanket, a piece of
calico, and a bit of soap as a present for the baby. He seemed greatly
pleased, whispered something to his men, and peaceably withdrew.
Immediately after Miaki’s threat about bringing a storm, one of their
great hurricanes actually smote that side of the island and laid
everything waste. His enemies were greatly enraged, and many of the
injured people united with them in demanding revenge on Miaki. Hitherto
I had done everything in my power to prevent war, but now it seemed
inevitable, and both parties sent word that if Abraham and I kept to the
Mission House no one would harm us. We had little faith in any of their
promises, but there was no alternative for us.
On the following Saturday, 18th January, 1862, the war began. Musket
after musket was discharged quite near us, and the bush all round rang
with the yell of their war-cry, which if once heard will never be
forgotten. It came nearer and nearer, for Miaki fled, and his people
took shelter behind and around our house. We were placed in the heart of
danger, and the balls flew thick all around us. In the afternoon Ian’s
brother and his party retired, and Miaki quickly sent messengers and
presents to the Inikahimini and Kaserumini districts, to assemble all
their people and help him “to fight Missi and the Tannese who were
friends of the Worship.” He said,—
“Let us cook his body and Abraham’s, and distribute them to every
village on this side of the island!”
Yet all the while Miaki assured me that he had sent a friendly message.
The war went on, and poor Nowar the Chief protected us, till he had a
spear broken into his right knee. The enemy would have carried him off
to feast on his body; but his young men, shouting wildly his name and
battle-cry, rushed in with great impetuosity and carried their wounded
Chief home in triumph. The Inland people now discharged muskets at my
house and beat against the walls with their clubs. They smashed in the
door and window of our store-room, broke open boxes and casks, tore my
books to pieces and scattered them about, and carried off everything for
which they cared, including my boat, mast, oars, and sails. They broke
into Abraham’s house and plundered it; after which they made a rush at
the bedroom, into which we were locked, firing muskets, yelling, and
trying to break it in. A Chief, professing to be sorry for us called me
to the window, but on seeing me he sent a tomahawk through it, crying,—
“Come on, let us kill him now!”
I replied, “My Jehovah God will punish you; a Man-of-war will come and
punish you, if you kill Abraham, his wife, or me.”
He retorted, “It’s all lies about a Man-of-war! They did not punish the
Erromangans. They are afraid of us. Come on, let us kill them!”
He raised his tomahawk and aimed to strike my forehead, many muskets
were uplifted as if to shoot, so I raised a revolver in my right hand
and pointed it at them. The Rev. Joseph Copeland had left it with me on
a former visit. I did not wish it, but he insisted upon leaving it,
saying that the very knowledge that I had such a weapon might save my
life. Truly, on this occasion it did so. Though it was harmless, they
fell back quickly. My immediate assailant dropped to the ground,
crying,—
“Missi has got a short musket! He will shoot you all!”
After lying flat on the ground for a little, they all got up and ran to
the nearest bush, where they continued yelling about and showing their
muskets. Towards nightfall they left, loaded with the plunder of the
store and of Abraham’s house. So God once more graciously protected us
from falling into their cruel hands.
In the evening, after they left, I went to Miaki and Nouka. They
professed great sorrow at what had taken place, and pretended to have
given them a present of food not to do us further injury. But Nowar
informed us that, on the contrary, they had hired them to return and
kill us next morning and plunder everything on the Mission premises.
Miaki, with a sneer, said,—
“Missi, where was Jehovah to-day? There was no Jehovah to-day to protect
you. It’s all lies about Jehovah. They will come and kill you, and
Abraham, and his wife, and cut your bodies into pieces to be cooked and
eaten in every village upon Tanna.”
I said, “Surely, when you had planned all this, and brought them to kill
us and steal all our property, Jehovah did protect us, or we would not
have been here!”
He replied, “There was no Jehovah to-day! We have no fear of any
Man-of-war. They dare not punish us. They durst not punish the
Erromangans for murdering the Gordons. They will talk to us and say we
must not do so again, and give us a present. That is all. We fear
nothing. The talk of all Tanna is that we will kill you and seize all
your property to-morrow.”
I warned him that the punishment of a Man-of-war can only reach the body
and the land, but that Jehovah’s punishment reached both body and soul
in Time and in Eternity.
He replied: “Who fears Jehovah? He was not here to protect you to-day!”
“Yes,” I said, “my Jehovah God is here now. He hears all we say, sees
all we do, and will punish the wicked and protect His own people.”
After this, a number of the people sat down around me, and I prayed with
them. But I left with a very heavy heart, feeling that Miaki was
evidently bent on our destruction.
I sent Abraham to consult Nowar, who had defended us till disabled by a
spear in the right knee. He sent a canoe by Abraham, advising me to take
some of my goods in it to his house by night, and he would try to
protect them and us. The risk was so great, we could only take a very
little. Enemies were on every hand to cut off our flight, and Miaki, the
worst of all, whose village had to be passed in going to Nowar’s. In the
darkness of the Mission House, we durst not light a candle for fear of
some one seeing and shooting us. Not one of Nowar’s men durst come to
help us. But in the end it made no difference, for Nowar and his men
kept what was taken there as their portion of the plunder. Abraham, his
wife, and I waited anxiously for the morning light. Miaki, the false and
cruel, came to assure us that the Heathen would not return that day.
Yet, as daylight came in, Miaki himself stood and blew a great conch not
far from our house. I ran out to see why this trumpet-shell had been
blown, and found it was the signal for a great company of howling armed
savages to rush down the hill on the other side of the bay and make
straight for the Mission House. We had not a moment to lose. To have
remained would have been certain death to us all, and also to Matthew, a
Teacher just arrived from Mr. Mathieson’s Station. Though I am by
conviction a strong Calvinist, I am no Fatalist. I held on while one
gleam of hope remained. Escape for life was now the only path of duty. I
called the Teachers, locked the door, and made quickly for Nowar’s
village. There was not a moment left to carry anything with us. In the
issue, Abraham, his wife, and I lost all our earthly goods, and all our
clothing except what we had on. My Bible, the few translations which I
had made into Tannese, and a light pair of blankets I carried with me.
To me the loss was bitter, but as God had so ordered it, I tried to bow
with resignation. All my deceased wife’s costly outfit, her piano,
silver, cutlery, books, etc., with which her dear parents had provided
her, besides all that I had in the world; also a box worth £56, lately
arrived, full of men’s clothing and medicine, the gift of my dear
friends, Samuel Wilson, Esq., and Mrs. Wilson, of Geelong. The
Sandal-wood Traders bought all the stolen property for tobacco, powder,
balls, caps, and shot. One Trader gathered together a number of my books
in a sadly torn and wasted condition and took them to Aneityum,
demanding £10 from Dr. Geddie for his trouble. He had to pay him £7
10_s._, which I repaid to him on my second return to the Islands. This,
by way of digression, only to show how white and black Heathenism meet
together.
Let us return to the morning of our flight. We could not take the usual
path along the beach, for there our enemies would have quickly overtaken
us. We entered the bush in the hope of getting away unobserved. But a
cousin of Miaki, evidently secreted to watch us, sprang from behind a
bread-fruit tree, and swinging his tomahawk, aimed it at my brow with a
fiendish look. Avoiding it, I turned upon him and said in a firm bold
voice,—
“If you dare to strike me, my Jehovah God will punish you. He is here to
defend me now!”
The man, trembling, looked all round as if to see the God who was my
defender, and the tomahawk gradually lowered at his side. With my eye
fixed upon him, I gradually moved backwards in the track of the
Teachers, and God mercifully restrained him from following me.
On reaching Nowar’s village unobserved, we found the people
terror-stricken, crying, rushing about in despair at such a host of
armed savages approaching. I urged them to ply their axes, cut down
trees, and blockade the path. For a little they wrought vigorously at
this; but when, so far as eye could reach, they saw the shore covered
with armed men rushing on towards their village, they were overwhelmed
with fear, they threw away their axes and weapons of war, they cast
themselves headlong on the ground, and they knocked themselves against
the trees as if to court death before it came. They cried,—
“Missi, it’s of no use! We will all be killed and eaten to-day! See what
a host are coming against us.”
Mothers snatched up little children and ran to hide in the bush. Others
waded as far as they could into the sea with them, holding their heads
above the water. The whole village collapsed in a condition of
indescribable terror. Nowar, lame with his wounded knee, got a canoe
turned upside-down and sat upon it where he could see the whole
approaching multitude. He said,—
“Missi, sit down beside me, and pray to our Jehovah God, for if He does
not send deliverance now, we are all dead men. They will kill us all on
your account, and that quickly. Pray, and I will watch!”
They had gone to the Mission House and broken in the door, and finding
that we had escaped, they rushed on to Nowar’s village. For, as they
began to plunder the bedroom, Nouka said,—
“Leave everything. Missi will come back for his valuable things at
night, and then we will get them and him also!”
So he nailed up the door, and they all marched for Nowar’s. We prayed as
one can only pray when in the jaws of death and on the brink of
Eternity. We felt that God was near, and omnipotent to do what seemed
best in His sight. When the savages were about three hundred yards off,
at the foot of a hill leading up to the village, Nowar touched my knee,
saying,—
“Missi, Jehovah is hearing! They are all standing still.”
Had they come on they would have met with no opposition, for the people
were scattered in terror. On gazing shorewards, and round the Harbour,
as far as we could see, was a dense host of warriors, but all were
standing still, and apparently absolute silence prevailed. We saw a
messenger or herald running along the approaching multitude, delivering
some tidings as he passed, and then disappearing in the bush. To our
amazement, the host began to turn, and slowly marched back in great
silence, and entered the remote bush at the head of the Harbour. Nowar
and his people were in ecstasies, crying out,—
“Jehovah has heard Missi’s prayer! Jehovah has protected us and turned
them away back.”
We were on that day His trusting and defenceless children; would you
not, had you been one of our circle, have joined with us in praising the
Lord God for deliverance from the jaws of death? I know not why they
turned back; but I have no doubt it was the doing of God to save our
lives.
We learned that they all assembled in a cleared part of the bush and
there held a great wrangling palaver. Nouka and Miaki advised them first
to fight Manuman and his people. They said,—
“His brother, the Sacred Man Kanini, killed Ian by Nahak. He is a friend
of Missi and of the Worship. He also sent the hurricane to destroy us.
