The Story of John G. Paton: Thirty Years Among Cannibals | Christian Audiobook

The story of John G. Payton: Thirty Years Among South Sea Cannibals. As the 100th anniversary of John G. Payton's birth occurs on the 24th of May, 1924, it has been deemed desirable that a new edition of his life, brought up to date, should be published. The necessity for curtailing the size of the book has rendered imperative the omission of some parts of the story, but those portions only have been omitted or curtailed that relate to the worldwide travels of the missionary, undertaken in the interests of the New Hebrides Mission. The rest is left, as far as possible, just as it came from the hands of his brilliant brother, James, so as not to dim the luster of a book that has become a missionary classic. Nothing has been added except a brief account of the missionary's later years and of his passing to his great reward. For full details as to the missionary's work and life, the complete edition must still, of course, be referred to.

Chapter One: Our Cottage Home. My early days were all spent in the beautiful County of Dumfries, which Scotch folks call the Queen of the South. There, in a small cottage on the farm of Braehead, in the Parish of Kirkmaho, I was born on the 24th of May, 1824. My father, James Payton, 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 son's 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. On my visit to Scotland in 1884, I drove out to Braehead, but we found no cottage, nor trace of a cottage, and amused ourselves by supposing that we could discover, by the rising of the grassy mound, the outline where the foundations once had been.

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 from Dumfries, on the road to Lockerbie. At that time, say 1830, Torthorwald was a busy and thriving village, and comparatively populous, with its cottars and crafters, large farmers and small farmers, weavers and shoemakers, doggers and coopers, blacksmiths and tailors. Fifty-five years later, when I visited the scenes of my youth, the village proper was extinct, except for five thatched cottages where the lingering patriarchs were permitted to die slowly away. Soon they too would be swept into the large farms, and their garden plots plowed over, like 60 or 70 others that had been blotted out.

From the bank hill, close above our village and accessible in a walk of 15 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. 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 veil 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 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.

There, amid this wholesome and breezy village life, our dear parents found their home for the long period of 40 years. To them, two were born; 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 that cottage 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 (Scottish 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 open wattles was laid across these till within 11 or 12 feet of the ground, and from the ground upwards a stone wall was raised as perpendicular as was found practicable towards these overhang wattles. This wall being roughly pointed with sand and clay and lime. Now, into and upon the roof was woven and intertwined a covering of thatch that defied all winds and weathers, and that made the cottage marvelously 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 of 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 open 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 butt 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 parlor, 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-colored 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 Howick 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 newborn 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?"

Chapter Two: Our Forebears. 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 Payton, had passed through a roving and romantic career before he settled down to be a 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 offense. 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 escape 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 around their quiet fireside, and that again was seasoned by the warm evangelical spirit of his covenanting wife, her lips dropping grace.

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 reivers 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 cheery 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 Langhorne, 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 tools 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 butt and ben as the mistress of the blacksmith's castle. 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 old age found for her 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 had last wept by her grave stood amidst many sons and daughters, her son, the Reverend James J. Rogerson, clergyman of the Church of England, who for many years thereafter, until quite recently, was spared to occupy a distinguished position at ancient Shrewsbury, and has left behind him there an honored and beloved name.

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 43 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 dolce winter neighborhood, "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 Payton, 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 Gospels on which he could say by heart 60 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, kneeled 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 nearby, 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 cord in her heart—that cord 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 someone 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, though 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.

We—Jen, I'm 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 virtually bestowed, and the trust was never regretted on either side, and never betrayed. Often and often, in the genial and beautiful hours of the autumn tide of their long life, have I heard my dear father tease Jen about her maidenly intentions in the stealing of that bonnet, and often have heard her quick mother-wit in the happy retort that had his motives for coming to that retreat been all together 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 someday with the daughter of Eve.

Chapter Three: Consecrated Parents. Somewhere in or about his 17th 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 is now called 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. Besides this, 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 sympathizing 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, to argue, spiritual toils. And so began, in his 17th year, that blessed custom of family prayer, morning and evening, which my father practiced, probably without one single avoidable omission, till he lay on his deathbed, 77 years of age. Whenever, 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.

Our place of worship was the Reformed Presbyterian Church at Dumfries, under the ministry, during most of these days, of Reverend John McDermott, 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 and suspended their mutual love. Dumfries was four miles fully from our Torthorwald home, but the tradition is that during all these 40 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 Ruckhan Bray on his hands and knees after having descended it so far with many falls; and once by the terrible outbreak of cholera at Dumfries.

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 favorite minister at Dumfries, and when these God-fearing peasants foregathered 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. We had two 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 Savior. 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. Everyone 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 has 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 task-work, or worse, hypocritical and false, results must be very different indeed. Oh, I can remember those happy Sabbath evenings! No blinds down 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. Others must write and say what they will and as they feel, but so must I. There were 11 of us brought up in a home like that, and never one of the 11, boy or girl, man or woman, has been heard or ever will be heard saying that Sabbath was dull and worrisome 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.

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 favorite in all religious circles, far and near, within the neighborhood. 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 12 years or so of his life, he became, by appointment, a sort of rural missionary for the four nearest parishes and spent his autumn in literally sowing the good seed of the Kingdom as a colporteur of the Tract and Book Society of Scotland. 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, our beloved mother, died in 1865, and he himself in 1868, having reached his 77th 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 Four: School Days. 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, in 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 country, so that Torthorwald, under his regime, 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 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. When still under 12 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 10 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.

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 Howick and would return next evening with money and supplies, but meantime the meal barrel ran low, and our dear mother, too proud and too sensitive to let anyone 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 11, 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 marvelously blessed of God, and was not less marvelously 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 today.

I saved as much at my trade as enabled me to go for 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 poured 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 at 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're dismissed on the spot!" I answered, "I'm extremely sorry if you do so, but to bind myself for seven years would probably frustrate the purpose of my life, and though I'm 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.

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 Lam Fair at Lockerbie, and for the first time in my life took a fee for the harvest. On arriving at the field, when sharing and mowing began, the farmer asked me to bind a sheaf. When I had done so, he seized 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 male harvesters were told off to sleep in a large hayloft, 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. And offer, oh, how gratefully accepted! A beautiful new study 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'd 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.

Chapter Five: Leaving the Old Home. 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 even 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 list, 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 40 miles, had to be done on foot, and thence to Glasgow by rail. Railways in those days were as yet few, and coach traveling was far beyond my purse. A small bundle contained my Bible and all my personal belongings. Thus was I launched upon the ocean of life. I thought on one who says, "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 but 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 of 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, gazing after me. Waving my hat in a deer, I was round the corner and out of sight in an instant, but my heart was too full and sore to carry me. Father, so I darted into the side of the road and wept for a time. Then, rising up cautiously, I climbed the dike to see if he yet stood where I had left him, and just at that moment I caught a glimpse of him climbing the dike 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, set 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 dishonor 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 dike, the climbing up on it, and then walking away head uncovered, have often all through life risen vividly before my mind, and do so now while I am writing, as if it had been about 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.

Chapter Six: Early Struggles. 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 favor 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 between 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 had 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 forbade 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 honored 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. Renting a house, I began to teach a small school at Girvan, 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'd been disappointed in attempting to secure 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 dishonor them or my own 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 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 as if for doing a guilty thing. I imagined that the people were watching me like one 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: "Teacher wanted, Mary Hill 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, return to Glasgow, paid my landlady's lodging score, tore up that 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, "He used 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 18 in the day school and 20 in the night school. The clerk of the mill, a good young fellow, came to the evening classes, avowedly to learn bookkeeping, 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. 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 anyone at his peril to interfere betwixt us. It was a rough struggle; he's 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 wish 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 your 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, father than I, yet I would be his friend and helper if he was willing to be friendly with me, the same as if this knight had never been. That these words, a dead silence fell on the school; everyone buried faith diligently in book, and the evening closed in uncommon quiet and order. The attendance grew till the school became crowded both during the day and at night. During the midday 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 10 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 took advantage of the large 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 offered to take and see to Hall if I would remain, but I knew too well that I had neither education nor experience to compete with an accomplished teacher. Their children, however, got up a testimonial and subscription, 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 devoted 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 Savior, yet feeling keenly that intense darkness had again enclosed my path.

Chapter 7: A City Missionary

Before undertaking the Mary Hill school, I had applied to be taken on as an agent in the Glasgow City Mission. The night before I had to leave Maryhill, I received a letter from Reverend Thomas Kayer, 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 as to 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 report 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 favorable that they had unanimously resolved to receive me at once as one of their City missionaries. 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 this sphere of service.

"Man proposes, God disposes." 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 10, 16, or 20 years, and said they had never been called upon 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.

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 ground floor of a house kindly granted for the purpose by a poor and industrious but ill-used Irish woman. 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, was 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 meetings and urged them to become abstainers. His wife became a center 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.

By and by, meetings and classes 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 abstinent society, and in addition to the usual meetings, we opened two prayer meetings, especially for the Carlton 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 of 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 hayloft, 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. At that very time, however, a commodious block of buildings that had been church, schools, manse, etc., came into the market. My great-hearted friend, the late Thomas Binney, persuaded Dr. Simington's congregation to purchase the whole property. Its situation at the foot of Green Street gave it a control of the 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 sometimes even food by the ladies of the congregation.

Availing myself of the increased facilities, my work was all reorganized. 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 70 to 100 of the very poorest young women and grown-up lads of the whole district. They had nothing to put on except their ordinary workday 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.

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 mission. 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. A constant textbook was "Patterson on the Shorter Catechism" (Nelson and Sons), 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 felt 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 practicing 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.

I would add my testimony also against the use of tobacco, which injures and leads many astray, especially lads and young men, 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 our Lord Jesus should, in self-denial, however small, and in 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.

Chapter 8: Glasgow Experiences

On one occasion, it became known that we had arranged for a special Saturday afternoon Temperance demonstration. A deputation of publicans complained beforehand to the captain of the police that our meetings were interfering with their legitimate trade. 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 sympathizers 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 sergeant himself taking his post close by the platform once 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 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. An infidel, whose wife was a Roman Catholic, became unwell and gradually sank under great suffering and agony. His blasphemies against God were known and shuddered at by all the neighbors. 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. I mentioned the name of Jesus. "The natural receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God: for they are foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned." There is a wisdom which is at best earthly, and at worst sensual and devilish. I visited the poor man daily, but his enmity to God and his sufferings together seemed to drive him mad. Towards the end, I pleaded 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, "Tess, 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, skillful, 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 draft of prussic acid; at another, they detected the silver half-did Lancet concealed in the band of his shirt, as he lay down to bleed himself to death. His aunt came and pleaded 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 John 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; 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 took up gently 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, we'll do you 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 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 a delightful conversation, he promised to go with me to Dr. Simmington'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 youthful Christian life. He now sleeps in Jesus, and I do believe 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. 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. 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 child 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 quiver of his dying voice sing out, "I lay my sins on Jesus, the spotless Lamb of God." Shortly before his disease, he said to his parents, "I'm 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'm 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 a vision of Jesus.

Chapter 9: A Foreign Missionary

Happy in my work as I felt through these 10 years, 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 Reverend John Inglis in his grand work on 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 Heathens so gently 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 scrutineers 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 mere human 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. 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. I know 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, Joseph Copeland, who had chumed 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 am also resolved to go." "Will you write the convener to that effect, or let me do so?" "You may," he replied. 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. At a meeting of the Foreign 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 12 months, we were placed under a 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 lead me to God's disposal. From other quarters, we were besieged with the strongest opposition on all sides. Even Dr. Simington, 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. To his arguments, 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 marvelously 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 honor, 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. Dixon, you're 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 honoring 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 pleaded 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. But 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 always.'" 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 is from them lost all its power. On meeting, however, 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 firstborn, 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 forever 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 at all. On the contrary, it was my pride and joy to help them, being the eldest in a family of eleven, though I hear most gladly and gratefully record that all my brothers and sisters, as they grew up and began to earn a living, took their full share in this same blessed privilege, for we stuck to each other and to the old folks like burrs and had all things in common as a family in Christ, and I knew that never again, howsoever long they might be spared through the peaceful autumn of life, with 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, imparting from them probably forever in this world at least.

Chapter 10: To the New Hebrides

On the 1st of December 1857, being then in my 33rd year, 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. On the 23d March 1858, in Dr. Simington's Church, Glasgow, in the 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 of April of the same year, we left the quay of the bank at Greenock and set sail in the "Klutha" 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 both the crew and the passengers at times and places approved of by the captain, in which there was great joy.

Arriving at Melbourne, we were welcomed by Reverend Mr. Moore, Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Wilson, and Mr. Wright, all Reformed Presbyterians from Geelong. Mr. Wilson's two children, Jesse 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 "Klutha" 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 50 boxes for £100. We got on board on the 12th of August, but such a gale blew that we did not sail till the 17th. On the "Klutha," 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 12 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 pulled across to see what we wanted, and by it, we sent a note to Dr. Getty, one of the missionaries there. Early next morning, Monday, he arrived in his boat, accompanied by Mr. Matheson, 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 50 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. Getty, Mr. Matheson, Mrs. Payton, and I were perched among the boxes on the "John Knox" and had to hold on as best we could. On shearing off from the "F.P. Sage," one of her davits caught and broke the main mast 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. Matheson, but he was not hurt. The "John Knox," already overloaded, was thus quite disabled. We were about 10 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 in the direction of Tanna, an island of cannibals, where our goods would have been plundered and all of us cooked and eaten.

Dr. Getty'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 around to the harbor 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 a tropical sun, we were all safely landed on shore at Aneityum about six o'clock in the evening of the 30th of August, just four months and 14 days since we sailed from Greenock. We got a hearty welcome from the missionaries' wives, Mrs. Getty, Mrs. Inglis, and Mrs. Matheson, 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. Payton, 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. Matheson from Nova Scotia were located on the south side of Tana at Umara-raka, and Mrs. Payton 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 weekly state of Mrs. Matheson's health, it was afterwards resolved that for a time at least, Mr. Copeland should live at either station as seemed most suitable or most requisite. Dr. Inglis and a number of his most energetic natives accompanied us to Umara-raka, Tana. 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. Matheson. Thence we proceeded to Port Resolution, Tana, and similarly purchased a site and advanced to a forward stage the house which Mrs. Payton 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 sugarcane 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.

Chapter 11: First Impressions of Heathendom

My first impressions drove me, I must confess, 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 Doctors Getty and Inglis in so shorter time, and we hoped by prayerful perseverance in the use of similar means to see the same work of God repeated on Tana. Besides, the wonderful and blessed work done by Mrs. Inglis and Mrs. Getty 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 Tana. Mrs. Payton 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 Tana, during which period Mr. and Mrs. Matheson were also being instructed by Dr. and Mrs. Getty.

To the Tanis, Dr. Inglis and I were objects of curiosity and fear. They came crowding to gaze on our wooden and lime-plastered house; they chatted 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 Aneityum teachers were told to assure us that the harbor 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 harbor 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 color 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 sugarcane 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 trouble, as times, and why not the Mission House on Tana? 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 pleaded 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 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 next morning, the boy could not be found. After a while of great anxiety on our part, he returned, saying, "Missy, 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 water; they have bathed there, polluting everything. I cannot get pure 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 away the pollution, and that meanwhile, instead of tea, we would drink from the coconut, as they had often done before. The lad was quite relieved. It did not a little astonish 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 Garden of Salvation from all these sins through Jesus Christ.

Chapter 12: Breaking Ground on Tana

Our small missionary schooner, 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 Tana. The captain kindly offered to take us and about 30 casks and boxes to Port Resolution for £5, which we gladly accepted. After a few hours' sailing, we were all safely

landed on Tanner on the 5th of November 1858. Dr. Getty went for a fortnight to Umarara, now known as Quamera, on the south side of Tana, to assist in the settlement of Mr. and Mrs. Matheson and to help in making their house habitable and comfortable. Mr. Copeland, Mrs. Payton, 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, 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, "I concluded that he was asking, 'What is this?'" Instantly lifting a piece of wood, I said, "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 men approaching. When one, who was a stranger, pointed to me with his finger and said, "Angin," concluding that he was asking my name, I pointed to one of them with my finger and, looking at the other, inquired. 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 Hebridians 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 interesting helpers and most trustworthy were two aged chiefs, Noah and Nuka, 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 Miyaki, a kind of devil king over many villages and tribes.

The Tanis 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, receive presents regularly to influence the gods and to remove sickness or to cause it by the nahak, a ye 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 worship 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.

But these very facts—that they did worship something, 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 ideal of Jehovah God as the great, uncreated Spirit Father, who himself created and sustains all that is. It could not, however, be done offhand or by a few airy lessons; the whole heart and soul and life had to be put into the enterprise, 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 Anatium, and our hearts rose to the task with quenchless hope.

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Chapter 13. Pioneers in the New Hebrides.

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. Alas, 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 Mrs. Turner and Nisbet to pierce this kingdom of Satan. They placed their standard on our chosen island of Tana, 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 wailing 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.

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 the more wholesome 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 Reverend John Getty and his wife from Nova Scotia were landed on Aneityum, the most southerly island of the New Hebrides, in 1848, and the Reverend 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 Reverend T. Powell, accompanied Dr. Getty for about a year to advise as to his settlement and to assist in opening up the work. Marvelous 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. Getty saw about 3,500 savages throwing away their idols, renouncing their heathen customs, and devoting themselves to be worshippers of the true Jehovah God. Slowly yet progressively, they unlearned their heathenism; surely and hopefully, they learned Christianity and civilization.

When these missionaries came to this island, there were no Christians there; when they left it, there were no heathens. Further, these poor Aneityums, having glimpses of the 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 15 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 15 years. Let those who lightly esteem their Bibles think on those things: eight shillings for every leaf, or the labor and proceeds of 15 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.

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Chapter 14. The Great Bereavement.

My first house on Tana 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. Matheson, handy for materials as goods being landed, and as we imagined, 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 hotbeds 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 about 200 feet high, which gave the site a feeling of coziness. It was surrounded and much shaded by beautiful breadfruit trees and very large coconut trees, two largely beautiful indeed, for they shut out many a healthy breeze that we sorely needed. There was a long swamp at 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, "Missy, if you stay here, you will soon die. No Tana man 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 had once resolved to remove my house to higher ground at the earliest practicable moment, heavy though the undertaking would necessarily be; it seemed our only hope of being able to live on the island. Alas, for one of us, it was already too late.

My dear young wife, Marianne Robson, landed with me on Tana on the 5th of November 1858, in excellent health and full of all tender and holy hopes. On the 12th of February 1859, God sent to us our firstborn 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; on the third day or so thereafter, it returned and attacked her every second day with increasing severity. For a fortnight, diarrhea ensued, and symptoms of pneumonia, with slight delirium at intervals, and then, in a moment altogether unexpectedly, she died on the 3rd of March. To crown my sorrows and complete my loneliness, the dear baby boy, whom we had named after her father, Peter Robert Robson, was taken from me after one week's sickness on the 20th of 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. 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 labor to which the Lord had himself so evidently led me, my reason seemed for a time almost to give way. Ague and fever too, later, 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. Although it broke my heart, I had to take the principal share in all of those last jobs myself. 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 labored on for the salvation of these savage islanders amidst difficulties, dangers, and deaths. Whensoever Tana 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.

Dr. Inglis, my brother missionary on Aneityum, wrote to the Reformed Presbyterian 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 sympathize 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. Payton 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 Tana, 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."

Soon after her death, the good Bishop Selwyn called at Port Resolution, Tana, in his mission ship. He came on shore to visit me, accompanied by the Reverend Joe Patterson. They had met Mrs. Payton 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 Patterson, afterward the martyr Bishop of Kakupu, sobbing silently on the other, the godly Bishop Selwyn poured out his heart to God amid 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 labors.

Sorrow and love constrained me to linger over her last words. She cried, "Oh, that my dear mother were here! She is a good woman, my mother, a jewel of a woman." Then, observing Mr. Copeland nearby, 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 forever with the Lord." My heart keeps saying or singing to itself from that hour till now. It was very 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.

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Chapter 15. At Home with Cannibals.

In the first letter sent jointly by Mr. Copeland and myself from Tana to the church at home, the following statements occur: "We found the Tanis 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 sandalwood traders are, as a class, the most godless of men, whose cruelty and wickedness make us a shame to own them as our countrymen. By them, the poor, defenseless 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 dispatch 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 Tana."

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 the Aneityum's 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 offense. They then divided the few breadfruit and coconut 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 defensive, 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 things for payment which 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 dishonor 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, Nuka, the high chief, and Miyaki, the war chief, his nephew, came to inform us that two powerful chiefs had openly declared in that assembly that if the harbor 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 chiefs and us. The friendly chief 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 pretense; they themselves, being sacred men, professed to have the power of sending or withholding rain, and tried to fix the blame of their discomforture 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 Tana. Alas, on the other hand, 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.

The natives of Tana 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 beside our houses, and several around the harbor. 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 Tani's 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 Nuka 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 Tana, woman is the downtrodden 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. Neighbors 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 skillfully with the bow, 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, enslaved 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.

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Chapter 16. Superstitions and Cruelties.

About the time of my dear wife's death, our brother missionary, Mr. Mathiason, 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 Aneityum teachers, who had gone round to Mr. Mathiason's station, took ill and died there, and this rekindled all their prejudices. He, poor fellow, before death said, "I shall not again return to Port Resolution or see my dear Missy, 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 his death and of Mr. Mathiason'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 believe that a Bushman must have got hold of a portion of something we'd 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: "Karapanaman, the Aramanu or great evil spirit of Tana, 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.

An old chief of the highest rank from Aneityum, who spoke Tana and was much respected by the natives all around the south side of Tana, came on a visit to our island. After returning home, he became very ill and died in a few days. The deluded Tanis, 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. Now, what's brother was sent from Aneityum to talk to the Tanis and conciliate them, but unfortunately, he could not speak the language well, and the Aneityum's 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 Tanis 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, they went 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. The inhabitants for miles around united in seeking our destruction, but God put it into even savage hearts to save us. Old Nova, the chief under whom we lived, and the chief next under him, Akarat, set themselves to rescue us, along with Manuman and Saravia. 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 Aneityum 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 Nova 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 override 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 Missy must first kill me! The men that killed 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 favored 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 defenseless company had spent it in anxious prayers and tears, and our hearts overflowed with gratitude to the Savior who rescued us from the lion's jaws.

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 pleaded with all who were in power to unite and put down these shocking and disgraceful customs. At length, 10 chiefs entered into an agreement not to allow any more beating of wives or strangling of widows and to forbid all common labor on the Lord's Day. But alas, except for purposes of war or other wickedness, the influence of the chief Santana 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 Tana's women could not understand kindness.

For the sake of teaching by example, my Aneityum teachers and I used to go a mile or two inland on the principal pathway along with the teachers' wives and their 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 Tana 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 labors out of doors. Our habits and practices had thus, as much to do, perhaps more than all our appeals, in leading them to glimpses of the life to which the Lord Jesus was calling them.

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Chapter 17. Streaks of Dawn Amidst Deeds of Darkness.

Another warburst that caused immense consternation passed over with only two or three deaths, and I succeeded in obtaining the consent of 20 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 downtrodden and swept away by the savages around about.

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 off and saying to me, "I would be a Christian were it not all the rest would laugh at me." That I could not stand, like Felix of old. He was 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 Tanis, and my friend Noah, 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 Savior. Confessedly, however, it was uphill, weary, and trying work. For one thing, these Tanis 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.

Their skill in stealing on the sly was phenomenal. If an article fell or was seen on the floor, a Tana man 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 definitely 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 bedclothes 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, Miyaki, who with his war companions had been watching as unobserved, came rushing to me, breathless and alone, crying, "Missy, 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, "Missy, Missy, come quick! Miyaki's men are stealing your sheets and blankets!" I ran at once, but all were gone into the bush, and then my sheets and blankets. Miyaki 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 fellas and compel them to return your clothes?"

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, where 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 bedclothes in the rainy season, we had a house nearby 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 anyone that would bring back my kettle. Miyaki 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 the kettle minus lid, realizing how life itself may depend on so small a luxury.

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Chapter 18. The Visit of HMS Cordelia.

One morning, the Chinese, rushing towards me in great excitement, cried, "Missy, Missy, 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, a 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're stealing my property or threatening my life, or how you are using me." They pleaded 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, "Missy, 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, "Missy, 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, Missy, 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, "Missy, Miss y, Miss, 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, missy, for it is on the other side of the island. But tell him not, I have sent for it, and it will be here tomorrow."

"I answered, 'I'm glad you have brought back so much. And now, if you three chiefs, Naoka, Miyaki, and Noir, 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 HMS Cordelia, Captain Vernon, steamed into our lovely harbor, the commander, having heard rumor of my dangers on Tana, 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 attendance made a grand and imposing show.

On seeing Captain Vernon's boat nearing the shore, and the men glittering in gold lace and arms, Miyaki, 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 Tana, Miyaki returned with the short red coat on, buttoned tightly around his otherwise naked body, and surmounted by his ugly painted face and long whip cords 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 nearby. To my eyes, oh how charming a glimpse of home life! When Miyaki 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 a character is this?"

I replied, "This is Miyaki, our great Warchief," 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 Miyaki's vocabulary, so he looked on and grinned complacently.

At last, he said, "Missy, 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 among such savages, but as my main difficulties were connected with my spiritual work amongst them, rousing up their cruel prejudices, I did not see 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 dispatched 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, 20 chiefs were seated with him in my house. He very kindly spent about an hour giving them wise councils 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 armory, 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, splashing into the water, the terror of the natives visibly increased. But when he sent a large ball crashing through a coconut grove, breaking the trees like straws and cutting its way clear and swift, they were quite dumbfounded 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.

Chapter 19

Noble Old Abraham

Fever and ague had now attacked me 14 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 Tani's chief, "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.

They rose behind my present site, a hill about 200 feet high, 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 Anita, Yumi's 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, Nephatu, lifted me and carried me to the top of the hill. There they laid me on coconut 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 coconut 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 Tanis 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 coconut leaf screen while preparing my new bedroom.

But for these faithful souls, the Anita, Yumi's 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 Tana, 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 skepticism 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, poured from the converted cannibal's eye.

Chapter 20

A Typical South Sea Trader

The prejudices and persecutions of heathens were a sore enough trial, but sorrier 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 neighboring 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 after 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 to which we can sink when the misery and the ruin of many are thought to be more than atoned for by the wealth and prosperity of a few who trade in their doom.

Miyaki, the Warchief, had a young brother, Rarip by name, about 18 years of age. When this war began, he came to live with me at the Mission House. After it had raged some time, Miyaki forced him to join the fighting men, but he escaped through the bush and returned to me, saying, "Missy, I hate this fighting; it is not good to kill men. I will live with you again."

The Warchief 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 Miyaki.

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 hastening thither, I found him quite dead and the center 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 the 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 Tanis 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. Miyaki 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 mere 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 defense, but having no faith in their 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 center 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 unfaintedly 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 onto them by the recital of their father's deeds of blood.

Chapter 21

Under Ax and Musket

About this time, our Sabbath audiences at the mission numbered 40 or so. Nowhere 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.