They have plenty of yams and pigs. Let us fight and plunder them, and
when they are out of the way, we will be strong to destroy Missi and the
Worship.”
On this the whole mass went and attacked Manuman’s first village, where
they murdered two of his men, two women, and two children. The
inhabitants fled, and all the sick, the feeble, and the children who
fell into their hands were reported to us to be murdered, cooked, and
eaten. Led on by Miaki, they plundered and burned seven villages.
About mid-day, Nouka and Miaki sent their cousin Jonas, who had always
been friendly to me, to say that I might return to my house in safety,
as they were now carrying the war inland. Jonas had spent some years on
Samoa, and been much with Traders in Sydney, and spoke English well; but
we felt they were deceiving us. That night, Abraham ventured to creep
near the Mission House, to test whether we might return, and save some
valuable things, and get a change of clothing. The house appeared to
stand as when they nailed up the door. But a large party of Miaki’s
allies at once enclosed Abraham, and, after asking many questions about
me, they let him go since I was not there. Had I gone there, they would
certainly that night have killed me. Again, at midnight, Abraham and his
wife and Matthew went to the Mission House, and found Nouka, Miaki, and
Karewick near by, concealed in the bush among the reeds. Once more they
enclosed them, thinking I was there too, but Nouka, finding that I was
not, cried out,—
“Don’t kill them just now! Wait till Missi comes.”
Hearing this, Matthew slipped into the bush and escaped. Abraham’s wife
waded into the sea, and they allowed her to get away. Abraham was
allowed to go to the Mission House, but he too crept into the bush, and
after an anxious waiting they all came back to me in safety. We now gave
up all hope of recovering anything from the house.
Towards morning, when Miaki and his men saw that I was not coming back
to deliver myself into their hands, they broke up my house and stole all
they could carry away. They tore my books, and scattered them about.
They took away the type of my printing-press, to be made into bullets
for their muskets. For similar uses they melted down the zinc lining of
my boxes, and everything else that could be melted. What they could not
take away, they destroyed. I lay on the ground all night, concealed in
an outhouse of Nowar’s, but it was a sleepless and anxious night, not
only to me and my Aneityumese, but also to Nowar and his people.
Next day, the attack was renewed by the three Chiefs on the district of
my dear friend Manuman. His people fled; the villages were burned; all
who came in their way were killed, and all food and property carried
away. At night they returned to keep watch over Nowar and me. When
darkness was setting in, Miaki sent for me to go and speak with him, but
Nowar and the Aneityumese were all so opposed to it that I did not go.
Messages were sent to Nowar, threatening to kill him and his people for
protecting me, and great excitement prevailed.
Another incident added horror to the memories of this day. A savage from
Erromanga, living with Nowar, had gone to the war that day. He got near
a village unobserved, climbed into a tree, and remained there watching.
After mid-day, Kamkali, a true friend of mine, the Chief of his village,
came home wearied from the war, got his blanket, stealthily crept into a
quiet place in the bush, rolled himself up, and lay down to sleep; for,
according to their custom, the leading warriors in times of conflict
seldom sleep in their own houses, and seldom twice in the same place
even in the bush, for fear of personal danger. The Erromangan, having
watched till he was sound asleep, crept to where he lay, raised his club
and smashed in his skull. He told, when he came home, how the blood ran
from nose, mouth, and ears, with a gurgling sound in his throat, and
after a few convulsive struggles all was over! And the people around
Nowar praised him for his deed. Cocoa-nuts were brought for him to
drink, and food was presented before him in large quantities, as to one
who had done something noble. For safety, he was put into the same house
where I had to sit, and even Nowar honoured him. I watched for the
workings of a natural man’s conscience under the guilt of murder. When
left alone, he shook every now and then with agitation, and started
round with a terrified gaze. He looked the picture of a man who felt
that he had done to his neighbour what he would not have liked another
to do to him. I wonder if that consciousness ever dies out, in the
lowest and worst, that last voice of God in the soul?
That very night, Nowar declared that I must leave his village before
morning, else he and his people would be killed for protecting me. He
advised me, as the sea was good, to try for Mr. Mathieson’s Station; but
he objected to my taking away any of my property—he would soon follow
with it himself! But how to sail? Miaki had stolen my boat, mast, sails,
and oars, as also an excellent canoe made for me and paid for by me on
Aneityum; and he had threatened to shoot any person that assisted me to
launch either the one or the other. The danger, however, was so great
that Nowar said,—
“You cannot remain longer in my house! My son will guide you to the
large chestnut tree in my plantation in the bush. Climb up into it, and
remain there till the moon rises.”
Being entirely at the mercy of such doubtful and vacillating friends, I,
though perplexed, felt it best to obey. I climbed into the tree, and was
left there alone in the bush. The hours I spent there live all before me
as if it were but of yesterday. I heard the frequent discharging of
muskets, and the yells of the savages. Yet I sat there among the
branches, as safe in the arms of Jesus! Never, in all my sorrows, did my
Lord draw nearer to me, and speak more soothingly in my soul, than when
the moonlight flickered among these chestnut leaves, and the night air
played on my throbbing brow, as I told all my heart to Jesus. Alone, yet
not alone! If it be to glorify my God, I will not grudge to spend many
nights alone in such a tree, to feel again my Saviour’s spiritual
presence, to enjoy His consoling fellowship. If thus thrown back upon
your own soul, alone, all, all alone, in the midnight, in the bush, in
the very embrace of death itself, have you a Friend that will not fail
you then?
Gladly would I have lingered there for one night of comparative peace!
But, about midnight, Nowar sent his son to call me down from the tree,
and to guide me to the shore where he himself was, as it was now time to
take to sea in the canoe. Pleading for my Lord’s continuing presence, I
had to obey. My life and the lives of my Aneityumese now hung upon a
very slender thread, and was almost equally at risk from our friends
so-called, and from our enemies. Had I been a stranger to Jesus and to
prayer, my reason would verily have given way, but my comfort and joy
sprang up out of these: “I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee; lo,
I am with you alway!” Pleading these promises, I followed my guide. We
reached the beach, just inside the Harbour, at a beautiful white sandy
bay on Nowar’s ground, from which our canoe was to start. A good number
of the Natives had assembled there to see us off. Arkurat, having got a
large roll of calico from me for the loan of his canoe, hid it away, and
then refused the canoe, saying that if he had to escape with his family
he would require it. He demanded, for the loan of his canoe, an axe, a
sail for his canoe, and a pair of blankets. As Karis had the axe and
another had the quilt, I gave the quilt to him for a sail, and the axe
and blankets for the canoe. In fact, these few relics of our earthly all
at Nowar’s were coveted by the savages and endangered our lives, and it
was as well to get rid of them altogether. He cruelly proposed a small
canoe for two; but I had hired the canoe for five, and insisted upon
getting it, as he had been well paid for it. As he only laughed and
mocked us, I prepared to start and travel overland to Mr. Mathieson’s
Station. He then said,—
“My wrath is over! You may take it and go.”
We launched it, but now he refused to let us go till daylight. He had
always been one of my best friends, but now appeared bent on a quarrel,
so I had to exercise much patience with him and them. Having launched
it, he said I had hired the canoe but not the paddles. I protested,—
“Surely you know we hired the paddles too. What could we do without
paddles?”
But Arkurat lay down and pretended to have fallen asleep, snoring on the
sand, and could not be awaked. I appealed to Nowar, who only said—
“That is his conduct, Missi, our conduct!”
I replied, “As he has got the blankets which I saved to keep me from
ague and fever, and I have nothing left now but the clothes I have on,
surely you will give me paddles.”
Nowar gave me one. Returning to the village, friends gave me one each
till I got other three. Now Arkurat started up, and refused to let us
go. A Chief and one of his men, who lived on the other side of the
island near to where we were going, and who was hired by me to go with
us and help in paddling the canoe, drew back also and refused to go.
Again I offered to leave the canoe, and walk overland if possible, when
Faimungo, the Chief who had refused to go with us, came forward and
said,—
“Missi, they are all deceiving you! The sea is so rough, you cannot go
by it; and if you should get round the weather point, Miaki has men
appointed to shoot you as you pass the Black Rocks, while by land all
the paths are guarded by armed men. I tell you the truth, having heard
all their talk. Miaki and Karewick say they hate the Worship, and will
kill you. They killed your goats, and stole all your property yesterday.
Farewell!”
The Teachers, the boy, and I now resolved to enter the canoe and attempt
it, as the only gleam of hope left to us. After Faimungo came, the man
to whom the canoe belonged had withdrawn from us, it having transpired
that Miaki would not attack us that night, as other game had attracted
his savage eyes. My party of five now embarked in our frail canoe;
Abraham first, I next, Matthew after me, the boy at the steering paddle,
and Abraham’s wife sitting in the bottom, where she might hold on while
it continued to float. For a mile or more we got away nicely under the
lee of the island, but when we turned to go south for Mr. Mathieson’s
Station, we met the full force of wind and sea, every wave breaking over
and almost swamping our canoe. The Native lad at the helm paddle stood
up crying,—
“Missi, this is the conduct of the sea! It swallows up all who seek its
help.”
I answered, “We do not seek help from it but from Jehovah Jesus.”
Our danger became very great, as the sea broke over and lashed around
us. My faithful Aneityumese, overcome with terror, threw down their
paddles, and Abraham said,—
“Missi, we are all drowned now! We are food for the sharks. We might as
well be eaten by the Tannese as by fishes; but God will give us life
with Jesus in heaven!”
I seized the paddle nearest me; I ordered Abraham to seize another
within his reach; I enjoined Matthew to bail the canoe for life, and the
lad to keep firm in his seat, and I cried,—
“Stand to your post, and let us return! Abraham, where is now your faith
in Jesus? Remember, He is Ruler on sea as on land. Abraham, pray and ply
your paddle! Keep up stroke for stroke with me, as our lives depend on
it. Our God can protect us. Matthew, bail with all your might. Don’t
look round on the sea and fear. Let us pray to God and ply our paddles,
and He will save us yet!”
Dear old Abraham said,—
“Thank you for that, Missi. I will be strong. I pray to God and ply my
paddle. God will save us!”
With much labour, and amid deadly perils, we got the canoe turned; and
after four hours of a terrible struggle, we succeeded, towards daylight
as the tide turned, in again reaching smooth water. With God’s blessing
we at last reached the shore, exactly where we had left it five hours
ago!