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." Grasping hold of their leader, I held him fast till he promised never to kill anyone 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 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. 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 ax, but a Kasirumini 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 scepter 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 hair-breadth 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 Savior, 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 Saint Paul when he cried, "I can do all things through Christ which strengthened me."

It is the sober truth, and it comes back to me sweetly after 20 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 leveled at my life. Oh, the bliss of living and enduring, of 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 harbor 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 Anitium's teacher heard of it, and God helped us to frustrate their designs. When they knew 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.

Chapter 22

A Native Saint and Martyr

Namweh, one of my Anitium's 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 18 to 20 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, "Missy, Missy, quick and escape for your life! They are coming to kill you. They say they must kill us all today, and they have begun with me, for they hate Jehovah and the worship."

I hasten 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 Tanis 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 harbor chiefs should unitedly punish him who had abused the teacher, and this to test them, for he had only carried out their own wishes. Nowhere accepted, and perhaps one or two others, they made a pretense 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, per lava, 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, "Missy, 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 Tanis 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 midday in a dying condition.

On seeing him, I ran to meet him, but he fell near the teacher's house, saying, "Missy, 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 Jesus' sake." He was constantly praying for his persecutors, "Oh, Lord Jesus, forgive them, for they know not what they are doing. Oh, take not away all Thy servants from Tana; take not away Thy worship from this dark island. O God, bring all the Tanis 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. God, 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 the missionaries whom God had honored in bringing him to Jesus. May they have many like Namuri for their crown of joy and rejoicing in the great day.

Chapter 23

Building and Printing for God

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 50 feet long by 21 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 ironwood and sugarcane 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 veranda and to carry the raindrops free beyond the walls. It was made of sugarcane leaf and coconut leaves. All around, the floor was laid with white coral broken small and covered with coconut 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 an itium price: 50 pairs of trousers for natives, and these again were the gift of my Bible class in Glasgow, all cut and sewed by their own hands. I gave also 130 yards of cloth, along with other things, for other needful wood. As we were preparing a foundation for the church, a huge and singular-looking round stone was dug up, at sight of which the Tanis stood aghast. The eldest chief said, "Missy, that stone was either brought there by Karapanaman, the evil spirit, or hid there by our great chief who is dead. That is the stone God 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' tortoise. 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 Tana, 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 Tanis. Thomas Binney, John Abroad, 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 Tanis, I got my printing 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 like 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 Tani's 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 Tana.

Yet dangers darkened round me. One day, while toiling away at my house, the Warchief and 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 leveled 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 reason for trusting Him with all that concerned me for time and eternity.

Chapter 24

Heathen Dance and Sham Fight

The chief Noah Nukamara, usually known as Noah, was my best and most to be trusted friend. He influenced the harbor chiefs and their people for eight or ten miles around to get up a great feast in favor 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, Noah sent a party of chiefs to escort me and my Anitium's 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 Tana; that no more people be killed by nahak for witchcraft and sorcery were lies; that sacred men no longer professed to make wind and rain, famine and plenty, disease and death; that the dark heathen talk of Tana should cease; that all here present should adopt the worship of Jehovah as taught to them by the missionary and the Anitiumis; 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. The Tanis 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:

100 or so of the leading men marched into the large clear space in the center 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, 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. Noah 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, Noah and Nawangi, 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., 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.

Not without some doubt and under considerable trial did I take this apparently unfriendly attitude of refusing to take their food, 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. Yet, all the time, I felt this qualm that it might have been 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.

Noah and Nawangi 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 then 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 chance 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 seem to be token 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 sooner face all traces of this day.

Chapter 25

Cannibals at Work

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 humor to the scene. Leaping up, he came dancing and singing towards me, and there, to the amusement of all, reenacted 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 ho!" 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 beyond sailing into your harbor.

Not many days thereafter, a very horrible transaction occurred. Before daybreak, I heard shot after shot quickly discharged in the harbor. One of my teachers came running and cried, "Missy, 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, dispatched 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 for noon, we heard them tramping around our house, whispering to each other and hovering near window and door. They knew that there were a double-barreled 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 the thought of using them 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 glory and our own 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.

Chapter 26: The Defying of Nahak

Shortly thereafter, war was again declared by the Inland people attacking our Harbor 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 Ireland 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, that is, 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 Tana. 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 conqueray. 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 anyone 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 Tanis 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, "Missy eoway, alas, Missy!" 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 wax 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 Missy 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."

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've 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 prayer, 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 warriors' spear and returned, brandishing it in the air and pointing 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 leapt 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 pleaded 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 nehack.

Chapter 27: A Perilous Pilgrimage

The other Mission Station on the southwest side of Tana had to be visited by me from time to time. Mr. and Mrs. Mathewson there were both in a weak state of health, having a tendency to consumption. On this account, they visited anatium several times. They were earnestly devoted to their work and were successful as 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 around 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 pleaded, therefore, with Nova and Monument 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 center of the canoe and as far above watermark 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 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, "Missy, hold on! There's a smaller wave coming. We'll ride in now!" 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 seagull 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 past, hissing in clouds of foam. My company were next seen swimming wildly about in the sea. Manu man, 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 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 favorable 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. Matheson, 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 dare 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 amid star 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 district, and that the Heathen are great cowards in the dark and never leave their villages at night, except in companies, for fishing and such like tasks. I skirted along the seashore 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, around 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 safely reached the top. There, to avoid a village, I had to keep crawling slowly along the brush 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 had 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 possible, 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 Savior, 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 recovered my umbrella and, wading through, 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, 15 or 20 miles from where I had started.

Here I left the sea path and promised some young men a gift of 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 Missy! 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. Saint Paul's words are true today and forever: "I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me."

Chapter 28: The Plague of Measles

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 harbor and cast anchor in 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 replied, "Not a bit, 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 Kapuku, a young chief, to go off to one of their vessels, promising him a present. He was the friend and chief supporter of Mr. Matheson 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'm ashamed to say that these sandalwood 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 diarrhea. 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, with the few who survived, that when the little mission schooner John Knox returned to Tana, they all packed up and left for their own anitum, except my own dear old Abraham.

At first, thinking that all were on the wing, he also had packed his chattels 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 Tana to fight the battles of the Lord?" He asked, "Missy, 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 musingly said, "Missy, 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, "Missy, 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, Missy, 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 Tana." So saying, and with the light that gave the four gleam 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 Tana.

Before this plague of measles was brought amongst us, I had sailed round in the John Knox to Black Beach on the opposite side of Tana and prepared the way for settling teachers, 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. Johnson, the newly arrived missionaries from Nova Scotia. But this dreadful imported epidemic blasted all our dreams. They 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 counsel 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 an 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. Before leaving this terrible plague of measles, I may record my belief that it swept away, with accompanying sore throat and diarrhea, a third of the entire population of Tana. 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 Tana than on the other islands of the group. They appear to have carried off even a larger proportion on anywhere. The future scene of many sorrows, but of greater triumphs.

Chapter 29: Attacked with Clubs

To the 1st of 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. A new and holy covenant before God, we were unitedly consecrated our lives and 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 10 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 one 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 tonight. Tomorrow 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 cross-bred Retriever with terrier blood in it, splendid for warning us of 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."

I, now accustomed to such scenes on Tana, retired to rest and slept soundly, but my dear fellow laborer, as I afterward learned, could not sleep for one moment. His power and excitement continued the next day, indeed, for several days, and after that, though he was naturally lively and cheerful, I never saw him smile again. For that morning, the 1st of January, 1861, the following entry was found in his journal: "Today, 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. Payton 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 endeavoring to alleviate their sufferings, and our work had a happy effect also on the minds of others."

In another entry, on 22d 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!'"

Having, as above recorded, consecrated our lives anew to God on the first day of January, I was up till the 16th 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 adding a tree for house building, I observed that Mahanan, the warchief'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 1st of January, and during the night of the 16th, 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 midday, 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 a pneumatic with good effects, and also other needful medicines. For 12 hours, we had to keep him awake by repeated cold dashes in the 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 too, alone at sunset, laid him to rest beside my own dear wife and child, close by the mission house.

Chapter 30: Kawea

Another tragedy followed, with, however, much of the light of Heaven amid its blackness, in the story of Kawea, a Tanese chief of the highest rank. Going to an ATM in youth, he had there become a true Christian. He married an Anatomi's Christian woman, with whom he lived very happily and had two beautiful children. Sometime before the measles reached our island, he returned to live with me as a teacher and to help forward our work on Tana. He proved himself to be a decided Christian. He was a real chief amongst them, dignified in his whole conduct, and in 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 honor 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 Missy and the worship of Jehovah." From threats, they passed to galling insults, all which he bore patiently for Jesus' 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. Kawea shouted, "Don't purchase these, Missy! I have just bought them for you and paid for them!" Thereon, the fellow began to mock at him. Kawea, gazing round on all present and then on me, rose like a lion, awaking out of sleep, and with flashing eyes exclaimed, "Missy, 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 Kawea, 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 Kawea alone attended to me. On returning to consciousness, I heard, as in a dream, Kawea 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, "Missy, Olarane tumis are sick; Missy Johnson 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 coconut to drink, and who will bathe your lips and brow?" Here he broke down into deep and long weeping, and then resumed, "Missy, the Tana 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: "Oh, Lord Jesus, Missy Johnson is dead; Thou hast taken him away from this land. Missy Johnson, the woman, and Missy Payton are very ill. I am sick, and Thy servants, the Anatomi's, are all sick and dying. O Lord, our Father in Heaven, art Thou going to take away all Thy servants, and I worship from this dark land? What meanest Thou to do, O Lord? The Tanis hate Thee and Thy worship and Thy servants, but surely, O Lord, Thou canst not forsake Tana and leave our people to die in the darkness! O make the hearts of these people soft to Thy word and sweet to Thy worship! Teach them to fear and love Jesus, and O restore and spare Missy, dear Missy Payton, that Tana 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, Kawea came again to me and, rousing me out of sleep, cried, "Missy, 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, "Missy, since you became ill, my dear wife and children are dead and buried; most of our Anatomi's 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 Tana and will leave my poor people dark and benighted as before, for they hate Jesus and the worship of Jehovah. Oh, Missy, pray for them, and pray for me once more before I go."

He knelt at my side, and we prayed for each other and for Tana. I then urged him to remain at the mission house, but he replied, "Oh, Missy, you do not know how near to death I am. I'm 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, Missy; I am very near death now. We will meet again in Jesus, and with Jesus." With many tears, he dragged himself away, and my heartstrings 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. 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 Tana to sing the glories of Jesus in heaven, and oh, the rapture when I meet him there!

Chapter 31: Martyrdom of the Gordons

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 Aramanga. Reverend 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 a missionary on Aramanga in June 1857. Much troubled and opposed by the sandalwooders, 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 Aramanga 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 there too with causing sickness and all other calamities. The sandalwooders hated him for fearlessly denouncing and exposing their hideous atrocities.

When Mr. Copeland and I placed the native teachers at Black Beach, Tana, we ran across to Eramanga in the John Knox, taking a harmonium to Mrs. Gordon, just come by 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 had 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 30 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 in 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 sandalwooders on the Christian natives. On the 20th of 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 Aramangans 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 Narubilet 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 began dancing around 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. Oben, 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 Uben, "What's the cause of that noise?" He replied, "Oh, nothing, only the boys amusing themselves." Saying, "Where are the boys?" she turned round. Uber 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 not divided; their spirits wearing the crown of martyrdom entered.

Glory together to be welcomed by Williams and Harris, whose blood was shed near the same now hallowed spot for the name and cause of Jesus. They had labored four years on Aramanga amidst trials and dangers manifold, and had not been without tokens of blessing in the Lord's work. Nevermore earnest or devoted missionaries lived and died in the Heathen field.

Chapter 32

Shadows deepening on Tana. Immediately thereafter, a sandalwood trader brought in his boat a party of Aramangans. By night, to Tana they assembled our Harbor Chiefs and people, and urged them to kill us and Mr. and Mrs. Mathiason and the teachers, or allow them to do so, as they had killed Mr. and Mrs. Gordon. Then they proposed to go to Aniwa and kill the missionaries there, as the Aniwa 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 Aramangans 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. Mathiason's station. They loudly praised the Aramangans. The leader said again and again in my hearing, "The men of Aramanga killed Missy Williams long ago. We killed the Rarotongan and Samoan teachers. We fought Missy Turner and Missy Nisbet and drove them from our island. We killed the Aniwa teachers on Aniwa and one of Missy Payton's teachers too. We killed several white men, and no man-of-war punished us. Let us talk over this about killing Missy Payton and the Aniwa teachers till we see if any man-of-war comes to punish the Aramangans. 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 Aramangans! They are strong and brave men. The Aramangans, they have killed their Missy 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 Aramangans 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 Aramangans! Our love to the Aramangans!"

After I left them, Abraham heard them say, "Miyaki is lazy. Let us meet in every village and talk with each other. Let us all agree to kill Missy and the Aniwa teachers for the first of our Chiefs that dies." The night after the visit of the Aramangan boat and the sad news of Mr. and Mrs. Gordon's death, the Tana people met on their village dancing grounds and held high festival in praise of the Aramangans. Our best friend, old Nova, 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 Aramanga, he replied to this effect: "Truly, Missy, they have done well. If the people of Aramanga 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 Aramangans killed Missy Williams and the Samoan, Rarotongan, and Aniwa 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 Aramanga, nothing else can keep them here from killing you and me and all who worship at the Mission House."

I answered Noah, "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, "Missy, by and by you will see. Mind, I tell you the truth. I know our Tana people. How is it that Jehovah did not protect the Gordons and the Aramangan worshipers? If the Aramangans are not punished, neither will our Tana people be punished, though they murder all Jehovah's people."

I felt for Noah's struggling faith, just trembling on the verge of cannibalism, yet 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 Aniwa by the very first opportunity, as our lives were certain to be taken. But he replied, "I will not leave." Missy, 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 Tana: "O Lord, our Heavenly Father, they have murdered Thy servants on Aramanga. They have banished the Aniwa teachers from dark Tana, and now they want to kill Missy Payton 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 Missy Gordon the man and Missy 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, too, and all Thy servants, strong for Thee and for Thy worship, and if they kill us too, let us die together in Thy good work, like Thy servants Missy Gordon the man and Missy 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, Miyaki 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 Tana. The Aramanga men killed Missy 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 Tana, 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 who Miyaki 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 Tana. 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 Savior. If I refuse to obey my God, He will punish me." He declared that his heart was good, that his conduct was good, but 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 Mathiasons. If that were done, his hands would be strengthened in dealing with us.

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 himself 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.

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 Tana at the post of duty, and he knew what he was writing about. These are the words: "Talk of bravery, talk of heroism! The man who leads a forlorn hope is a coward in comparison with him who on Tana, 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 reign destroying all around him, thus manifesting the rigidity of the discipline among those armies of ancient Rome which conquered the world. Thus Mr. Payton was subjected to no such iron law. He might with honor, 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 Tana by H.M.S. Polaris, 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 honor, 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.

Chapter 33

The visit of the Commodore. 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 for 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. 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 some time, Nuka and his wife and daughter, a handsome girl, his only child, and Miyaki'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 60 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."

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 Inikahi Chief, who was once a terror to the whole community. Afterwards, when trying to teach the ABC 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. 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 Miyaki was still our evil genius, and every incident seemed to be used by him for one settled purpose of hate. For instance, seven men took away a young girl in a canoe to Aniwa to be sold to friends there for tobacco leaf, which the Aniwa people cultivated extensively. They also prepared to take revenge there for a child's death, killed, in their belief, by the sorcery of an Aniwa man. 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 Tana 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 Tana as long as a missionary lived there.

Under this fresh incitement, a party of Miyaki's men came to my house, praising the Aramangans for the murder of their missionaries and threatening me. Even the friendly Noah said, "Miyaki 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, "Missy, the John Knox is coming into the harbor, and two great ships of fire, men-of-war, behind her, coming very fast!" I retorted upon Nova and the hostile company, "Now is your time! Make all possible haste! Let Miyaki 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." Miyaki's men fled away in unconcealed terror. But Noah came to me and said, "Missy, 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 Noah always wavered, and now from all parts of the island those who were most friendly flocked to us. They were clamorous to have Miyaki and some others of our enemies punished by the man-of-war in the presence of the natives, and then they would be strong to speak in our defense and to lead the Tana people to worship Jehovah. Commodore Seymour, Captain Hume, and Dr. Getty came on shore. After inquiring into everything, the Commodore urged me to leave at once and very kindly offered to remove me to Aniwa or Auckland or any place of safety that I preferred. Again, however, I hesitated to leave my dear, benighted Tana people, 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. Miyaki and others promised and gave him their hand to do so. La Tella, an Aniwa teacher, who was with Dr. Getty, interpreted for him and them. Dr. Getty explaining fully to La Tella the Aniwa teacher what the Commodore said in English, and La Tella explaining all to the Tana people in their own tongue, at last old Muka spoke out for all and said, "Captain, the traders tell us that the worship causes all our sickness and death. They will not trade with us, nor sell tobacco, pipes, powder, balls, caps, and muskets till we kill our Missy like the Aramangans. But after that, they will send a trader to live among us and give us plenty of all these things. We love Missy, 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 Missy. Let Missy remain here, and we will try to do good conduct to Missy, but you must tell Queen Victoria 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 Missy. If they come to us and talk as before, our hearts are very dark, and may again lead us to bad conduct to Missy."

After this little palaver, the Commodore invited us all on board along with the Chiefs. They saw about 300 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 Aramangans for murdering the Missy there, we fear the bad conduct of the Tana people will continue." No punishment was inflicted at Aramanga, and the Tana people were soon as bold and wicked as ever. For instance, while the man-of-war lay in the harbor, Nova 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 Miyaki very seriously impressed.

Mr. Matheson 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 Miyaki's men at once jumped into the boat and started off around the island in search of Carver. I went to Miyaki 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 Miyaki till, by interference of some friendly natives, his wrath was assuaged a little. Returning home, I sent food overland to keep the Mathiasons 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 34

The War-Chiefs in Council. 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 center 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.

Miyaki and Nuka said, "If you will keep Missy and his worship, take him with you to your own land, for we will not have him to live at the harbor." Ian, the great inland Chief, rose in wrath and said, "On whose lands does the Missy 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 Missy 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 Missy 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 Missy 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, "Missy, come with me. Come now." I replied, "Ian, you're 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. Miyaki, Nuka, and their whole party sat in manifest terror upon the other half. Marching into the center, he stood with me by his side and proudly looking round, exclaimed, "Missy, 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 Tana. Missy, 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 Tana. 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 Missy, 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'm not afraid to die. You will only send me the sooner to my Jehovah God, whom I love and serve, and to my dear Savior 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 suddenly away and stood at the head of his men, crying, "Missy, they will kill you! They will kill us, and you will be to blame!" Miyaki and Nuka, full of deceit, now cried out, "Missy'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, "Miyaki and Nuka say that the land on which Missy 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 Missy live on it in peace, we will all live at peace and worship Jehovah, and if not, we will surely claim it again." Miyaki and his party hereupon 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 Miyaki a return present and said, "You know that Missy 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 Missy." Miyaki accepted the token and gave good promises for the future.

Ian then came to the hilltop near our house, by which passed the public path, and cried aloud in the hearing of all, "Abraham, tell Missy that you and he now live on our land. This path is the march betwixt Miyaki and us. We have this day brought back the land of our fathers by a great price to prevent war. Take of our breadfruits and also of our coconuts what you require, for you are our friends and living on our land, and we will protect you in the worship."

Chapter 35

Under knife and tomahawk. Chafed at the upsetting of all their plans and full of revenge, Nuka and Miyaki and their allies declared publicly that they were now going to kill Ian by sorcery, by nahak, more feared by the poor Tana people than the field of battle. 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 unto 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 Miyaki, and Miyaki'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, "Come near me and sit by my bedside to talk with me, Missy." I did so, and while speaking to him, he lay as if lost in a swoon of silent meditation. Suddenly, he drew from the sugarcane 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 sugarcane 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, 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. Miyaki 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 Miyaki, Nuka, and Karawick. 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. Immediately after Miyaki'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 Miyaki.

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, the 18th of January 1862, the war began. Musket after musket was discharged quite near us, and the bush all around rang with the yell of their war cry, which, if once heard, will never be forgotten. It came nearer and nearer, for Miyaki 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 Miyaki quickly sent messengers and presents to the Inikahi Mini and Kasarumi districts to assemble all their people and help him to fight Missy and the Tana people 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, Miyaki assured me that he had sent a friendly message. The war went on, and poor Noah, 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 storeroom, 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 Aramangans; 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 Reverend 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, "Missy's 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 Miyaki and Nuka. Miyaki, with a sneer, said, "Missy, where was Jehovah today? There was no Jehovah today 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 Tana." 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." "There was no Jehovah today. We have no fear of any man-of-war. They dare not punish us. They dare not punish the Aramangans 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 Tana is that we will kill you and seize all your property tomorrow." I warned him that the punishment of a man-of-war can only reach the body and the land, but that Jehovah's punishment reaches both body and soul in time and in eternity. He replied, "Who fears Jehovah? He was not here to protect you today." "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 Miyaki was evidently bent on our destruction.

Chapter 36

The beginning of the end. I sent Abraham to consult Noah, 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 Miyaki, the worst of all, whose village had to be passed in going to Noah's. In the darkness of the Mission House, we dared not light a candle for fear of someone seeing and shooting us. Not one of Noah's men did come to help us, but in the end, it made no difference, for Noah 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.

Miyaki, the false and cruel, came to assure us that the Heathen would not return that day. Yet, as daylight came in, Miyaki 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. Matheson'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 Nova's Village. There was not a moment left to carry anything with us. In the issue, Abraham and 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 Tana, and a light pair of blankets I carried with me. We dared not choose 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 Miyaki, evidently secreted to watch us, sprang from behind a breadfruit 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 Nova'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 I 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, "Missy, it's of no use! We will all be killed and eaten today! 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. Nova, 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, "Missy, 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 onto Noah's Village. For as they began to plunder the bedroom, Nuka said, "Leave everything; Missy 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 Noah'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 300 yards off at the foot of a hill leading up to the village, Nova touched my knee, saying, "Missy, 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 harbor as far as we could see, was a dense host of warriors, but all were standing still, and all 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 march back in great silence and entered the remote bush at the head of the harbor. Noah and his people were in ecstasies, crying out, "Jehovah has heard Missy's prayer! Jehovah has protected us and turned them away back!"

About midday, Nuka and Miyaki 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. Next 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 Miyaki'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 Nuka, Miyaki, and Karawick nearby, concealed in the bush among the reeds. Once more they enclosed them, thinking I was there too, but Nuka, finding that I was not, cried out, "Don't kill them just now; wait till Missy 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 Miyaki 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. As the night advanced, Noah 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. Matheson's station, but he objected to my taking away any of my property. He would soon follow with it himself, but how to sail? Miyaki had stolen my boat, mast, sails, and oars, as also an excellent canoe made for me and paid for by me on Aniwa, and he had threatened to shoot any person that assisted me to launch either the one or the other. The danger still increasing, Noah 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 to 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 Savior's spiritual presence, to enjoy His consoling fellowship. If thus thrown back upon your own soul, alone, 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...

Chapter 37

Five hours in a canoe. Gladly would I have lingered there for one night of comparative peace, but Noah 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 Aniwa teachers now hung upon a very slender thread. The risk was almost equally great from our friends, so-called, or 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 out of these words: "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 harbor at a beautiful white sandy bay on Nova's ground, from which our canoe was to start.

Good number of the natives had assembled there to see us off. Akara, having got a large roll of calico 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 an ax, a sale for his canoe, and a pair of blankets. As Corey's had the ax, and another had the quilt, I gave the quilt to him for a sale, and the ax and blankets for the canoe. In fact, these few relics of our earthly all at Noah'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. Mathiason'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 Akara lay down and pretended to have fallen asleep, snore on the sand, and could not be awaked. I appealed to Noah, who only said, "That is his conduct, Missy." "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." Noah gave me one. Returning to the village, friends gave me one each till I got other three.

Now Akara 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 over land if possible. When Fimungo, the chief who had refused to go with us, came forward and said, "Missy, they are all deceiving you. The sea is so rough you cannot go by it, and if you should get round the weather point, Miyaki 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, Miyaki and Karwick 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 resolve to enter the canoe and attempt it, as the only gleam of hope left to us. My party of five 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. Matheson'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, "Missy, 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 anatomies, overcome with terror, threw down their paddles, and Abraham said, "Missy, we are all drowned now; we are food for the sharks. We might as well be eaten by the fishes as by fishes." But God will give us life with Jesus in heaven. I seized the paddle nearest me. I ordered Abraham to seize 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, Missy; I will be strong. I pray to God and ply my paddle; God will save us."

With much labor 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. Katazian, 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 immediately fell into a deep sleep.

By and by, I felt someone pulling from under my head. The native bag in which I carried my Bible and the Tanis 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 anatomies 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.

Chapter 38. A Race for Life.

As I sat meditating on the issues, Fimungo, 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 Noah's men had fled and were hid in the bush and in rocks along the shore, while Miyaki was holding a meeting not half a mile away and preparing to fall upon us. Fimungo said, "Farewell, Missy. I am going home. I don't wish to see the work and the murders of this morning." He was Noah's son-in-law. He had always been truthful and kindly with me. His home was about halfway across the island on the road that we wanted to go, and under sudden impulse, I said, "Fimungo, will you let us follow you? Will you show us the path?" "When the mission ship arrives," I said, "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, "Missy, you will be killed. Miyaki and Karwick will shoot you. I dare not let you follow. I have only about 20 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 we were 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 Miyaki and Nuka. 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 Noah'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 Miyaki's men, they ran away under a large coconut grove skirting the shore, calling, "Be quick, follow, and keep as near to us as you can." Though Noah 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 anatomies 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 and I to you, Miss.

I and my anatomies started after Fimungo 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 harbor, apparently glad to see us trying to get away, but about four miles on our way, we met a large party of Miyaki's men, all armed and watching as outposts. Some were for shooting us, but others hesitated. Every musket was, however, raised and leveled at me. Fimungo poised his great spear and said, "No, you shall not kill Missy today; he is with me." Having made this flourish, he strode off after his own men, and my anatomies followed, leaving me face to face with a ring of leveled muskets.

Sirawia, who was in command of this party, and who once, like Noah, had been my friend, said to me, "Judas like, my love to you, Missy." But he also shouted after Fimungo, "Your conduct is bad in taking the Missy 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's 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. 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 Fimungo withstood them firmly. His men encircled us, and he said, "I'm not afraid now, Missy; I'm feeling stronger near my own land."

Hurrying still onwards, we came to that village on their high ground called Anai, i.e., Heaven. The sun was oppressively hot, the path almost unshaded, and our whole party very exhausted, especially Fimungo, carrying his load of stolen goods. So here he sat down on the village dancing ground for a smoke, saying, "Missy, I'm 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 an onrush of a multitude making rapidly towards us. Fimungo got up and planted his back against a tree. I stood beside him, and the anatomies, 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 Tana 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 Miyaki, and they had crossed the country to intercept us. Fimungo was much afraid and said, "Missy, go on in that path, you and your anatomies, 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'm 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, "Missy, 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. In that awful hour, I beheld his own words as if carved in letters of fire upon the clouds of heaven: "Seek, and you shall find; whatsoever you 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 Savior 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, "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."