Now drenched and weary, with the skin of our hands sticking to the
paddles, we left the canoe on the reef and waded ashore. Many Natives
were there, and looked sullen and disappointed at our return. Katasian,
the lad who had been with us, instantly fled for his own land; and the
Natives reported that he was murdered soon after. Utterly exhausted, I
lay down on the sand and instantly fell into a deep sleep. By-and-by I
felt some one pulling from under my head the native bag in which I
carried my Bible and the Tannese translations—the all that had been
saved by me from the wreck! Grasping the bag, I sprang to my feet, and
the man ran away. My Teachers had also a hedging knife, a useless
revolver, and a fowling-piece, the sight of which, though they had been
under the salt water for hours, God used to restrain the savages.
Calling my Aneityumese near, we now in united prayer and kneeling on the
sands committed each other unto the Lord God, being prepared for the
last and worst.
As I sat meditating on the issues, Faimungo, the friendly Inland Chief,
again appeared to warn us of our danger, now very greatly increased by
our being driven back from the sea. All Nowar’s men had fled, and were
hid in the bush and in rocks along the shore; while Miaki was holding a
meeting not half a mile away, and preparing to fall upon us. Faimungo
said,—
“Farewell, Missi, I am going home. I don’t wish to see the work and the
murders of this morning.”
He was Nowar’s son-in-law. He had always been truthful and kindly with
me. His home was about half-way across the island, on the road that we
wanted to go, and under sudden impulse I said,—
“Faimungo, will you let us follow you? Will you show us the path? When
the Mission Ship arrives, I will give you three good axes, blankets,
knives, fish-hooks, and many things you prize.”
The late hurricanes had so destroyed and altered the paths, that only
Natives who knew them well could follow them. He trembled much and
said,—
“Missi, you will be killed. Miaki and Karewick will shoot you. I dare
not let you follow. I have only about twenty men, and your following
might endanger us all.”
I urged him to leave at once, and we would follow of our own accord. I
would not ask him to protect us; but if he betrayed us and helped the
enemy to kill us, I assured him that our God would punish him. If he
spared us, he would be rewarded well; and if killed against his wishes,
God would not be angry at him. He said,—
“Seven men are with me now, and thirteen are to follow. I will not now
send for them. They are with Miaki and Nouka. I will go; but if you
follow, you will be killed on the way. You may follow me as far as you
can!”
Off he started to Nowar’s, and got a large load of my stolen property,
blankets, sheets, etc., which had fallen to his lot. He called his seven
men, who had also shared in the plunder, and, to avoid Miaki’s men, they
ran away under a large cocoa-nut grove skirting the shore, calling,—
“Be quick! Follow and keep as near to us as you can.”
Though Nowar had got a box of my rice and appropriated many things from
the plunder of the Mission House besides the goods entrusted to his
care, and got two of my goats killed and cooked for himself and his
people, yet now he would not give a particle of food to my starving
Aneityumese or myself, but hurried us off, saying,—
“I will eat all your rice and keep all that has been left with me in
payment for my lame knee and for my people fighting for you!”
My three Aneityumese and I started after Faimungo and his men. We could
place no confidence in any of them; but, feeling that we were in the
Lord’s hands, it appeared to be our only hope of escaping instant death.
We got away unobserved by the enemies. We met several small parties of
friends in the Harbour, apparently glad to see us trying to get away.
But about four miles on our way, we met a large party of Miaki’s men,
all armed, and watching as outposts. Some were for shooting us, but
others hesitated. Every musket was, however, raised and levelled at me.
Faimungo poised his great spear and said, “No, you shall not kill Missi
to-day. He is with me.” Having made this flourish, he strode off after
his own men, and my Aneityumese followed, leaving me face to face with a
ring of levelled muskets. Sirawia, who was in command of this party, and
who once like Nowar had been my friend, said to me, Judas like, “My love
to you, Missi.” But he also shouted after Faimungo, “Your conduct is bad
in taking the Missi away; leave him to us to be killed!”
I then turned upon him, saying, “Sirawia, I love you all. You must know
that I sought only your good. I gave you medicine and food when you and
your people were sick and dying under measles; I gave you the very
clothing you wear. Am I not your friend? Have we not often drunk tea and
eaten together in my house? Can you stand there and see your friend
shot? If you do, my God will punish you severely.”
He then whispered something to his company which I did not hear; and,
though their muskets were still raised, I saw in their eyes that he had
restrained them. I therefore began gradually to move backwards, still
keeping my eyes fixed on them, till the bush hid them from my view,
whereon I turned and ran after my party, and God kept the enemy from
following. I would like to think that Sirawia only uttered the cruel
words which I heard as a blind to save his own life; for at this time he
was joined to Miaki’s party, his own people having risen against him,
and had to dissemble his friendly feelings towards me. Poor Sirawia!
Well I knew that Miaki would only use him as a tool for selfish
interests, and sacrifice him at last. All this showed how dangers grew
around our path. Still we trusted in Jehovah Jesus, and pressed on in
flight. A second hostile party encountered us, and with great difficulty
we also got away from them. Soon thereafter a friendly company crossed
our path. We learned from them that the enemies had slaughtered other
two of Manuman’s men, and burned several villages with fire. Another
party of the enemy encountered us, and were eager for our lives. But
this time Faimungo withstood them firmly, his men encircled us, and he
said, “I am not afraid now, Missi; I am feeling stronger near my own
land!”
Hurrying still onwards, we came to that village on their high ground
called Aneai, _i.e._, Heaven. The sun was oppressively hot, the path
almost unshaded, and our whole party very exhausted, especially
Faimungo, carrying his load of stolen goods. So here he sat down on the
village dancing ground for a smoke, saying,—
“Missi, I am near my own land now. We can rest with safety.”
In a few minutes, however, he started up, he and his men, in wild
excitement. Over a mountain, behind the village and above it, there came
the shoutings, and anon the tramp, tramp of a multitude making rapidly
towards us. Faimungo got up and planted his back against a tree. I stood
beside him, and the Aneityumese woman and the two men stood near me,
while his men seemed prepared to flee. At full speed a large body of the
tallest and most powerful men that I had seen on Tanna came rushing on
and filled the dancing ground. They were all armed, and flushed with
their success in war. A messenger had informed them of our escape,
probably from Miaki, and they had crossed the country to intercept us.
Faimungo was much afraid, and said,—
“Missi, go on in that path, you and your Aneityumese; and I will follow
when I have had a smoke and a talk with these men.”
I replied, “No, I will stand by your side till you go; and if I am
killed, it will be by your side. I will not leave you.”
He implored us to go on, but that I knew would be certain death. They
began urging one another to kill us, but I looked round them as calmly
as possible, saying, “My Jehovah God will punish you here and hereafter,
if you kill me or any of His servants.”
A killing-stone, thrown by one of the savages, grazed poor old Abraham’s
cheek, and the dear soul gave such a look at me, and then upwards, as if
to say, “Missi, I was nearly away to Jesus.” A club was also raised to
follow the blow of the killing-stone, but God baffled the aim. They
encircled us in a deadly ring, and one kept urging another to strike the
first blow or fire the first shot. My heart rose up to the Lord Jesus; I
saw Him watching all the scene. My peace came back to me like a wave
from God. I realized that I was immortal till my Master’s work with me
was done. The assurance came to me, as if a voice out of Heaven had
spoken, that not a musket would be fired to wound us, not a club prevail
to strike us, not a spear leave the hand in which it was held vibrating
to be thrown, not an arrow leave the bow, or a killing-stone the
fingers, without the permission of Jesus Christ, whose is all power in
Heaven and on Earth. He rules all Nature, animate and inanimate, and
restrains even the savage of the South Seas. In that awful hour I saw
His own words, as if carved in letters of fire upon the clouds of
Heaven: “Seek, and ye shall find. Whatsoever ye shall ask in My name,
that will I do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son.” I could
understand how Stephen and John saw the glorified Saviour as they gazed
up through suffering and persecution to the Heavenly Throne! Yet I never
could say that on such occasions I was entirely without fear. Nay, I
have felt my reason reeling, my sight coming and going, and my knees
smiting together when thus brought close to a violent death, but mostly
under the solemn thought of being ushered into Eternity and appearing
before God. Still, I was never left without hearing that promise in all
its consoling and supporting power coming up through the darkness and
the anguish, “Lo, I am with you alway.” And with Paul I could say, even
in this dread moment and crisis of being, “I am persuaded that neither
death nor life ... nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us
from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
Faimungo and others now urged us to go on in the path. I said,
“Faimungo, why are we to leave you? My God heard your promise not to
betray me. He knows now what is in your heart and in mine. I will not
leave you; and if I am to die, I will die by your side.”
He replied, “Now, I go on before; Missi, keep close to me.”
His men had gone, and I persuaded my Aneityumese to follow them. At
last, with a bound, Faimungo started after them. I followed, keeping as
near him as I could, pleading with Jesus to protect me or to take me
home to Glory. The host of armed men also ran along on each side with
their weapons ready; but leaving everything to Jesus, I ran on as if
they were my escort, or as if I saw them not. If any reader wonders how
they were restrained, much more would I, unless I believed that the same
Hand that restrained the lions from touching Daniel held back these
savages from hurting me! We came to a stream crossing our path. With a
bound all my party cleared it, ran up the bank opposite, and disappeared
in the bush. “Faint yet pursuing,” I also tried the leap, but I struck
the bank and slid back on my hands and knees towards the stream. At this
moment I heard a crash above my head amongst the branches of an
overhanging tree, and I knew that a killing-stone had been thrown, and
that that branch had saved me. Praising my God, I scrambled up on the
other side, and followed the track of my party into the bush. The
savages gazed after me for a little in silence, but no one crossed the
stream; and I saw them separate into two, one portion returning to the
village and another pressing inland. With what gratitude did I recognise
the Invisible One who brought their counsels to confusion!
I found my party resting in the bush, and amazed to see me escaped alive
from men who were thirsting for my blood. Faimungo and his men received
me with demonstrations of joy, perhaps feeling a little ashamed of their
own cowardice. He now ascended the mountain and kept away from the
common path to avoid other Native bands. At every village enemies to the
Worship were ready to shoot us. But I kept close to our guide, knowing
that the fear of shooting him would prevent their shooting at me, as he
was the most influential Chief in all that section of the island.
One party said, “Miaki and Karewick said that Missi made the sickness
and the hurricanes, and we ought to kill him.”
Faimungo replied, “They lie about Missi! It is our own bad conduct that
makes us sick.”
They answered, “We don’t know who makes the sickness; but our fathers
have taught us to kill all foreign men.”
Faimungo, clutching club and spear, exclaimed, standing betwixt them and
us, “You won’t kill Missi to-day!”
In the flight we passed springs and streamlets, but though parched with
sickening thirst, not one of us durst stoop down to drink, as we should
have been almost certainly killed in the act. Faimungo now sent his own
men home by a near path, and guided us himself till we were close upon
the shore. There, sitting down he said,—
“Missi, I have now fulfilled my promise. I am so tired, I am so afraid,
I dare not go farther. My love to you all. Now go on quickly! Three of
my men will go with you to the next rocks. Go quickly! Farewell.”
These men went on a little, and then said, “Missi, we dare not go!
Faimungo is at war with the people of the next land. You must keep
straight along this path.”
So they turned and ran back to their own village.
To us this district was especially perilous. Many years ago the
Aneityumese had joined in a war against the Tannese of this tribe, and
the thirst for revenge yet existed in their hearts, handed down from
sire to son. Besides, Miaki had incited the people here to murder the
Teachers and me if we attempted to escape this way. Most providentially
the men were absent on a war expedition, and we saw only three lads and
a great number of women and children, who ran off to the bush in terror.
In the evening the enraged savages of another district assaulted the
people of the shore villages for allowing us to pass, and, though
sparing their lives, broke in pieces their weapons of war—a very
grievous penalty. In the next district, as we hasted along the shore,
two young men came running after us, poising their quivering spears. I
took the useless revolver out of my little native basket, and raising it
cried,—
“Beware! Lay down your spears at once on the sand, and carry my basket
to the next landing at the black rocks.”
They threw their spears on the sand, lifted the bag, and ran on before
us to the rocks which formed the march betwixt them and their enemies.
Laying it down, they said appealingly, “Missi, let us return to our
home!” And how they did run, fearing the pursuit of their foes.
In the next land we saw none. After that we saw crowds all along, some
friendly, others unfriendly, but they let us pass on, and with the
blessing of Almighty God we drew near to Mr. Mathieson’s Station in
safety. Here a man gave me a cocoa-nut for each of our party, which we
greatly required, having tasted nothing all that day, and very little
for several days before. We were so weak that only the struggle for life
enabled us to keep our feet; yet my poor Aneityumese never complained
and never halted, not even the woman. The danger and excitement kept us
up in the race for life, and by the blessing of God we were now
approaching the Mission House, praising God for His wonderful
deliverances.
Hearing of our coming, Mr. Mathieson came running to meet me. They had
heard of my leaving my own Station, and they thought I was dead! They
were themselves both very weak; their only child had just been laid in
the grave, and they were in great grief and in greater peril. We praised
the Lord for permitting us to meet; we prayed for support, guidance, and
protection; and resolved now, in all events, to stand by each other till
the last.
Before I left the Harbour I wrote and left with Nowar letters to be
given to the Captains of any vessels which called, for the first, and
the next, and the next, telling them of our great danger, that Mr.
Mathieson was almost without food, and that I would reward them
handsomely if they would call at the Station and remove any of us who
might be spared thence to Aneityum. Two or three vessels called, and, as
I afterwards learned, got my letters; but, while buying my stolen
property from the Natives for tobacco, powder, and balls, they took no
further notice of my appeals, and sailed past Mr. Mathieson’s straight
on to Aneityum. “The tender mercies of the wicked are cruel!”
Let me now cull the leading events from my Journal, that intervened
betwixt this date and the final break-up of the Mission on Tanna—at
least for a season—though, blessed be God! I have lived to see the light
rekindled by my dear friends Mr. and Mrs. Watt, and shining more
brightly and hopefully than ever. The candle was quenched, but the
candle-stick was not removed!
On Wednesday, 22nd January, 1862, we heard that other three of Manuman’s
people had been killed and a district burned with fire. Though this poor
man was one of Nowar’s chief friends, yet I heard him say before my
flight, “When so many children are being killed, why do they not send
one for food to me and my family? They are as tender and good as the
young fowls!” A remark like this lets you see deep into the heart of a
Cannibal, and he a sort of half-converted one, if I may use such an
expression; certainly not one of the worst type by any means.
On the 23rd January, Mr. Mathieson sent for Taura, Kati, and Kapuku, his
three principal Chiefs, to induce them to promise protection till a
vessel called to take us away. They appeared friendly, and promised to
do their best. Alas! the promises of the Tannese Chiefs had too often
proved to be vain.
On Friday, 24th January, report reached our Station that Miaki and his
party, hearing that a friendly Chief had concealed two of Manuman’s
young men, compelled him to produce them and club them to death before
their eyes. Also, that they surrounded Manuman’s party on a mountain,
and hemmed them in there, dying of starvation and trying to survive on
the carcases of the dead and on bark and roots. Also, that Miaki had
united all the Chiefs, friends and foes alike, in a bond of blood, to
kill every one pertaining to the whole Mission on Tanna. Jesus rules.
[Illustration: SPRINGING FORWARD HE CAUGHT THE CLUB.]
On Sunday, the 26th January, thirty persons came to worship at the
Mission House. Thereafter, at great risk, we had Worship at three of the
nearest and most friendly villages. Amidst all our perils and trials, we
preached the Gospel to about one hundred and sixteen persons. It was
verily a sowing time of tears; but, despite all that followed, who shall
say that it was vain! Twenty years have passed, and now when I am
writing this, there is a Church of God singing the praises of Jesus in
that very district of Tanna. On leaving the second village, a young lad
affectionately took my hand to lead me to the next village; but a sulky,
down-browed savage, carrying a ponderous club, also insisted upon
accompanying us. I led the way, guided by the lad. Mr. Mathieson got the
man to go before him, while he himself followed, constantly watching.
Coming to a place where another path branched off from ours, I asked
which path we took, and, on turning to the left as instructed by the
lad, the savage getting close behind me, swung his huge club over his
shoulder to strike me on the head. Mr. Mathieson, springing forward,
caught the club from behind with a great cry to me; and I, wheeling
instantly, had hold of the club also, and betwixt us we wrested it out
of his hands. The poor creature, craven at heart however blood-thirsty,
implored us not to kill him. I raised the club threateningly, and caused
him to march in front of us till we reached the next village fence. In
terror lest these Villagers should kill him, he gladly received back his
club, as well as the boy his bow and arrows, and they were lost in the
bush in a moment. At the village from which this man and boy had come,
one savage brought his musket while we were conducting worship, and sat
sullen and scowling at us all the time. Mocking questions were also
shouted at us, such as—“Who made the rains, winds, and hurricanes? Who
caused all the disease? Who killed Mr. Mathieson’s child?” They sneered
and scoffed at our answers, and in this Taura the Chief joined the rest.
They retorted that trading vessels had called at the Harbour, and that
all my clothes and property had been sold for muskets, powder, caps, and
balls, so that Miaki and his men had plenty of ammunition for fighting
purposes now! After this, feeling that no one could be trusted, we
ceased visiting these villages, and refrained from exposing ourselves at
any distance from the Mission House.
On the 27th, at daylight, a vessel was seen in the offing, as if to
tantalize us. The Captain had been at the Harbour, and had received my
letter from Nowar. I hoisted a flag to induce him to send or come on
shore, but he sailed off for Aneityum, bearing the plunder of my poor
Mission House, purchased for ammunition and tobacco from the Natives. He
left the news at Aneityum that I had been driven from my Station some
time ago, and was believed to have been murdered.
On the 29th January, the young Chief Kapuku came and handed to Mr.
Mathieson his own and his father’s war-gods and household idols. They
consisted chiefly of a basket of small and peculiar stones, much worn
and shining with use. He said,—
“While many are trying to kill you and drive the worship of Jehovah from
this island, I give up my gods, and will send away all Heathen idols
from my land.”
On the 31st, we learned that a party of Miaki’s men were going about Mr.
Mathieson’s district inciting the people to kill us. Faimungo also came
to inform us that Miaki was exerting all his artifice to get us and the
Worship destroyed. Manuman even sent, from inland, Raki, his adopted
son, to tell me of the fearful sufferings that he and his people were
now passing through, and that some were killed almost every day. Raki’s
wife was a Chief’s daughter, who, when the war began, returned to her
father’s care. The savages of Miaki went to her own father’s house and
compelled him to give her up as an enemy. She was clubbed and feasted
on.
On Sabbath, 2nd February, thirty-two people attended the morning
service. I addressed them on the Deluge, its causes and lessons. I
showed them a doll, explaining that such carved and painted images could
not hear our prayers or help us in our need, that the living Jehovah God
only could hear and help. They were much interested, and after Worship
carefully examined the doll. Mr. Mathieson and I, committing ourselves
to Jesus, went inland and conducted worship at seven villages, listened
to by in all about one hundred people. Nearly all appeared friendly. The
people of one village had been incited to kill us on our return; but God
guided us to return by another way, and so we escaped.
During the day, on 3rd February, a company of Miaki’s men came to the
Mission House, and forced Mrs. Mathieson to show them through the
premises. Providentially, I had bolted myself that morning into a closet
room, and was engrossed with writing. They went through every room in
the house and did not see me, concluding I had gone inland. They
discharged a musket into our Teacher’s house, but afterwards left
quietly, greatly disappointed at not finding me. My heart still rose in
praise to God for another such deliverance, neither by man nor of man’s
planning!
Worn out with long watching and many fatigues, I lay down that night
early, and fell into a deep sleep. About ten o’clock the savages again
surrounded the Mission House. My faithful dog Clutha, clinging still to
me amid the wreck of all else on Earth, sprang quietly upon me, pulled
at my clothes, and awoke me, showing danger in her eye glancing on me
through the shadows. I silently awoke Mr. and Mrs. Mathieson, who had
also fallen asleep. We committed ourselves in hushed prayer to God and
watched them, knowing that they could not see us. Immediately a glare of
light fell into the room! Men passed with flaming torches; and first
they set fire to the Church all round, and then to a reed fence
connecting the Church and the dwelling-house. In a few minutes the
house, too, would be in flames, and armed savages waiting to kill us on
attempting an escape! Taking my harmless revolver in the left hand and a
little American tomahawk in the right, I pled with Mr. Mathieson to let
me out and instantly again to lock the door on himself and wife. He very
reluctantly did so, holding me back and saying,—
“Stop here and let us die together! You will never return!”