Fimungo and others now urged us to go on in the path. I said, "Fine, go. 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, Missy; keep close to me." His men had gone, and I persuaded my anatomies to follow them. At last, with a bound, Fimungo 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 coward 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 recognize the invisible one who brought their councils 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. Fimungo 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, "Miyaki and Kawik said that Missy made the sickness and the hurricanes, and we ought to kill him." Fimungo replied, "They lie about Missy; 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." Fimungo, clutching club and spear, exclaimed, standing betwixt them and us, "You won't kill Missy today."

Fimungo 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, "Missy, I have now fulfilled my promise. I am so tired; I'm so afraid; 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, "Missy, we dare not go; Fimungo 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 anatomies had joined in a war against the Tanis of this tribe, and the thirst for revenge yet existed in their hearts, handed down from sire to son. 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 those sparing their lives, broken 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, "Missy, 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 dear to Mr. Matheson's station in safety. Here a man gave me a coconut 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 anatomies 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. Matheson came running to meet me. They had heard of our 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 great apparel. We praise 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.

Chapter 39. Faint Yet Pursuing.

Before I left the harbor, I wrote and left with Noah 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. Matheson 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 Anatium. 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. Matheson's straight on to Anatium. 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 breakup of the mission on Tana, 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 candlestick was not removed.

On the 23d January 1862, Mr. Matheson sent for Torah, 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 Tana chiefs had too often proved to be vain.

On Friday, the 24th of January, report reached our station that Miyaki 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 carcasses of the dead and on bark and roots; also that Miyaki had united all the chiefs, friends and foes alike, in a bond of blood to kill everyone pertaining to the whole mission on Tana. Jesus reigns.

On Sunday, the 26th of January, 30 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 116 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 Tana.

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. Matheson 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. Matheson, 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 bloodthirsty, 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 Missy Matheson's child?" They sneered and scoffed at our answers, and in this Torah, the chief joined the rest.

On the 27th, at daylight, a vessel was seen in the offing, as if to tantalize us. The captain had been at the harbor and had received my letter. From nowhere, I hoisted a flag to induce him to send or come on shore, but he sailed off for Anatium, bearing the plunder of my poor mission house, purchased for ammunition and tobacco for the natives. He left the news at Anatium that I'd been driven from my station some time ago and was believed to have been murdered.

On the 29th of January, the young chief Kapuku came and handed to Mr. Matheson 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 Miyaki's men were going about Mr. Matheson's district inciting the people to kill us. Fimungo also came to inform us that Maki was exerting all his artifice to get us and the worship destroyed. Manuman even sent from Inland Rocky, 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. Rocky's wife was a chief's daughter who, when the war began, returned to her father's care. The savages of Miyaki 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, 32 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. Matheson and I, committing ourselves to Jesus, went inland and conducted worship at seven villages, listened to by about 100 people in all. 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 Miyaki's men came to the mission house and forced Mrs. Matheson 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.

Chapter 40. Waiting at Quamira.

Worn out with long watching and many fatigues, I lay down that night early and fell into a deep sleep. About 10 o'clock, the savages again surrounded the mission house. My faithful dog, Clotha, 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 at me through the shadows, I silently awoke Mr. and Mrs. Matheson, 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 pleaded with Mr. Matheson to let me out and instantly to again 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 defense, 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 leveled 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 success 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 traced 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. 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 in 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 reign! 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, and in a few moments, they had all disappeared in the bush, and I was left alone, praising God for his marvelous works. Oh, 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'm now all alone." Mr. Matheson 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 tonight. 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 Tanis. Precious Jesus, 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 Savior.

Chapter 41. The Last Awful Night.

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: "Sa-lo!" 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: "Sa-lo! Sa-lo!" 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 came sailing into view. 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 Anatium some time ago. I often would saw the mate and some of the men wearing my shirts, which they had bought from the Tanis on their former visit. At the earnest request of Messrs. Getty and Copeland, Mr. Underwood, the owner, had sent Captain Hastings to Tana to rescue us if yet alive. For this purpose, he had brought 20 armed men from Anatium, who came on shore in two boats, in charge of the mate, the notorious Ross Lewin. He returned to the ship with a boatload of Mr. Matheson's things, leaving 10 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. Matheson, apparently unhinged, locked himself all alone into what had been his study, telling Mrs. Matheson and me to go, for he had resolved to remain and die on Tana. We tried to show him the inconsistency of praying to God to protect us or grant us means of escape, and then refusing 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 pleaded 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'm 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 tumbling 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 lighthouse seen 50 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 midday 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, Noah and Miyaki came off in a canoe to visit us. Noah had on a shirt, but Miyaki 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. Miyaki 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. They learned that Miyaki 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'd 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 since the morning before, so Noah brought us off a coconut 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. Noah informed me that only a few nights before this, Miyaki and his followers went inland to a village where last year they had killed 10 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 Miyaki's hands. These are surely they who through fear of death are all their lifetimes subject to bondage. The chief and nearly his whole village were cut off in one night. 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 influences are only very imperfectly allowed to guide and restrain the passions of men. Oh, what it will be when all men in all nations love and serve the glorious Redeemer!

Chapter 42. Sale.

About five o'clock in the evening, the vessel hove in sight. Before dark, we were all on board and was sailing for Anatium, though both Mr. and Mrs. Matheson had become very weak, they stood the voyage wonderfully. Next day, we were safely landed. We'd offered Captain Hastings £20 to take us to Anatium, but he declined any fare. However, we divided it amongst the mate and crew, for they had everyone shown great kindness to us on the voyage. After arriving on Anatium, Mrs. Matheson gradually sank under consumption and fell asleep in Jesus on the 11th of March 1862, and was interred there in the full assurance of a glorious resurrection. Mr. Matheson, becoming more and more depressed after her death, went over to Mr. Craig's station on Mare, and there died on the 14th of June 1862, still trusting in Jesus and assured that he would soon be with him in glory.

After their death, I was the only one left alive in all the New Hebrides Mission north of Anatium 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 and dreamed 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, or trained native teachers under the superintendents of a missionary, 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. Matheson's property, but my earthly all perished except the Bible and the translations into Tanis, along with the goods pertaining to the mission. The property which I had to leave behind would be underestimated 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 anyone had ever dreamed. At any rate, the loss of my little earthly all, though doubtless costing me several pains, was not an abiding sorrow like that which sprang from the thought that the Lord's work was now broken up at both stations and that the gospel was for the time driven from Tana. 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 Tana and to read about my dear fellow missionaries, Mr. and Mrs. Watt, celebrating the holy supper to a native congregation of Tanez 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 Anatium, go on with my work of translating the Gospels, and watch the earliest opportunity as God opened up my way to return to Tana. 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. English were at home carrying the New Testament through the press in the language of Anatium, and as Tana was closed for a season, Dr. Getty, the Reverend Joseph Copeland, and Mr. Matheson all urged me to go to Australia by a vessel then in the harbor 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 Clement 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.

With regrets, and yet with unquenchable hope for these islands, I embarked for Australia. But I'd 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. Oftentimes, while passing through the perils and defeats of my first four years in the mission field on Tana, 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, namely, 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 Tana days. Never for one moment have I had occasion to regret the step then taken. The Lord has so used.

Chapter 43. Farewell to Tana.

The Lord has so used.

Me, during the Five and Twenty Years that have passed over me since my farewell to Tana, 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 labor and wait and pray. To help on the fulfillment thereof is the sacred work of my life, under God. When I see that 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."

Chapter 44. To Australia for a Mission Ship.

When I landed on Aneityum early in 1862, all that I owned on earth were the clothes on my back, my Bible, and the translations of portions of the scriptures that I had made into the language of the tribes living in the Port Resolution district of the island of Tana. The constant dangers of our pioneer years on Tana, and the reluctance of trading vessels to help in cases of emergency, had impressed upon the two missionaries on Aneityum the urgent necessity, if the New Hebrides mission ever was to develop, of securing a ship owned by the mission and capable of visiting the various islands, and of reinforcements to carry on the Christian warfare for the conquest of the group. The need was pressed upon me so strongly that I felt it was no less than the call of God. It meant, of course, leaving the islands to plead for the money to build such a ship, and though this was much against my will, I cherished the prayerful hope that God would so order my path that I might succeed in the double object. By my temporary withdrawal, a sandalwood vessel then lying at Aneityum was to sail in a few days for Sydney. My passage was secured for £10, and as if to make me realize how bare the Lord had stripped me in my late trials, the first thing that occupied me on board was the making, with my own hands, from a piece of cloth obtained on Aneityum, another shirt for the voyage to change with that which I wore, the only one that had been left to me.

The captain proved to be a profane and brutal fellow. Those poor islanders on board made my heart bleed. They knew not a word of English, and no one in the vessel knew a sound of their language. They were made to work and to understand what was expected of them only by hard knocks and blows. Being pushed and pulled hither and thither, they were kept quite naked on the voyage up, but when nearing Sydney, each received two yards of calico to be twisted as a kilt around his loins. A most pathetic spectacle it was to watch these poor natives when they had the leisure to sit on the deck, gazing intently and imploringly upon the face of the sun. This they did every day and at all hours, and I wept much to look on them and not be able to tell them of the Son of God, the light of the world, for I knew no word of their language.

When we arrived at Sydney, the government inspector came on board and asked how these islanders came to be there. The captain impudently responded that they were passengers. No further question was put, no other evidence was sought. Yet all who knew anything of our South Sea Island traders were perfectly aware that the moral certainty was that these natives were there practically as slaves. A captain would sell them privately to the highest bidder, and that is called labor traffic. Free labor, I will to my dying breath denounce and curse this Kanaka traffic as the worst of slavery.

As we came to anchorage about midnight in Sydney Harbor, I anxiously paced the deck, gazing towards the gas-lighted city and pleading with God to open up my way and give success in the work before me, on which the salvation of thousands of the heathen might depend. Still, I saw them perishing, still heard their wailing cry on the islands behind me. At the same time, I knew not a soul in that great city, though I had a note of introduction to one person, which, as experience proved, I would have been better without.

On my second Sabbath in Sydney, I wandered out with a great yearning at heart to get telling my message to any soul that would listen. It was the afternoon, and children were flocking into a church that I passed. I followed them, that yearning growing stronger every moment. My God so ordered it that I was guided thus to the Chalmers Presbyterian Church. The minister, the Reverend Mr. Muskimming, addressed the children. At the close, I went up and pleaded with him to allow me ten minutes to speak to them. After a little hesitation, and having consulted together, they gave me fifteen minutes. Becoming deeply interested, the good man invited me to preach to his congregation in the evening. This was duly intimated in the Sabbath school, and thus my little boat was at last launched, surely by the hand of the dear Lord, with the help of his little children.

I now appealed to a few of the most friendly ministers to form themselves into an honorary committee of advice, and at my earnest request, they got Mr. Goodlett, an excellent elder, to become honorary treasurer and to take charge of all funds raised for the mission ship. For the public knew nothing of me, but all knew my good treasurer and these faithful ministers, and had confidence in the work. They knew that every penny went direct to the mission, and they saw that my one object was to promote God's glory in the conversion of the heathen. Our dear Lord Jesus thus opened up my way, and now I had invitations from more schools and congregations than I knew how to overtake. The response in money being also gratifying beyond almost all expectation.

It was now that I began a little plan of interesting the children that attracted them from the first and has since had an amazing development. I made them shareholders in the new mission ship, each child receiving a printed form in acknowledgment of the number of shares at sixpence each, of which he was the owner. Thousands of these shares were taken out, were shown about amongst families, and were greatly prized. The ship was to be their very own; they were to be a great shipping company for Jesus.

Having done all that could at that time be accomplished in New South Wales, and as rapidly as possible, my committee gave me a letter of commendation to Victoria. The ministers had heard of our work in Sydney and received me most cordially. As in New South Wales, I made chiefly by correspondence all my own engagements and arranged for churches and Sabbath schools as best I could. I addressed three or four meetings every Sabbath and one or more every weekday, and thus traveled over the length and breadth of Victoria, Tasmania, and South Australia. Whithersoever a few of the Lord's people could be gathered together, thither I gladly went and told the story of our mission, setting forth its needs and claims. The work was unceasingly prosecuted; meetings were urged upon me now from every quarter, and money flowed in so freely that at the close of my tour the fund had risen to five thousand pounds, including special donations of £300 for the support of native teachers.

Returning to Melbourne, the whole matter was laid before my committee. I reported how God had blessed the undertaking and what sums were now in the hands of the several treasurers, indicating also larger hopes and plans which had been put into my soul. Dr. Cairns rose and said, "Sir, it is of the Lord this whole enterprise is of God, and not of us. Go home, and He will give you more missionaries for the islands." Of the money which I had raised, three thousand pounds were sent to Nova Scotia to pay for the building of our new mission ship, the *Dayspring*. The church which sent Dr. Getty to begin the mission on the New Hebrides was granted the honor of building the new mission ship. The remainder was set apart to pay for the outfit and passage of additional missionaries for the field, and I was commissioned to return home to Scotland in quest of them. Dr. Inglis wrote in vindication of this enterprise to the friends whom he had just left: "From first to last, Mr. Payton's mission here has been a great success, and it has been followed up with such energy and promptitude in Nova Scotia, both in regard to the ship and the missionaries, that Mr. Payton's pledge to the Australian churches has been fully redeemed. The hand of the Lord has been very visible in the whole movement from beginning to end, and we trust He has a yet great blessing in store for the long and deeply degraded islanders."

Chapter 45. In Swamp and Saddle.

One or two exciting incidents that occurred during my travels in Australia may be told here. In those early days, the roads in Australia, except those in and around the principal towns, were mere tracks over unfenced plains and hills, and on many of them pack horses only could be used. In slushy weather, during long journeys through the bush, the traveler could find his road only by following the deep notches gashed by friendly precursors into the larger trees, and all pointing in one direction. If he lost his way, he had to struggle back to the last indented tree and try to interpret more correctly its pilgrim notch. Experienced bush travelers seldom missed the path, yet many others, losing the track, have wandered round and round till they sank and died, for then it was easy to walk thirty or forty miles and see neither a person nor a house. The more intelligent would sometimes guide their steps by sun, moon, and stars, or by glimpses of mountain peaks or natural features on the far and high horizon, or by the needle of the compass. But occasionally the most experienced have miscalculated and perished.

At that time, in the depth of winter, the roads were often wrought into rivers of mire, and at many points almost impossible even for well-appointed conveyances. Once I was advertised to preach at Lismore, and must somehow get over the nine miles that lay between. This would have been comparatively practicable were it not that I carried with me an indispensable bag of curios and a heavy bundle of clubs, arrows, dresses, etc., from the islands, wherewith to illustrate my lectures and enforce my appeals. No one could be hired to carry my luggage, nor could I get it sent after me by coach on that particular way. Therefore, seeing no alternative, opening my path, I committed myself once more to the Lord, as in harder trials before, shouldered my bundle of clubs, lifted my heavy bag, and started off on foot. They urged me fervently to desist, but I heard a voice repeating, "As thy days so shall thy strength be." They came back to me also the old adage that had in youthful difficulties spurred me on: "Where there's a will, there's a way." And I thought that with these two in his heart, a Scotchman and a Christian would not be easily beaten.

When I found the road wrought into the mire and dangerous or impassable, I climbed the fence and waded along in the plowed fields, though they were nearly as bad. My bundle was changed from shoulder to shoulder, and my bag from hand to hand, till I became thoroughly tired of both. Pressing on, however, I arrived at a wayside public house where several roads met, and there I inquired the way to Lismore and how far it was. The innkeeper, pointing, answered, "This is the road. If you are on horseback, it might be three to four miles just now, as your horse is able to take it. If you are in a conveyance with a good horse, it might be six miles, and if you are walking, it might be eight or ten miles, or even more." I said, "I'm walking. How many English miles is it to Mr. Baird's farm?" He laughingly replied, "You will find it a long way indeed this dark night, considering the state of the road, fenced in on both sides so that you cannot get off."

I passed on, but a surly watchdog got up on my track, and I had much difficulty in keeping it from biting me. Its attacks renewed upon me again and again had one good effect: they stirred up my spirits and made me hasten on. Having persevered along the Lismore road, I next met a company of men hastening on with a bundle of ropes. They were on their way to relieve a poor bullock which by this time had almost disappeared, sinking in the mire on the public highway. They kindly pointed me to a light visible through the dusk; that was the farm at which I was to stay, and they advised me to clear the fence and make straight for that light, as the way was good. With a thankful heart, I did so. The light was soon lost to me, but I walked steadily on in the direction thereof to the best of my judgment. Immediately I began to feel the ground all floating under me, then at every step I took or tried to take, I sank deeper and deeper, till at last I durst not move either backward or forward. I was floundering in a deadly swamp. I called out again and again, and with all my strength, but there came no reply. It grew extremely dark while I kept praying to God for deliverance.

About midnight, I heard two men conversing, apparently at no very great distance. I made sounds like that of a bird, but my strength was failing. Fortunately, the night was perfectly calm. The conversation ceased for a while, but I kept on crying for help. At length, I heard one voice remarked to the other, "Someone is in the swamp," and then a question came, "Who's there?" I answered, "A stranger, help me." Again a voice came through the darkness, "How did you get in there?" and I feebly replied, "I have lost my way." I heard the one say to the other, "I will go and get him out, whoever he may be. We must not leave him there; he'll be dead before the morning." "As you pass by our door," he added, "tell my wife that I'm helping some poor creature out of the swamp and will be home immediately." He kept calling to me, and I answered his call through the darkness till, not without peril, he managed to reach and aid me. Once I was safely dragged out, he got my bag in his hand and slung my clubs on his shoulder, and in a very short time landed me at the farm, dripping and dirty and cold. Had God not sent that man to save me, I must have perished there, as many others have similarly perished before.

The farmer's wife heartily welcomed me and kindly ministered to all my needs. Though not yet gone to rest, they had given up all hope of seeing me. I heard the kind servant say to his mistress, "I don't know where he came from or how far he has carried his bundles, but I got him stuck fast in the swamp, and my shoulder is already sore from carrying his clubs." A cup of warm tea restored me. The Lord gave me a sound and blessed sleep. I rose the next morning wonderfully refreshed, though arms and shoulders were rather sore with the burdens of yesterday. I conducted three services and told the story of my mission, not without comfort and blessing, and with gratifying results in money. The people gave liberally to the work.

The crowning adventure of my tour in Australia came about in the following manner. I was advertised to conduct services at Narracoorte on Sabbath and at a station on the way on Saturday evening, but how to get from Panola was a terrible perplexity. On Saturday morning, however, a young lady offered me, out of gratitude for the blessings received, the use of her riding horse for the journey. Garibaldi was his name, and though bred for a racehorse, I was assured that if I kept him firmly in hand, he would easily carry me over the two and twenty miles. He was to be left at the journey's end, and the lady herself would fetch him back. I shrank from the undertaking, knowing little of horses and having vague recollections of being dreadfully punished for more than a week after my last and almost only ride. But everyone in that country is quite at ease on the back of a horse. They saw no risk, and as there appeared no other way of getting there to fulfill my engagements, I for my part began to think that God had unexpectedly provided the means, and that He would carry me safely through. I accepted the lady's kind offer and started on my pilgrimage. A friend showed me the road and gave me ample directions in the bush: I was to keep my eye on the notches in the trees and follow them. He agreed kindly to bring my luggage to the station and leave it there for me.

By and by, after I had walked very quietly for some distance, three gentlemen on horseback overtook me. We entered into a conversation; they inquired how far I was going and advised me to sit a little freer in the saddle, as it would be so much easier for me. They seemed greatly amused at my awkward riding. Dark clouds were now gathering ahead, and the atmosphere prophesied a severe storm. Therefore, they urged that I should ride a little faster, as they for a considerable distance could guide me on the right way. I explained to them my plight through inexperience, said that I could only creep on slowly with safety, and bade them goodbye as the sky was getting darker every minute. They consented, wished me a safe journey, and started off at a smart pace. I struggled to hold in my horse, but seizing the bit with his teeth, laying back his ears, and stretching out his eager neck, he manifestly felt that his honor was at stake, and in less time than I take to write it, the three friends cleared away for us, and he tore past them all at an appalling speed. They tried for a time to keep within reach of us, but that sound only put fire into his blood, and in an incredibly short time, I heard them not, nor from the moment that he bore me swinging past them durst I turn my head by one inch to look for them again. In vain I tried to hold him in; he tore on with what appeared to me the speed of the wind. Then the thunderstorm broke around us with a flash of lightning and a flood of rain, and at every fresh peal, my Garibaldi dashed more wildly onward. To me, it was a vast surprise to discover that I could sit more easily on this wild, flying thing than when at a gallop or a trot. At every turn, I expected that he would dash himself and me against the great forest trees, but instinct rather than my hand guided him miraculously. Sometimes I had a glimpse of the road, but as for the notches, I never saw one of them. We passed them with lightning speed. Indeed, I durst not lift my eyes for one moment from watching the horse's head and the trees on our track. My high-crowned hat was now drenched and battered out of shape, for whenever we came to a rather clear space, I seized the chance and gave it another knockdown over my head. I was spattered and covered with mud and mire. Crash, crash, went the thunder, and on and on went Garibaldi through the gloom of the forest, emerging at length upon a clearer ground with a more visible pathway. Reaching the top of the slope, a large house stood out far in front of us to the left, and the horse had apparently determined to make straight for that as if it were his home. He skirted along the hill and took the track as his own familiar ground, or my effort to hold him in or guide him having no more effect than that of a child. By this time, I suspect I really had lost all power. Garibaldi had been at that house probably frequently before; he knew those stables, and my fate seemed to be instant death against door or wall. Some members of the family, on the lookout for the missionary, saw us come tearing along as if mad or drunk, and now all rushed to the veranda, expecting some dread catastrophe. A tall and stout young groom, amazed at our wild career, throwing wide open the gate, seized the bridle at great risk to himself and ran full speed, yet holding back with all his might and shouting at me to do the same. We succeeded; Garibaldi, having probably attained his purpose in bringing him to a halt within a few paces of the door, staring at me with open mouth. The man exclaimed, "I have saved your life! What madness to ride like that!" Thanking him, though I could scarcely by this time articulate a word, I told him that the horse had run away and that I had lost all control. Truly, I was in a sorry plight, drenched, covered with mud, and my hat battered down over my eyes. Little wonder they thought me drunk or mad. Finally, as if to confirm every suspicion and amuse them all (for master, mistress, governess, and children now looked on from the veranda), when I was helped off the horse, I could not stand on my feet; my head still went rushing on in the race; I staggered, and down I tumbled into the mud, feeling chagrin and mortification. Yet there I had to sit for some time before I recovered myself so as either to rise or to speak a word. When I did get to my feet, I had to stand holding by the veranda for some time, my head still rushing on in the race. At length the master said, "Will you not come in?" I knew that he was treating me for a drunken man, and the giddiness was so dreadful still that my attempts at speech seemed more drunken than even my gait.

As soon as I could stand, I went into the house and drew near to an excellent fire in my dripping clothes. The squatter sat opposite me in silence, reading the newspapers and taking a look at me now and again over his spectacles. By and by, he remarked, "Wouldn't it be worthwhile to change your clothes?" Speech was now returning to me. I replied, "Yes, but my bag is coming on in the cart and may not be here tonight." He began to relent; he took me into a room and laid out for me a suit of his own. I, being then very slender, and he a big-framed farmer, my new dress, though greatly adding to my comfort, enhanced the singularity of my appearance. Returning to him, washed and dressed, I inquired if he had arranged for a meeting. My tongue, I fear, was still unsteady, for the squatter looked at me rather reproachfully and said, "Do you really consider yourself fit to appear before a meeting tonight?" I assured him that he was quite wrong in his suspicions, that I was a lifelong abstainer, and that my nerves had been so unhinged by the terrible ride and runaway horse. He smiled rather suggestively and said, "We will see how you feel after tea." We went to the table; all that had occurred was now consummated by my appearing in the lusty farmer's clothes, and the lady and other friends had infinite difficulty in keeping their amusement within decent bounds. I again took speech in hand, but I suspect my words had still the thickness of the tippler's utterance, for they seemed not to carry much conviction. "Dear friends," I said, "I quite understand your feelings; appearances are so strangely against me, but I'm not drunken as you suppose. I have tasted no intoxicating drink; I'm a lifelong total abstainer." This fairly broke down their reserve; they laughed aloud, looking at each other and at me as if to say, "Man, you're drunk!" At this very moment, before tea was over, they appeared, however, to begin to entertain the idea that I might address the meeting, and so I was informed of the arrangements that had been made. At the meeting, my skeptical friends became very deeply interested; manifestly their better thoughts were gaining the advantage, and they heaped thereafter every kindness upon me, as if to make amends for harder suspicions.

Next morning, the master drove me about ten miles farther onto the church. A groom rode the racehorse, who took no scathe from his thundering gallop of the day before; it left deeper traces upon me. I got through the services, however, and with good returns for the mission. Twice since, on my mission tours, I have found myself at that same memorable house, and on each occasion, a large company of friends were entertained by the good lady there with very comical descriptions of my first arrival at her door.

Chapter 46. To Scotland and Back.

Since my Australian committees strongly urged me to go to Scotland in order to secure, if possible, more missionaries for the New Hebrides, I felt obliged to do so, and I found a ship that took me home as soon as possible. In May 1863, I sailed to London aboard the *Kosciusko*. The following August, we cast anchor in the East India Docks in London. On the same evening, I left for Scotland, on my way to Dumfries, and then to my old home at Torthorwald. The welcome from my saintly parents was heavenly, yet not without fast-falling tears. Only five years had passed since I left their sanctuary with my young bride, and now, alas, that grave on Tana held mother and son locked in each other's embrace till the resurrection day.

I was warmly welcomed by the Foreign Mission Committee in Edinburgh. The full report of my past activities, as well as my plans and hopes, was presented to them. It was immediately agreed that I would be visiting and addressing every congregation and Sabbath school in the church. Their Divinity Hall was open to me, so I could speak to the students. My address there was published and largely circulated under the motto, "Come over and help us." It was used of God to deepen vastly the interest in our mission. My tour was crowned with success by the Lord; the New Hebrides received four new missionaries from Scotland, and Nova Scotia received three.

Prior to leaving Scotland in 1864, I was married to Margaret Whitecross, whose brother was an honored missionary in the foreign field, and whose sister was the wife of a devoted minister in Adelaide. During my last scene in Scotland, my venerable father commended us once more to the care and keeping of the Lord God of the families of Israel. As I kneeled at the family altar in the old Sanctuary Cottage at Torthorwald, his hair flowing over his shoulders like a priest's locks of snow-white hair, those intercession accents, loaded with the pathos of deathless love, would fall upon my ears for the last time ever on this earth. When we rose from our knees and said farewell, I knew our eyes would never meet again until they were flooded with the light of the resurrection. Nonetheless, he and my darling mother once again gave us away to the service of our common Lord and to the salvation of the heathen, not unpierced by the sword of human anguish, and we went forth praying that a double portion of their spirit, along with their precious blessing, might rest upon us in all the way that we had to go. When we were well away from the door, our mother, who was always more self-restrained and less demonstrative, held back her tears, and then, as my brother told me later, she fell back into his arms with a great cry, as if all the heartstrings had broken, and lay in a death-like state for a long time.