I said, “Be quick! Leave that to God. In a few minutes our house will be
in flames, and then nothing can save us.”
He did let me out, and locked the door again quickly from the inside;
and, while his wife and he prayed and watched for me from within, I ran
to the burning reed fence, cut it from top to bottom, and tore it up and
threw it back into the flames, so that the fire could not by it be
carried to our dwelling-house. I saw on the ground shadows, as if
something were falling around me, and started back. Seven or eight
savages had surrounded me, and raised their great clubs in air. I heard
a shout—“Kill him! kill him!” One savage tried to seize hold of me, but,
leaping from his clutch, I drew the revolver from my pocket and levelled
it as for use, my heart going up in prayer to my God. I said,—
“Dare to strike me, and my Jehovah God will punish you! He protects us,
and will punish you for burning His Church, for hatred to His Worship
and people, and for all your bad conduct. We love you all; and for doing
you good only you want to kill us. But our God is here now to protect us
and to punish you.”
They yelled in rage, and urged each other to strike the first blow, but
the Invisible One restrained them. I stood invulnerable beneath His
invisible shield, and succeeded in rolling back the tide of flame from
our dwelling-house.
At this dread moment occurred an incident, which my readers may explain
as they like, but which I trace directly to the interposition of my God.
A rushing and roaring sound came from the South, like the noise of a
mighty engine or of muttering thunder. Every head was instinctively
turned in that direction, and they knew, from previous hard experience,
that it was one of their awful tornadoes of wind and rain. Now, mark,
the wind bore the flames away from our dwelling-house, and had it come
in the opposite direction, no power on Earth could have saved us from
being all consumed! It made the work of destroying the Church only that
of a few minutes; but it brought with it a heavy and murky cloud, which
poured out a perfect torrent of tropical rain. Now, mark again, the
flames of the burning Church were thereby cut off from extending to and
seizing upon the reeds and the bush; and, besides, it had become almost
impossible now to set fire to our dwelling-house. The stars in their
courses were fighting against Sisera! The mighty roaring of the wind,
the black cloud pouring down unceasing torrents, and the whole
surroundings, awed those savages into silence. Some began to withdraw
from the scene, all lowered their weapons of war, and several,
terror-struck, exclaimed,—
“That is Jehovah’s rain! Truly their Jehovah God is fighting for them
and helping them. Let us away!”
A panic seized upon them; they threw away their remaining torches; in a
few moments they had all disappeared in the bush; and I was left alone,
praising God for His marvellous works. “O taste and see that God is
good! Blessed is the man that trusteth in Him!”
Returning to the door of the Mission House, I cried,—
“Open and let me in. I am now all alone.”
Mr. Mathieson let me in, and exclaimed,—
“If ever, in time of need, God sent help and protection to His servants
in answer to prayer, He has done so to-night! Blessed be His holy name!”
In fear and in joy we united our praises. Truly our Jesus has all power,
not less in the elements of Nature than in the savage hearts of the
Tannese. Precious Jesus! Does He not chide us, saying,—“Hitherto ye have
asked nothing in My Name. Ask and ye shall receive, that your joy may be
full!”? How much help, blessing, and joy we lose every day, because we
do not take all to Jesus as we ought! Often since have I wept over His
love and mercy in that deliverance, and prayed that every moment of my
remaining life may be consecrated to the service of my precious Friend
and Saviour!
All through the remainder of that night I lay wide awake keeping watch,
my noble little dog lying near me with ears alert. Early in the morning
friends came weeping around us. Our enemies were loudly rejoicing. It
had been finally resolved to kill us at once, to plunder our house and
then to burn it. The noise of the shouting was distinctly heard as they
neared the Mission premises, and our weeping, friendly Natives looked
terror-struck, and seemed anxious to flee for the bush. But just when
the excitement rose to the highest pitch, we heard, or dreamed that we
heard, a cry higher still, “Sail O!” We were by this time beginning to
distrust almost our very senses; but again and again that cry came
rolling up from the shore, and was repeated from crowd to crowd all
along the beach, “Sail O! Sail O!” The shouts of those approaching us
gradually ceased, and the whole multitude seemed to have melted away
from our view. I feared some cruel deception, and at first peered out
very cautiously to spy the land. But yonder in very truth a vessel had
sailed into the bay. It was the _Blue Bell_, Captain Hastings. I set
fire to the reeds on the side of the hill to attract his attention. I
put a black shawl as a flag on one end of the Mission House and a white
sheet on the other.
This was one of the vessels that had been to Port Resolution, and had
sailed past to Aneityum some time ago. I afterwards saw the mate and
some of the men wearing my shirts, which they had bought from the
Tannese on their former visit. At the earnest request of Doctors Geddie
and Inglis, Mr. Underwood, the owner, had sent Captain Hastings to Tanna
to rescue us if yet alive. For this purpose he had brought twenty armed
men from Aneityum, who came on shore in two boats in charge of the mate,
the notorious Ross Lewin. He returned to the ship with a boat-load of
Mr. Mathieson’s things, leaving ten of the Natives to help us to pack
more and carry them down to the beach, especially what the Missionary
thought most valuable.
The two boats were now loaded and ready to start. It was about two
o’clock in the afternoon, when a strange and painful trial befell us.
Poor dear Mr. Mathieson, apparently unhinged, locked himself all alone
into what had been his study, telling Mrs. Mathieson and me to go, for
he had resolved to remain and die on Tanna. We tried to show him the
inconsistency of praying to God to protect us or grant us means of
escape, and then refuse to accept a rescue sent to us in our last
extremity. We argued that it was surely better to live and work for
Jesus than to die as a self-made martyr, who, in God’s sight, was guilty
of self-murder. His wife wept aloud and pled with him, but all in vain!
He refused to leave or to unlock his door. I then said,—
“It is now getting dark. Your wife must go with the vessel, but I will
not leave you alone. I shall send a note explaining why I am forced to
remain; and as it is certain that we shall be murdered whenever the
vessel leaves, I tell you God will charge you with the guilt of our
murder.”
At this he relented, unlocked the door, and accompanied us to the boats,
in which we all immediately left.
Meantime, having lost several hours, the vessel had drifted leeward;
darkness suddenly settled upon us, and when we were out at sea we lost
sight of her and she of us. After drifting about for some hours in a
heavy sea and unable to find her, those in charge of the boats came near
for consultation, and, if possible, to save the lives of all. We advised
that they should steer for Port Resolution by the flame of the Volcano—a
never-failing light-house, seen fifty miles away—and there await the
vessel. The boats were to keep within hearing of each other by constant
calling; but this was soon lost to the ear, though on arriving in the
bay we found they had got to anchor before us. There we sat in the boats
and waited for the coming day. As the light appeared, we anchored as far
out as possible, beyond the reach of musket shots; and there without
water or food we sat under a tropical sun till mid-day came, and still
there was no sign of the vessel. The mate at last put all the passengers
and the poorest seamen into one boat and left her to swing at anchor;
while, with a strong crew in the other, he started off in search of the
vessel.
In the afternoon, Nowar and Miaki came off in a canoe to visit us. Nowar
had on a shirt, but Miaki was naked and frowning. He urged me to go and
see the Mission House, but as we had seen a body of men near it I
refused to go. Miaki declared that everything remained as I had left it,
but we knew that he lied. Old Abraham and a party had slipped on shore
in a canoe, and had found the windows smashed and everything gone except
my books, which were scattered about and torn in pieces. The armed men
there wanted to kill the Aneityumese, but others said, “Not till we get
Missi killed too!” They learned that Miaki had sold everything that he
could sell to the Traders. The mate and men of the _Blue Bell_ had on my
very clothes. They boasted that they had bought them for a few figs of
tobacco and for powder, caps, and balls. But they would not return a
single shirt to me, though I was without a change! We had all been
without food in the boat since the morning before, so Nowar brought us
off a cocoa-nut each, and two very small roasted yams for the ladies.
Those, however, only seemed to make our thirst the more severe, and we
spent a trying day in that boat under a burning sun. Miaki said,—
“As our fathers did not destroy Missi Turner’s house, we will not
destroy yours.”
But after a time, failing to persuade me to accompany him and fall into
a trap, he muttered,—
“We have taken everything your house contained, and would take you too
if we could; for we hate the Worship, it causes all our diseases and
deaths; it goes against our customs, and it condemns the things we
delight in.”
Nowar informed me that only a few nights before this, Miaki and his
followers went inland to a village where last year they had killed ten
men. Having secretly placed a savage at the door of every house, at a
given signal they yelled, and when the terrified inmates tried to escape
they killed almost every man, woman, and child. Some fled into the bush,
others rushed to the shore. A number of men got into a canoe to escape,
but hearing women and children crying after them they returned, and
taking those they could with them they killed the rest lest they should
fall alive into Miaki’s hands. These are surely “they who through fear
of death are all their lifetime subject to bondage.” The Chief and
nearly his whole village were cut off in one night! Not an uncommon
thing in those Islands, where war becomes chronic, and the thirst for
blood becomes insatiable. The dark places of the Earth are “full of the
habitations of horrid cruelty.” To have actually lived amongst the
Heathen and seen their life gives a man a new appreciation of the power
and blessings of the Gospel, even where its influence is only very
imperfectly allowed to guide and restrain the passions of men. Oh, what
will it be when all men in all nations love and serve the glorious
Redeemer!
This Miaki and his followers were a scourge and terror to the whole
island of Tanna. They intensely hated Nowar, because he would not join
in their cruelties. Yet he and Manuman and Sirawia and Faimungo
continued to survive long after war and death had swept all the others
away. The first three lived to be very old men, and to the last they
made a profession of being Christians, though their knowledge was very
limited and their inconsistencies very grave and very numerous. Happy is
it for us that we are not the judges, for souls either of the white or
the dark skin, as to how many and grievous things may be forgiven, and
whether there be or be not that spark of love, that grain of faith which
the Lord the Pitiful will graciously accept and increase![1]
Footnote 1:
See Appendix A. “The Prayer of the Tannese,” etc.
About five o’clock in the evening the vessel hove in sight. Before dark
we were all safely on board, and were sailing for Aneityum. Though both
Mr. and Mrs. Mathieson had become very weak, they stood the voyage
wonderfully. Next day we were all safely landed. We had offered Captain
Hastings £20 to take us to Aneityum, but he declined any fare. However,
we divided it amongst the mate and crew, for they had every one shown
great kindness to us on the voyage. After arriving on Aneityum, Mrs.
Mathieson gradually sank under consumption, and fell asleep in Jesus on
11th March, 1862, in the full assurance of a glorious resurrection, and
was interred there. Mr. Mathieson, becoming more and more depressed
after her death, went over to Mr. Creagh’s Station, on Maré, and there
died on 14th June, 1862, still trusting in Jesus, and assured that he
would soon be with Him in Glory. Never more earnest or more faithful
souls entered the Mission field, but they both suffered from weakness
and ill-health during all their time on Tanna, and had frequently to
seek change by removal for a short period from the island. Their memory
is very fragrant to me as fellow-labourers in the Gospel of Jesus.
After their death, I was the only one left alive in all the New Hebrides
Mission north of Aneityum to tell the story of those pioneer years,
during which were sown the seeds of what is now fast becoming a glorious
harvest. Twenty-five years ago, all these dear brethren and sisters who
were associated with me in the work of the Mission were called home to
Glory, to cast their crowns at the feet of Jesus and enjoy the bliss of
the redeemed, while I am privileged still to toil and pray for the
salvation of the poor Islanders, and plead the cause of the Mission both
in the Colonies and at home, in which work the Lord has graciously given
me undreamt-of success. My constant desire and prayer are that I may be
spared to see at least one Missionary on every island of the group, to
unfold the riches of redeeming love and to lead the poor Islanders to
Jesus for salvation.
What could be taken in three boats was saved out of the wreck of Mr.
Mathieson’s property; but my earthly all perished, except the Bible and
the translations into Tannese. Along with the goods pertaining to the
Mission, the property which I had to leave behind would be undervalued
at £600, besides the value of the Mission House, etc. Often since have I
thought that the Lord stripped me thus bare of all these interests, that
I might with undistracted mind devote my entire energy to the special
work soon to be carved out for me, and of which at this moment neither I
nor any one had ever dreamed. At any rate, the loss of my little earthly
all, though doubtless costing me several pangs, was not an abiding
sorrow like that which sprang from the thought that the Lord’s work was
broken up at both Stations, and that the Gospel was for the time driven
from Tanna.
In the darkest moment, I never doubted that ultimately the victory
there, as elsewhere, would be on the side of Jesus, believing that the
whole Earth would yet be filled with the glory of the Lord. But I
sometimes sorely feared that I might never live to see or hear of that
happy day! By the goodness of the Ever-merciful One I have lived to see
and hear of a Gospel Church on Tanna, and to read about my dear
fellow-Missionaries, Mr. and Mrs. Watt, celebrating the Holy Supper to a
Native Congregation of Tannese, amid the very scenes and people where
the seeds of faith and hope were planted not only in tears, but tears of
blood,—“in deaths oft.”
My own intention was to remain on Aneityum, go on with my work of
translating the Gospels, and watch the earliest opportunity, as God
opened up my way, to return to Tanna. I had, however, got very weak and
thin; my health was undoubtedly much shaken by the continued trials and
dangers through which we had passed; and therefore, as Dr. and Mrs.
Inglis were at home carrying the New Testament through the press in the
language of Aneityum, and as Tanna was closed for a season, Dr. Geddie,
the Rev. Joseph Copeland, and Mr. Mathieson all urged me to go to
Australia by a vessel then in the Harbour and leaving in a few days. My
commission was to awaken an interest among the Presbyterian Churches of
our Colonies in this New Hebrides Mission which lay at their doors, up
till this time sustained by Scotland and Nova Scotia alone. And further,
and very specially, to raise money there, if possible, to purchase a new
Mission Ship for the work of God in the New Hebrides,—a clamant
necessity, which would save all future Missionaries some of the more
terrible of the privations and risks of which a few examples have in
these pages already been recorded.
After much prayerful deliberation with my brethren and with my own heart
before God, I somewhat reluctantly felt constrained to undertake the
task. If my story was to be the means of providing more Missionaries for
the Islands, and of providing a commodious Ship for the service of the
Mission alone, to keep open their communications with the outer world
and with Christian influences, not to speak of carrying their provisions
at fixed periods, or rescuing them when in troubles and perils from the
jaws of death, I was not unwilling to tell it again and again, if the
Lord would open up my path. God knows my heart, and any one who really
knows me will easily admit, that no selfish or egotistical motive has
influenced me in reciting through all the Australasian Colonies, New
Zealand, Scotland, and latterly in many parts of England and Ireland,
the incidents of my career and experience, first of all on Tanna, and
thereafter for nearly twenty years—as the Second Part of my biography
will relate—on the neighbouring island of Aniwa; an island entirely
given to me by the Lord, the whole population of which became Christian;
and they and their race will be my crown of joy and rejoicing in the day
of the Lord Jesus.
With regrets, and yet with unquenchable hope for these Islands, I
embarked for Australia, having received the solemn promise of my
brethren, that in entering upon this great effort I was to be left
absolutely free of all control, and empowered to carry out the work as
God might seem to guide me, and open up my way. I had only spoken to one
man in Sydney; all the doors to influence had therefore to be unlocked,
and I had no helper, no leader, but the Spirit of my Lord. The Second
Part of this Autobiography, should God spare me to write it, will record
His marvellous goodness in using my humble voice and pen and the story
of my life for interesting thousands and tens of thousands in the work
of Missions, and especially for binding together the children of the
Sabbath Schools of Australasia in a Holy League of help to the New
Hebrides, which has already borne precious fruit to His glory, and will
continue to do so for ages to come.
Oftentimes, while passing through the perils and defeats of my first
years in the Mission field on Tanna, I wondered, and perhaps the reader
hereof has wondered, why God permitted such things. But on looking back
now, I already clearly perceive, and the reader of my future pages will,
I think, perceive, that the Lord was thereby preparing me for doing, and
providing me materials wherewith to accomplish the best work of all my
life—the kindling of the heart of Australian Presbyterianism with a
living affection for these Islanders of their own Southern Seas—the
binding of all their children into a happy league of shareholders, first
in one Mission Ship, and finally in a larger and more commodious
Steam-Auxiliary, and, last of all, in being the instrument under God of
sending out Missionary after Missionary to the New Hebrides, to claim
another island and still another for Jesus. That work, and all that may
spring from it in time and Eternity, never could have been accomplished
by me, but for first the sufferings and then the story of my Tanna
enterprise!
Some unsophisticated souls who read these pages will be astonished to
learn, but others who know more of the heartless selfishness of human
creatures, will be quite prepared to hear, that my leaving Tanna was not
a little criticized, and a great deal of nonsense was written, even in
Church Magazines, about the breaking up of the Mission. All such
criticism came, of course, from men who were themselves destitute of
sympathy, and who, probably, never endured one pang for Jesus in all
their comfortable lives. Conscious that I had, to the last inch of life,
tried to do my duty, I left all results in the hands of my only Lord,
and all criticisms to His unerring judgment. Hard things also were
occasionally spoken to my face. One dear friend, for instance, said,—
“You should not have left. You should have stood at the post of duty
till you fell. It would have been to your honour, and better for the
cause of the Mission, had you been killed at the post of duty like the
Gordons and others.”
I replied,—“I regard it as a greater honour to live and to work for
Jesus, than to be a self-made martyr. God knows that I did not refuse to
die; for I stood at the post of duty, amid difficulty and danger, till
all hope had fled, till everything I had was lost, and till God, in
answer to prayer, sent a means of escape. I left with a clear
conscience, knowing that in doing so I was following God’s leading, and
serving the Mission too. To have remained longer would have been to
incur the guilt of self-murder in the sight of God.”
Never for one moment have I had occasion to regret the step then taken.
The Lord has so used me, during the five-and-twenty years that have
passed over me since my farewell to Tanna, as to stamp the event with
His own most gracious approval. Oh, to see a Missionary, and Christian
Teachers, planted on every island of the New Hebrides! For this I
labour, and wait, and pray. To help on the fulfilment thereof is the
sacred work of my life, under God. When I see it accomplished, or in a
fair way of being so, through the organization that will provide the
money and call forth the men, I can lay down my head as peacefully and
gratefully as ever warrior did, with the shout of victory in his
ears,—“Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace!”
* * * * *
For the present, my pen is here laid aside. I shall wait to see what use
the Lord makes of Part First of my autobiography, before I prosecute the
theme. If the Christian public seems not to find in it the help and
quickening that some friends think it likely to bestow on those who
read, the remainder need not be written. Part Second, if called for,
will contain a record, in many respects, an utter contrast to all that
has gone before, and yet directly springing therefrom, as will be seen
by all who look beneath the surface. I am penning these words in 1887,
and five-and-twenty years lie betwixt this date and my farewell to
Tanna. These years, if ever published, will tell the story of my
visiting all the Colonial Churches, and collecting the purchase money of
our white-winged Mission Ship, the _Dayspring_; my return to Scotland,
visiting all the home congregations in 1864, and securing several new
Missionaries to follow me to the New Hebrides; my second marriage, and
settlement on Aniwa, with her whom the good Lord still spares to me, the
mother of our happy family, and my God-given helpmeet in all the work of
the Gospel; the conversion of that whole island of Aniwa from idolatry,
and the planting there of a Church and Congregation of Christ, from
which have since gone forth many Native Evangelists and Teachers. Then
there will fall to be recorded my call from the Islands in recent years
to revisit all the Colonial Presbyterian Congregations once again,
telling them the story of the Conversion of Aniwa—the sinking of the
well, and other incidents, which turned an entire people from idols and
from cannibalism to the service of the living and true God—whereby the
Churches, and especially the children, were led more and more to make
the New Hebrides their own very harvest field in the Heathen world. And
finally, I will have to tell how I was again sent home to Scotland in
1884 to raise money for the purchase or building of a steam-auxiliary
Mission Ship, now urgently required in the interests of the Mission,
both because of the great increase in the number of the Missionaries and
the necessities of so many families; and also and chiefly to avert the
dreadful disappointments and loss of time, and thereby sometimes of life
itself, caused by the frequent becalming of our little _Dayspring_ in
these thickly-islanded seas. That part of the story will show the fruits
of the education and perils and experiences of a lifetime, in the
marvellous impression produced by the simple and unadorned recital of
the story of Tanna and Aniwa, amongst the Christian people of Scotland,
Ireland, and England. Multitudes were blessed in almost every town where
a meeting was granted me. Three Missionaries devoted themselves to the
New Hebrides, and are already labouring there; while others consecrated
themselves to several of the great seats of Foreign Mission enterprise
in Africa and Asia. I returned to my own Church of Victoria with a sum
of nearly £9,000, of which £6,000 was for the new Missionary
Steam-Auxiliary, and the remainder for the outfit and support of more
Missionaries for the Islands; and that money I handed over to the
Australian Church, where it awaits, at interest in the bank, the
arrangements being made by all the Colonies to take each their due share
in the future up-keep of the Ship. For this—for everything—for all,
praise be to the Lord! I never asked one subscription, except in prayer
and in my public appeals. The Lord sent in all freely to me through the
hands of His people; to Him be all the glory. I went back to Aniwa, and
found the work of the Lord going forward there as if in a regularly
settled Congregation at home, fostered and guided by an occasional visit
of my ever dear and genuine friends, Mr. and Mrs. Watt, from old
stern-hearted but at last relenting Tanna. The Church of Victoria has
again summoned me to visit the Colonial Congregations, to tell the story
of my Mission life, and to promote the interests of its now grand and
growing Foreign Scheme. It is in the midst of such labours, while
addressing at least one meeting every day, and three or four every
Sabbath day, that I have penned the preceding pages; and I leave them to
speak for themselves, without any attempt at ornament or style. The Lord
whom I serve in the Gospel knows my motive and my hope, and I very
calmly leave this book to His disposal, and the succeeding volume to His
guidance, if such there shall ever be—as the reader well knows I have
had to leave heavier and darker issues in the same blessed Hands. I
offer every one, who has done me the favour to read or to listen, my
kindly greeting. May you and I meet in the glory of Jesus, and continue
our fellowship there! Good-bye.