After a fast passage of 95 days, we landed at Sydney on the 17th of January 1865, aboard the *Crest of the Wave*, Captain Ellis. Upon arriving in the New Hebrides, I found that our new little mission ship, the *Dayspring*, had already been there and settled the three new missionaries from there who had volunteered for the mission. I found her to be a beautiful two-masted brigantine, with a deck house added when she first arrived at Melbourne, and every way suitable for our necessities. A beautiful white-winged angel, floating on the pennies of the children, preaching the gospel on the sin-darkened but sun-lit Southern Isles. To me, she represented the living love of thousands of shareholders, and I said with a deep, indestructible faith, "The Lord has provided; the Lord will provide."

Immediately my faith was tested, as the captain informed me that the crew were clamoring for their pay, etc., and that there was no money for current expenses. I gave him £50 of my own to meet demands and brought him to secure me a day or two of delay, that something might be done. To my dismay, I found that since our little ship sailed from Nova Scotia, £1,400 had been spent, and our liabilities totaled at least £700. Our perplexing circumstances were laid before our Lord in His sympathetic presence, and after explaining that the ship itself and the new missionaries were all His own, not mine, I told Him that His money was needed to do His own blessed work. I consulted friends of the mission, but no help was visible. When I applied for a loan, the lender demanded 20% interest, as well as the title deeds of the ship as security. I applied for a loan, but in vain. Thus driven to the wall, I advertised for a meeting of ministers and friends and told them about my journey since leaving them and asked for advice about the ship. It was pointed out to them that the salary of each missionary was only £120 per annum, that they gave their lives for the heathen, and that surely the colonial Christians would support the upkeep of the ship, which was essential to the mission's survival. I appealed to them, and I had the opportunity to speak to congregations in the city on Sabbath about our difficulties. After the service, a lady and gentleman waited to be introduced to me. In the gentleman's words, he said, "I am the captain and owner of the vessel that lies at anchor opposite the *Dayspring*. My wife and I, being late to get on shore to attend any church in the city, heard the chapel bell ring, and we followed. When we saw you coming up the hill, we sympathized with you deeply. We hope this check for £50 can be the beginning of helping you get out of your difficulties."

With this encouragement, I set out to secure from the children of the Sabbath schools, who had so generously built the ship, the means for her upkeep. With this aim in mind, the *Dayspring* sailed to various ports for inspection by the children. Our little ship was welcomed everywhere with acclamation, and within a short time, the deficiency was made up, allowing us to sail to the islands debt-free.

Chapter 47. The French and the Pacific.

We went down to the islands with the *Dayspring* in 1865. The full story of the years that had passed was laid before my missionary brethren at their annual synod. They resolved that permanent arrangements must now be made for the vessel's support, and that I must return to the colonies and see these matured to prevent any such crisis as that through which we had recently passed. This, meantime, appeared to all of them the most Clement of all missionary duties, their very lives and the existence of the mission itself depending thereon. The Lord seemed to leave me no alternative, and with great reluctance, my back was again turned away from the islands. The *Dayspring*, doing duty among the Loyalty Islands, left me along with my dear wife on Maré there to await an opportunity of getting to New Caledonia and thence to Sydney. Detained there for some time, we saw the noble work done by Mrs. Jones and Cray of the London Missionary Society, all being cruelly undone by the tyranny and potpourri of the French.

One day, in an inland walk, Mrs. Payton and I came on a large conventicle in the bush. They were teaching each other and reading the scriptures, which the missionaries had translated into their own language, and which the French had forbidden them to use. They cried to God for deliverance from their oppressors. Missionaries were prohibited from teaching the gospel to the natives without the permission of France; their books were suppressed, and they themselves placed under military guard. On the island of Lifu, even when by Britain's protest the missionaries were allowed to resume their work, the French language was alone to be used by them, and some, like Reverend J. Jones, as far down as 1888, were marched on board a man-of-war at half an hour's notice and without crime laid to their charge, forbidden ever to return to the islands. While on the other hand, the French Popish missionaries were everywhere fostered and protected, presenting to the natives as many objects of idolatry as their own, and following, as is the custom of the Romish Church in those seas, in the wake of every Protestant mission to pollute and to destroy.

Being delayed also for two weeks on Maré, we saw the state of affairs under military rule. English Protestant residents, few in number, appealed to me to conduct worship, but liberty could not be obtained from the authorities, who hated everything English. Again, a number of Protestant parents, some French, others English and German, applied to me to baptize their children at their own houses. To have asked permission would have been to court refusal and to falsify my position. I laid the matter before the Lord and baptized them all within two days. The private secretary of the governor arrived with an interpreter and began to inquire of me. "True, that you have been baptizing here?" I replied, "Quite frankly, it is." "We are sent to demand on whose authority." "On the authority of my great Master." "When did you get that authority?" "When I was licensed and ordained to preach the gospel, I got that authority from my great Master." Here a spirited conversation followed betwixt the two in French, and they politely bowed and left me. Very shortly, they returned, saying, "The governor sends his compliments, and he wishes the honor of a visit from you at Government House at three o'clock, if convenient for you." I returned my greeting and said that I would have pleasure in waiting upon his Excellency at the appointed hour. I thought to myself that I was in for it now, and I earnestly cried for divine guidance. He saluted me graciously as the "great missionary of the New Hebrides." He conversed in a very friendly manner about the work there and seemed anxious to find any indication as to the English designs. I had to deal very cautiously. He spoke chiefly through the interpreter, but sometimes, dismissing him, he talked to me as good, if not better, English himself. He was eager to get my opinions as to how Britain got and retained her power over the natives. After a very prolonged interview, we parted without a single reference to the baptisms or to religious services.

That evening, the secretary and interpreter waited upon us at our inn, saying, "The governor will have pleasure in placing his yacht and crew at your disposal tomorrow. Mrs. Payton and you can sail all around and visit the convict island and the government gardens, where lunch will be prepared for you." It was a great treat to us indeed. The crew were in prison garments, but also kind to us. By convict labor, all the public works seemed to be carried on, and the gardens were most beautiful. The carved work in bone, ivory, coconuts shells, etc., was indeed very wonderful. We bought a few specimens, but the prices were beyond our purse. It was a strange spectacle: these things of beauty and joy, and beside them, the chained gangs of fierce and savage convicts, kept down only by bullet and sword.

Thanking the governor for his exceeding kindness, I referred to their man-of-war about to go to Sydney and offered to pay full passage money if they would take me instead of leaving me to wait for a trader. He had once granted my request and arranged that we should be charged only at the daily cost for the sailors. At his suggestion, however, I took a number of things on board with me and presented them to be used at the cabin table. We were most generously treated, the captain giving up his own room to my wife and myself, as they had no special accommodation for passengers. New Maré appeared to me at that time to be wholly given over to drunkenness and vice, supported as a great convict settlement by the government of France, and showing every extreme of reckless worldly pleasure and of cruel, slavish toil. When I saw it again three and twenty years thereafter, it showed no signs of progress for the better. If there be a God of justice and of love, His blight cannot but rest on a nation whose pathway is stained with corruption and steeped in blood, as is undeniably the case with France in the Pacific Isles.

Chapter 48. The Gospel and Gunpowder.

Arriving at Sydney, I was at once plunged into a whirlpool of horrors. HMS *Curacoa* had just returned from her official trip to the islands, in which the Commodore, Sir William Wiseman, Bart., C.B., had thought it his duty to inflict punishment on the natives for murder and robbery of traders and others on these islands. As in all similar cases, the missionaries had acted as interpreters, and of course, always used their influence on the side of mercy and in the interests of peace. But Sydney, and indeed Australia and the Christian world, were thrown into a ferment just a few days before our arrival by certain articles in a leading publication there and by the pictorial illustrations of the same. They were professedly from an officer on board Her Majesty's ship, and the sensation was increased by their apparent truthfulness and reality. Tana was the scene of the first event, and a series was to follow in succeeding numbers. The *Curacoa* was pictured lying at anchor off the shore, having the *Dayspring* astern. The Tana warriors were being blown to pieces by shot and shell, and lay in heaps on the bloody coast, and the missionaries were represented as safe in the lee of the man-of-war, directing the onslaught and gloating over the carnage. Without a question being asked or a doubt suggested, without a voice being raised in fierce denial that such men as these missionaries were known to be could be guilty of such conduct, men who had jeoparded their lives for years on end rather than hurt one hair on a native's head, a cry of execration, loud and deep and even savage, arose from the press, and was apparently joined in by the church itself. The common witticism about the "gospel and gunpowder" headed hundreds of bitter and scoffing articles in the journals, and as we afterwards learned, the shocking news had been telegraphed to Britain and America, losing nothing in force by the way, and while filling friends of missions with dismay, was dished up day after day with every imaginable enhancement of horror for the readers of the secular and infidel press.

As I stepped ashore at Sydney, I found myself probably the best-abused man in all Australia, and the very name of the New Hebrides Mission stinking in the nostrils of the people. The gauge of battle had been thrown, and fell at my feet. Without one moment's delay, I lifted it in the name of my Lord and of my maligned brethren. That evening, my reply was in the hands of the editor, denying that such battles ever took place, retailing the actual facts of which I had been myself an eyewitness, and intimating legal prosecution unless the most ample and unequivocal withdrawal and apology were at once published. The newspaper printed my rejoinder and made satisfactory amends for having been imposed upon and deceived.

I waited upon the Commodore and appealed for his help in redressing this terrible injury to our mission. He informed me that he had already called his officers to account, but that all denied any connection with the articles or the picture. He had little doubt, all the same, that someone on board was the prompter who gloried in the evil that was being done to the cause of Christ. He offered every possible assistance by testimony or otherwise to place all the facts before the Christian public and to vindicate our missionaries.

The outstanding facts are best presented in the following extract from the official report of the mission synod: "When the New Hebrides missionaries were assembled at their annual meeting on Aneityum, HMS *Curacoa*, Wiseman, Bart., C.B., arrived in the harbor to investigate many grievances of white men and trading vessels among the islands. A petition having been previously presented to the governor in Sydney, as drawn out by the Revs. Messrs. Getty and Copeland, after the murder of Mr. and Mrs. Gordon on Erromanga, requesting an investigation into the sad event and the removal of a sandalwood trader, a British subject, who had incited the natives to it. The missionaries gave the Commodore a memorandum on the loss of life and property that had been sustained by the mission on Tana, Erromanga, and Efate. He requested the missionaries to supply him with interpreters, and requested the *Dayspring* to accompany him with them. The request was at once acceded to. Mr. Payton was appointed to act as interpreter for Tana, Mr. Gordon, brother of the martyr, for Erromanga, and Mr. Morrison for Efate. At each of these islands, the Commodore summoned the principal chiefs near the harbors to appear before him and explained to them that his visit was to inquire into the complaints British subjects had made against them, and to see if they had any against British subjects, and when he had found out the truth, he would punish those who had done the wrong and protect those who had suffered wrong. The Queen did not send him to compel them to become Christians or to punish them for not becoming Christians; she left them to do as they liked in this matter, but she was very angry at them because they had encouraged her subjects to live amongst them, sold them land, and promised to protect them, and afterwards murdered some of them and attempted to murder others, and stolen and destroyed their property. That the inhabitants of these islands were talked of over the whole world for their treachery, cruelty, and murders, and that the Queen would no longer allow them to murder or injure her subjects who were living peaceably among them, either as missionaries or traders. She would send a ship of war every year to inquire into their conduct, and if any white man injured any native, they were to tell the captain of the man-of-war, and the white man would be punished as fast as the black man. After spending much time and using peaceably every means in his power in trying to get the guilty parties on Tana, and not succeeding, he shelled two villages, having the day before informed the natives that he would do so, and advising to have all women, children, and sick removed, which in fact they did. Indeed, nearly the whole of the inhabitants, young and old, went to Noah's land, where they were instructed they would be safe, while they witnessed what a man-of-war could do in punishing murderers. But before the hour approached, a foolish host of Tana's warriors had assembled on the beach, painted and armed, and determined to fight the man-of-war, and the chief of a village on the other side of the bay was at that moment assembled with his men on the high ground within our view, and dancing to a war song in defiance. The Commodore caused a shell to strike the hill and explode with terrific fury just underneath the dancers. The earth and the bush were torn and thrown into the air above and around them, and next moment the whole host was seen disappearing over the brow of the hill. Two shots were sent over the heads of the warriors on the shore with terrific noise and uproar. In an instant, every man was making haste for Noah's land, the place of refuge. The Commodore then shelled the villages and destroyed their property. Beyond what I have here recorded, absolutely nothing was done."

We returned then for a moment to Sydney. The public excitement made it impossible for me to open my lips in the promotion of our mission. The Reverend Doctors Dunsmuir, Lang, and Steel, along with Professor Smith of the University, waited on the Commodore and got an independent version of the facts. They then called a meeting on the affair by public advertisement, without being made acquainted with the results of their investigations. I was called upon to give my own account of the *Curacoa*'s visit and of the connection of the missionaries therewith. They then submitted the Commodore's statement, given by him in writing. He exonerated the missionaries from every shadow of blame and from all responsibility. In the interests of mercy, as well as justice, and to save life, they had acted as his interpreters, and there all that they had to do with the *Curacoa* began and ended. All this was published in the newspapers next day, along with the speeches of the three deputies. The excitement began to subside, but the poison had been lodged in many hearts, and the ejectment of it was a slow and difficult process. Feeling absolutely conscious that I had only done my Christian duty, I left all results in the hands of my Lord Jesus and pressed forward in His blessed work. But more than one dear personal friend had to be sacrificed over this painful affair. A Presbyterian minister and a godly elder and his wife, almost excellent and well-beloved, at whose houses I had been received as a brother, intimated to

Me that owing to this case of the Kurokoa, their friendship and mind must entirely cease in this world. And it did cease, but my esteem never changed. I had learned not to think unkindly of friends, even when they manifestly misunderstood my actions, nor would these things merit being recorded here, were it not that they may be at once a beacon and a guide. God's people are still belied, and the mob is still as ready as ever to cry, "Crucify, crucify!"