_APPENDIX._
APPENDIX A.
(_See p. 354._)
THE PRAYER OF THE TANNESE, WHO LOVE THE WORD OF JEHOVAH, TO THE GREAT
CHIEF OF SYDNEY.
[_Written at the urgent request and dictation of the Missionary’s
friends on Tanna to be presented to the Governor of New South Wales.
Literally translated by me, John G. Paton._]
To the Chief of Sydney, the servant of Queen Victoria of Britannia,
saying—We great men of Tanna dwell in a dark land. Our people are very
dark hearted. They know nothing good.
Missi Paton the man, Missi Mathieson the man, and Missi Mathieson the
woman, have dwelt here four yams (= years) to teach us the worship of
Jehovah. Their conduct has been straight and very good; therefore we
love these three Missionaries, and the worship of Jehovah which they
three have taught us, the Tannese.
Alas! a part, as it were, only three of our Chiefs, whose names are
Nauka, Miaki, and Karewick, besides Ringian, Enukarupi, Attica, and
Namaka, they and their people hate the worship and all good conduct like
that which the Word of Jehovah teaches us and the people of all lands.
These men all belong to four Villages only. They have stolen all Missi’s
property; they have broken into his house. They have cut down his
bananas. They have scolded and persecuted him; and they desire to kill
Missi and to eat him, so that they may destroy the Worship of God from
the land of Tanna.
We hate exceedingly their bad conduct, and pray you, the Great Chief of
Sydney, to punish these dark Tannese, who have persecuted Missi, who
have deceived Missi, who have altogether deceived the Great Chief (=
Commodore Seymour) and the Chief (= Captain Hume) of the men-of-war, and
who deceived the Chief and the Missionaries in the _John Williams_, who
murdered one of Missi Paton’s Aneityum Teachers, who fought Missi Turner
and Missi Nisbet, who killed Vasa and his Samoan people, who killed the
foreigners, who have now fought and driven away our three Missionaries.
Their conduct has been exceedingly bad. They destroy the Kingdom of
Tanna, kill the people and eat them, and are guilty of bad conduct every
day. Our hearts hate their bad conduct; we are pained by it.
Therefore we earnestly pray you, the Chief of Sydney, to send quickly a
man-of-war to punish them, and to revenge all their bad conduct towards
Missi. Then truly we will rejoice; then it will be good and safe for the
three Missionaries to dwell here, and to teach us, men of the devil. Our
hearts are very dark; we know nothing; we are just like pigs. Therefore
it is good for Missi to teach us the Word and the Worship of Jehovah the
Great King. Long ago He was unknown here. Missi brought His knowledge to
us.
Our love to you, the Great Chief of Sydney, the servant of Queen
Victoria, and we earnestly pray you to protect us, and to protect our
Missionaries and the Worship of God in our land, the land of Tanna. We
weep for our Missionaries. They three gave us medicine in our sickness,
and clothing for our bodies; taught us what is good conduct, and taught
us the way to Heaven. Of all these things long ago we had no knowledge
whatever; therefore we weep, and our hearts cling to these three, our
Missionaries. If they three are not here, who will teach us the way to
Heaven? Who will prevent our bad conduct? Who will protect us from the
bad conduct of foreigners? And who will love us, and teach us all good
things?
Oh, compassionate us, Chief of Sydney! Hold fast these three, our
Missionaries, and give them back to us, and we will love you and your
people. You and your people know the Word of Jehovah; you are going on
the path to Heaven; you all love the Word of Jehovah. Oh, look in mercy
on us, dark-hearted men, going to the bad land, to the great eternal
fire, just like our fathers who are dead!
May Jehovah make your heart and the hearts of your people sweet towards
us, to compassionate us, and to look in mercy on our dark land; and we
will pray Jehovah to make you good, and give you a rich reward.
The names of us, the Chiefs of Tanna, who worship towards Jehovah:—
Yarisi, x his mark.
Ruawa, x his mark.
Kapuka, x his mark.
Taura, x his mark.
Faimungo, x his mark.
Manuman, x his mark.
Nuara, x his mark.
Nebusak, x his mark.
Kaua, x his mark.
Nowar, x his mark.
APPENDIX B.
NOTES ON THE NEW HEBRIDES
_By the Editor._
The SOUTH SEAS—so named by Vasco Nugnez de Balboa, who in 1513 first saw
the Ocean on the other side of Darien, and marched into it as far as he
durst, waving his sword, and taking possession of it in name of his
master, the King of Spain.
The PACIFIC OCEAN—so named by Ferdinand Magellan, who in 1521 sailed
westwards in his _Victory_ seven thousand miles, and found the sea
exceptionally _peaceful_—for that trip at least.
The NEW HEBRIDES—so named by Captain Cook, who in 1773 first fully
explored and described the whole of the group. As far back, however, as
1606, Captain Pedro Fernandez de Quiros had landed on the largest and
most northerly island of the group. He at once fancied it to be the
great _Southern_ Continent, deemed to be essential to balance the great
Continents of the North, and eagerly looked for both by sailors and men
of science. He named the bay, _Vera Cruz_,—the river that flowed into
it, _Jordan_,—and the city which he founded there, _New Jerusalem_. The
land itself he called by the preposterous designation of _Tierra
Australis del Espiritu Santo_. In 1768 a French explorer, Bougainville,
sailed round _Santo_, discovering that it was but an island, and through
the _Straits_ that still bear his name; whereon, finding many islands
all around, he re-baptized them _L’Archipel des Grandes Cyclades_. But
Cook, being the first who sailed in and out amongst all the group, and
put on record the most faithful descriptions and details, which to this
hour remain generally authoritative, considered himself entitled to name
them the _New Hebrides_; and history since has been well pleased to
adopt his views, seeing, doubtless, the geographical analogy betwixt the
multitudinous scattered isles and islets of the _old_ Hebrides and those
of the _new_.
From Santo in the north to Aneityum in the south, a distance of about
400 miles, there are scattered over the Ocean thirty islands, twenty
being well inhabited, and eleven of them being of considerable size,
from Aneityum, which is forty miles in circumference, to Santo, which
measures seventy miles by forty. The Islands lie 1,000 miles to the
North of New Zealand, 1,400 miles North-East from Sydney, 400 miles West
of Fiji, and 200 East of New Caledonia. The population is now estimated
at 70,000; but, in the early days of Missions, before Traders and
Kanaka-collectors, and the new Epidemics of Civilization (!) had
decimated them, their numbers were certainly three times greater.
The general appearance of the Islands is that of a range of mountains
bursting up out of the sea, clothed with forests, and severed from each
other by deep valleys, through which the tides now flow. They are all
volcanic in origin, but the lava has poured itself out over a bed of
coral, and the mountains have reared themselves up on a coral base. The
fires are still active on Tanna, Ambrym, and Polevi—the volcano on Tanna
being now, as in the days of Cook, a pillar of cloud by day and of fire
by night, a far-shining light-house for the sailor, kindled by the
finger of God Himself. The climate is moist and humid, with a
thermometer seldom below 60° and seldom above 90° in the shade; their
winter is called the Rainy Season, and their vegetation is tropical in
its luxuriance.
On one Island may be found a hundred varieties of ferns alone. The
damara or kauri-pine, so prized in New Zealand, grows there, as also the
bread-fruit tree, the banana, the papua-apple, the chestnut, and above
all the cocoa-nut, which for refreshing drink competes with the vine of
other lands, and for varied uses and services to man almost rivals the
very palmtree of Palestine. The sandal-wood, for its sacred odours and
idol incense, has been almost swept entirely away,—as much as £70,000
worth being carried off from Erromanga alone!
Among native foods, the yam and the taro hold the foremost place, not
inferior to our finest potatoes; besides the banana, the sugar-cane, the
bread-fruit, and the cocoa-nut, which flourish to perfection. Their
arrowroot is in some respects the finest in the world, and is kept only
for special uses as yet, but may develop into a great and valuable
industry, as Commerce opens up her markets and stretches out her hands.
The English cabbage has been introduced and grows well; also the
planting of cotton and of coffee.
The scarcity of animals is marvellous. The pig, the dog, and the rat are
their only four-footed creatures; and some affirm that the rat is the
alone indigenous quadruped in all the New Hebrides! Lizards and snakes
abound, but are declared not to be poisonous. There are many small and
beautiful pigeons, also wild ducks and turkeys, besides multitudes of
ordinary fowls. Goats have now been largely introduced, as well as
sheep, and various European animals. Fish, of course, swarm in millions
around the shores, and a whaling station on Aneityum sent into the
market £2,000 worth of oil in a year.
The Natives are practically quite naked, till induced by the Missionary
to “wear a shirt”—the first sign of renouncing Heathenism and inclining
towards Christianity. They are Cannibals of a very pronounced type, and
Savages without any traces of civilization, except those connected with
war(!),—without a literature, and almost without a religion, except only
the dread of evil spirits, the worship of ancestors, and the lowest
forms of fetishism, trees, stones, etc. They are partly Malay and partly
Papuan,—a mixture of Ham and of Shem,—some with hair crisp and woolly,
stuck full of feathers and shells, others with hair long and wavy,
twisted into as many as 700 separate whipcords on a single head, and
taking five years to finish the job! Their bows and arrows, tomahawks,
clubs and spears, are sometimes elaborately carved and adorned; and they
can twist and weave grasses and fibres into wondrously beautiful mats,
bags, and girdles. They make bracelets out of shells, sliced and carved
in marvellous ways, as also ear-rings and nose-rings; and in many
similar methods they show some savage sense of beauty.
Polygamy, with all its accompanying cruelties and degradations,
universally prevails. Infanticide is systematically practised; and even
the despatch of parents, when they grow old and helpless. Widows are put
to death on almost every island to bear their husbands company into the
spirit world. There is not an unmentionable vice hinted at in Romans i.
which is not unblushingly practised on those Islands, wheresoever the
Gospel has not dawned.
* * * * *
For the best published information on all these subjects, consult the
work by Dr. John Inglis: “IN THE NEW HEBRIDES” (Nelson & Sons,
1887),—Reminiscences of noble Missionary Service for three-and-thirty
years.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
A SELECTION FROM
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY’S
CATALOGUE
Important Missionary Publications.
=AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF JOHN G. PATON.= Missionary to the New Hebrides.
Introductory note by Arthur T. Pierson, D.D. 2 vols., 12mo., portrait
and map, in neat box, net $2.00.
One of the most remarkable biographies of modern times.
“I have just laid down the most robust and the most fascinating
piece of autobiography that I have met with in many a day.... It is
the story of the wonderful work wrought by John G. Paton, the famous
missionary to the New Hebrides; he was made of the same stuff with
Livingstone.”—_T. L. Cuyler._
“It stands with such books as those Dr. Livingstone gave the world,
and shows to men that the heroes of the cross are not merely to be
sought in past ages.”—_Christian Intelligencer._
=THE LIFE OF JOHN KENNETH MACKENZIE.= Medical Missionary to China; with
the story of the First Chinese Hospital by Mrs. Bryson, author of
“Child Life in Chinese Homes,” etc. 12mo., cloth, 400 pages, price
$1.50 with portrait in photogravure.
“The story of a singularly beautiful life, sympathetically and ably
written.... A really helpful, elevating book.”—_London Missionary
Chronicle._
“The volume records much that is fresh and interesting bearing on
Chinese customs and manners as seen and vividly described by a
missionary who had ample opportunities of studying them under most
varied circumstances and conditions.”—_Scotsman._
=THE GREATEST WORK IN THE WORLD.= The Evangelization of all Peoples in the
Present Century. By Rev. Arthur T. Pierson, D.D. 12mo., leatherette,
gilt top. 35c.
The subject itself is an inspiration, but this latest production of
Dr. Pierson thrills with the life which the Master Himself has
imparted to it. It will be a welcome addition to Missionary
literature.
=THE CRISIS OF MISSIONS.= By Rev. Arthur T. Pierson, D.D. Cloth, $1.25;
paper, 35c.
“We do not hesitate to say that this book is the most purposeful,
earnest and intelligent review of the mission work and field which
has ever been given to the Church.”—_Christian Statesman._
=MEDICAL MISSIONS.= Their Place and Power. By John Lowe, F. R. C. S. E.,
Secretary of the Edinburgh Medical Mission Society. 12mo., 308 pages,
cloth, $1.50.
“This book contains an exhaustive account of the benefits that may,
and in point of fact do, accrue from the use of the medical art as a
Christian agency. Mr. Lowe is eminently qualified to instruct us in
this matter, having himself been so long engaged in the same
field.”—_From Introduction by Sir William Muir._
=ONCE HINDU: NOW CHRISTIAN.= The early life of Baba Padmanji. Translated
from the Marathi. Edited by J. Murray Mitchell, M. A., LLD. 12mo., 155
pages, with appendix. Cloth, 75c.
“A more instructive or more interesting narrative of a human soul,
once held firmly in the grip of oriental superstition, idolatry and
caste, gradually emerging into the light, liberty and peace of a
regenerate child of God, does not often come to hand.”—_Missionary
Herald._
=AN INTENSE LIFE.= By George F. Herrick. A sketch of the life and work of
Rev. Andrew T. Pratt, M.D., Missionary of the A. B. C. F. M., in
Turkey, 1852–1872. 16mo., cloth, 50c.
=EVERY-DAY LIFE IN SOUTH INDIA=, or, the Story of Coopooswamey. An
Autobiography. With fine engravings by E. Whymper. 12mo., cloth,
$1.00.
=THE CHILDREN OF INDIA=. Written for children by one of their friends.
Illustrations and map. Small 4to., cloth, $1.25.
“These are good books for the Sunday-School Library, and will help
young people in missionary societies who desire to have an
intelligent idea of the people in India whom they are sending their
money and their missionaries to convert.”—_Missionary Herald._
=HINDUISM, PAST AND PRESENT.= With an account of recent Hindu reformers,
and a brief comparison between Hinduism and Christianity. By J. Murray
Mitchell, M.A., LLD. 12mo., cloth, $1.60.
“A praiseworthy attempt to present a popular view of a vast and
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=GOSPEL ETHNOLOGY.= With illustrations. By S. R. Paterson, F. G. S. 12mo.,
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“The first attempt to treat this subject from a thorough-going
scientific standpoint. A very powerful argument for the truth of
Christianity.”—_English Churchman._
“A book to refer to for information not easily to be obtained
otherwise.”—_Church Missionary Intelligencer._
=NATIVE LIFE IN SOUTH INDIA.= Being sketches of the social and religious
characteristics of the Hindus. By the Rev. Henry Rice. With many
illustrations from native sketches. 12mo., cloth boards, $1.00.
“Those who have heard Mr. Rice’s missionary addresses will be
prepared to hear that this is a fascinating book.”—_Life and Work._
=CHRISTIAN PROGRESS IN CHINA.= Gleanings from the writings and speaches of
many workers. By Arnold Foster, B.A., London Missionary, Hankow. With
map of China. 12mo., cloth, $1.00.
=AMONG THE MONGOLS.= By Rev. James Gilmour, M.A., London Mission, Peking.
Numerous engravings from photographs and native sketches. 12mo., gilt
edges, cloth, $1.25.
“The newness and value of the book consists solely in its Defoe
quality, that when you have read it you know, and will never forget,
all Mr. Gilmour knows and tells of how Mongols live.”—_Spectator._
=EVERY-DAY LIFE IN CHINA=, or, Scenes along River and Road in the
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sketches. 12mo., with embellished cover, $2.00.
That China is a mysterious problem to all who interest themselves in
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• MISSIONARY PUBLICATIONS •
=REPORT OF THE CENTENARY CONFERENCE on the Protestant Missions of the
World.= Held in London, June, 1888. Edited by the Rev. JAMES JOHNSTON,
F. S. S., Secretary of the Conference. Two large 8vo. vols., 1200
pages, $2.00 net per set.
An important feature in this report, lack of which has prejudiced
many against reports in general, is the special care taken by the
Editor, who has succeeded in making the work an interesting and
accurate reproduction of the most important accumulation of facts
from the Mission Fields of the World, as given by the
representatives of all the Evangelical Societies of Christendom.
And another: The exceptionally complete and helpful indexing of the
entire work in such a thorough manner as to make it of the greatest
value as a Reference Encyclopedia on mission topics for years to
come.
=THE MISSIONARY YEAR BOOK FOR 1889–90.= Containing Historical and
Statistical accounts of the Principle Protestant Missionary Societies
in America, Great Britain and the Continent of Europe.
The American edition, edited by Rev. J. T. GRACEY, D.D., of Buffalo,
embraces about 450 pages, one-fourth being devoted to the work of
American Societies, and will contain Maps of India, China, Japan,
Burmah, and Siam; also a language Map of India and comparative
diagrams illustrating areas, population and progress of Mission
work. This compilation will be the best presentation of the work of
the American Societies in Pagan Lands that has yet been given to the
public. The book is strongly recommended by Rev. JAS. JOHNSTON,
F.S.S., as a companion volume to the Report of the Century
Conference on Missions. Cloth, 12mo. $1.25.
=GARENGANZE: or, Seven Years’ Pioneer Missionary Work in Central Africa.=
By FRED. S. ARNOT, with introduction by Rev. A. T. PIERSON, D.D.
Twenty Illustrations and an original Map.
The author’s two trips across Africa, entirely unarmed and
unattended except by the local and constantly changing carriers, and
in such marked contrast with many modern adventurers, strongly
impress one to ask if another Livingstone has not appeared among us.
Traversing where no white man had ever been seen before, and meeting
kings and chiefs accustomed only to absolute power, he demanded and
received attention in the name of his God. Cloth 8vo, 290 pages,
$1.25.
=IN THE FAR EAST: China Illustrated. Letters from Geraldine Guinness.=
Edited by her sister, with Introduction by Rev. J. HUDSON TAYLOR. A
characteristic Chinese cover. Cloth 4to, 224 pages, $1.50.
CONTENTS.
“Good-Bye!”
Second Class.
On the Way to China.
Hong-Kong and Shanghai.
First days in the Flowery Land.
Opium Suicides amongst Women.
Ten Days on a Chinese Canal.
At Home in our Chinese “Haddon Hall.”
By Wheelbarrow to Antong.
Life on a Chinese Farm.
A Visit to the “Shun” City.
Blessing—and Need of Blessing—In the Far East.
Rev. C. H. SPURGEON, writes:
“I have greatly enjoyed ‘In the Far East.’ God blessing it, the book
should send armies of believers to invade the Flowry Land.”
The author is to be congratulated for the taste and beauty with
which these letters are now put into permanent form. A full page
colored map of China enhances this admirable gift book.
NEW YORK. :: Fleming H. Revell Company :: CHICAGO.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in
spelling.
2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
4. Enclosed bold font in =equals=.
5. Denoted superscripts by a caret before a single superscript
character, e.g. M^r.
*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "John G. Paton, Missionary to the New Hebrides: first part : An autobiography" ***