Chapter 49. A Plea for Tanner.

Everything having been at length arranged for in the colonies in connection with the mission and Dayspring, as far as could possibly be, and I having been adopted by the Victorian Assembly of 1866 as the first missionary from the Presbyterian Church of Australia to the New Hebrides, we sailed for the islands on the 8th of August of that year. Besides my wife and child, the following accompanied us to the field: Revs. Copeland, Kosh, and Menair, along with their respective wives.

On the 20th of August, we reached Anaitium, and having landed some of our friends, we sailed northwards as far as Ifati, to let the new missionaries see all the islands open for occupation, and to bring all our missionaries back to the annual meeting, where the permanent settlements would be finally agreed upon. While staying at Anitium, I learned with as deep emotion as man ever felt for man, that noble old Abraham, the sharer of Maitani's trials, had during the interval peacefully fallen asleep in Jesus. He left for me his silver watch, one which I had myself sent to the dear soul from Sydney, and which he greatly prized. In his dying hour, he said, "Give it to Missy, my own Missy Payton, and tell him that I go to Jesus, where time is dead."

I learned also, and truly human-hearted readers will need no apology for introducing this news in so grave a story, that my faithful dog Clotha, entrusted to the care of a kindly native to be kept for my return, had, despite all coaxing, grown weary of heart amongst all these dark faces, and fallen asleep too. Truly not unworthy of a grateful tear.

At our annual Synod, after much prayerful deliberation and the careful weighing of every vital circumstance, I was constrained by the united voice of my brethren not to return to Tana, but to settle on the adjoining island of Aniwa. It was even hoped that thereby Tana might eventually be the more surely reached and evangelized by the new missionaries. All the other old stations were reoccupied, and some fresh islands were entered upon in the name of Jesus. As we moved about with our Dayspring and planted the missionaries here and there, nothing could repress the wonder of natives. "How is this?" they cried. "We slew or drove them all away; we plundered their houses and robbed them. Had we been so treated, nothing would have made us return. But they come back with a beautiful new ship, and with more and more missionaries! And is it to trade and to get money, like the other white men?" "No, no, but to tell us of their Jehovah God, and of His Son Jesus." "If their God makes them do all that, we may well worship Him too." In this way, island after island was opened up to receive the missionary, and their chiefs bound themselves to protect and cherish him, before they knew anything whatever of the Gospel beyond what they saw in the disposition and character of its preachers, or heard rumored regarding its fruits on other islands. Imagine cannibals found thus prepared to welcome the missionary, and to make not only his property, but his life comparatively safe! The Isles wait for Christ.

On our way to anywhere, the Dayspring had to call at Tana by stress of weather. We lay several days in Port Resolution, and there many memories were again revived, wounds that after five and twenty years, when I now write, still bleed afresh. Noah, the old chief, unstable but friendly, was determined to keep us there by force or by fraud. The captain told him that the Council of the missionaries had forbidden him to land our boxes at Tana. "Don't land them," said the wily chief; "just throw them over; my men and I will catch everything before it reaches the water, and carry them all safely ashore." The captain said he does not. Then persisted Noah, "Just point them out to us; you will have no further trouble; we will manage everything for Missy." They were in distress when he refused, and poor old Noah tried another tack. Suspecting that my dear wife was afraid of them, he got us on shore to see his extensive plantations. Turning eagerly to her, he said, leaving me to interpret, "Plenty of food, while I have a yam or a banana, you shall not want." She answered, "I fear not any lack of food." Pointing to his warriors, he cried, "We are many; we are strong; we can always protect you." "I am not afraid," she calmly replied. He then led us to that chestnut tree, in the branches of which I had sat during a lonely and memorable night when all hope had perished of any earthly deliverance, and said to her, with a manifest touch of genuine emotion, "The God who protected Missy there will always protect you." She told him that she had no fear of that kind, but explained to him that we must for the present go to Anywhere, but would return to Tana if the Lord opened up our way. And the rest seemed to be genuinely grieved, and it touched my soul to the quick.

A beautiful incident was the outcome, as we learned only in long after years. There was at that time an Aniwan chief on Tana visiting friends. He was one of their great sacred men. He and his people had been promised a passage home in the Dayspring, with their canoes in tow. When old Noah saw that he could not keep us with himself, he went to this Aniwan chief and took the white shells, the insignia of chieftainship, from his own arm, and bound them on the sacred man, saying, "By these, you promise to protect my Missy and his wife and child on Anywhere. Let no evil befall them, or by this pledge, I and my people will revenge it." In a future crisis, this probably saved our lives, as shall be afterwards related. After all, a bit of the Christ spirit had found its way into that old cannibal's soul, and the same Christ spirit in me yearned more strongly still, and made it a positive pain to pass on to another island and leave him in that dim, groping twilight of the soul.

Chapter 50. Our New Home on Anywhere.

Anywhere became my mission home in November 1866, and for the next 15 years it was the heart and center of my personal labors in the heathen world. Since 1881, alas, my two frequent deputation pilgrimages among churches in Great Britain and in the colonies have rendered my visits to Aniwa but few and far between. God never guided me back to Tana, but others, my dear friends, have seen His kingdom planted and beginning to grow amongst that slowly relenting race. Aniwa was to be the land where, in my past years of toil and patience and faith, were to see their fruits ripening at length. I claimed Anywhere for Jesus, and by the grace of God, Aniwa now worships at the Savior's feet.

The island of Aniwa is one of the smaller isles of the New Hebrides. It measures scarcely seven miles by two, and is everywhere girt round with a belt of coral reef. The sea breaks thereon heavily, with thundering roar, and the white surf rolls in furious and far. But there are days of calm when all the sea is glass, and the spray on the reef is only a fringe of silver. Aniwa, having no hills to attract and condense the clouds, suffers badly for lack of genial rains, and the heavy rains of hurricane and tempest seem to disappear as if by magic through the light soil and porous rock. The moist atmosphere and the heavy dews, however, keep the island covered with green, while large and fruitful trees draw wondrous nourishment from their rocky beds. Aniwa has no harbor or safe anchorage of any kind for ships, though in certain winds they have been seen at anchor on the outer edge of the reef, always a perilous haven. There is one rock in the coral belt through which a boat can safely run to shore, but the little wharf built there of the largest coral blocks that could be rolled together has been once and again swept clean off by the hurricane, leaving not a rack behind.

When we landed, the natives received us kindly. They and the Anaitium teachers led us to a temporary home prepared for our abode. It was a large native hut; walls and roof consisted of sugarcane leaf and reeds intertwined on a strong wooden frame. It had neither doors nor windows, but open spaces instead of these. The earthen floor alone looked beautiful, covered thick with white coral broken small. It had only one apartment, and that meantime had to serve also for church and school and public hall. We screened off a little portion, and behind that screen planted our bed and stored our valuables. All the natives within reach assembled to watch us taking our food. A box at first served for a chair; the lid of another box was our table. Our cooking was all done in the open air under a large tree, and we got along with amazing comfort. But the house was under the shelter of a coral rock, and we saw at a glance that at certain seasons it would prove a very hot bed of fever and ague. We were, however, only too thankful to enter it till a better could be built, and on a breezier site. The only ones were not so violently dishonorable as the Tanis, but they had the knack of asking in a rather menacing manner whatever they coveted, and the tomahawk was sometimes swung to enforce an appeal. We strove to get along quietly and kindly in the hope that when we knew their language and could teach them the principles of Jesus, they would be saved, and life and property would be secure. But the rumor of the Kurokoa's visit and her punishment of murder and robbery did more, by God's blessing, to protect us during those heathen days than all other influences combined. The savage cannibal was heard to whisper to his bloodthirsty mates, "Not to murder or to steal, for the man-of-war that punished Tana would blow up their little island."

Sorrowful experience on Tana had taught us to seek the site of our Aniwan house on the highest ground and away from the malarial influences near the shore. There was one charming mound covered with trees whose roots ran down into the crevices of coral, and from which Tana and Aramanga are clearly seen. But there the natives, for some superstitious reason, forbade us to build, and we were constrained to take another rising ground somewhat nearer the shore. In the end, this turned out to be the very best site on the island for us, central and suitable every way. But we afterwards learned that perhaps superstition also led them to sell us this site in the malicious hope that it would prove our ruin. The mounds on the top, which had to be cleared away, contained the bones and refuse of their cannibal feasts for ages. None but their sacred men durst touch them, and the natives watched us hewing and digging, certain that their gods would strike us dead. Failing their thoughts, may probably have been turned to reflect that, after all, the Jehovah God was stronger than they. In leveling the site and gently sloping the sides of the ground for good drainage purposes, I had gathered together two large baskets of human bones. I said to a chief in Tanese, "How do these bones come to be here?" And he replied with a shrug worthy of a cynical Frenchman, "Ah, we are not Tanamen; we don't eat the bones."

Chapter 51. House Building for God.

The site being now cleared, we questioned whether to build only a temporary home, hoping to return to dear old Tana as soon as possible, or, though the labor would be vastly greater, a substantial house for the comfort of our successors, if not of ourselves. We decided that as this was work for God, we would make it the very best we could. We planned two central rooms, 16 feet by 16, with a five feet wide lobby between, so that other rooms could be added when required. About a quarter of a mile from the sea and 35 feet above its level, I laid the foundations of the house. Coral blocks raised the wall about three feet high all round. Air passages carried sweeping currents underneath each room and greatly lessened the risk of fever and ague. A wide trench was dug all round and filled up as a drain with broken coral, but back and front the veranda stretched five feet wide, and pantry, bathroom, and tool house were partitioned off. Under the veranda, behind the windows sent to me had hinges, I added two feet to each with wood from mission boxes, and made them French door windows opening from each room to the veranda, and so we had, by God's blessing, a healthy spot to live in, if not exactly a thing of beauty.

The mission house, when ultimately finished, had six rooms, three on each side of the lobby, and measured 90 feet in length, surrounded by a veranda 100 feet by five, which kept everything shaded and cool. Underneath two rooms, a cellar was dug eight feet deep and shelved all round for a store. In more than one terrific hurricane, that cellar saved our lives, all crushing into it when trees and houses were being tossed like feathers on the wings of the wind. Altogether, the house on Aniwa has proved one of the healthiest and most commodious of any that have been planted by Christian hands on the New Hebrides. In selecting site and in building, the good hand of our God was upon us for good.

I built also two small orphanages, almost as inevitably necessary as the missionaries' own house. They stood on a line with the front of my own dwelling, one for girls, the other for boys, and we had them constantly under our own eyes. The orphans were practically boarded at the mission premises and adopted by the missionaries. Their clothing was a heavy drain upon our resources, and every odd and curious article that came in any of the boxes or parcels was utilized. We trained these young people for Jesus, and at this day many of the best of our native teachers and most devoted Christian helpers are amongst those who would probably have perished but for these orphanages.

Every day after dinner, we set the bell a-ringing, intimating from our first arrival on Aniwa readiness to give advice or medicine to all who were sick. We spoke to them so soon as we had learned a few words about Jesus. The weak received a cup of tea and a piece of bread. The demand was sometimes great, especially when epidemics befell them, but some rather fled from us as the cause of their sickness and sought refuge from our presence in remotest corners, or rushed off at our approach and concealed themselves in the bush. They were but children and full of superstition, and we had to win them by kindly patience, never losing faith in them and hope for them, any more than the Lord did with us.

Our learning the language on Aniwa was marked by similar incidents to those of Tana, related in a preceding chapter, though a few of them could understand my Tanese, and that greatly helped me. One day, a man, after carefully examining some article, turned to his neighbor and said, "Tahatine?" I inferred that he was asking, "What is this?" pointing to another article. I repeated their words; they smiled at each other and gave me its name. On another occasion, a man said to his companion, looking toward me, "Tahanego?" Concluding that he was asking my name, I pointed towards him and repeated the words, and they at once gave me their names. Readers would be surprised to discover how much you can readily learn of any language with these two short questions constantly on your lips, and with people ready at every turn to answer, "What's this?" "What's your name?"

Every word was at once written down, spelled phonetically, and arranged in alphabetic order, and a note appended as to the circumstances in which it was used. By frequent comparison of these notes and by careful daily and even hourly imitation of all their sounds, we were able in a measure to understand each other. Before we had gone far in the house-building operations, during which some of them were constantly beside me, one incident of that time was very memorable, and God turned it to good account for higher ends. I often tell it as the miracle of the speaking bit of wood, and it has happened to other missionaries exactly as to myself. While working at the house, I required some nails and tools. Lifting a piece of planed wood, I penciled a few words on it and requested our old chief to carry it to Mrs. Payton, and she would send what I wanted. In blank wonder, he innocently stared at me and said, "But what do you want?" I replied, "The wood will tell her." He looked rather angry, thinking that I befoolled him, and retorted, "Whoever heard of wood speaking?" By hard pleading, I succeeded in persuading him to go. He was amazed to see her looking at the wood and then fetching the needed articles. He brought back the bit of wood and eagerly made signs for an explanation, chiefly in broken Tanese. I read to him the words and informed him that in the same way God spoke to us through His book; the will of God was written there, and by and by, when he learned to read, he would hear God speaking to him from its page, as Mrs. Payton heard me from the bit of wood. A great desire was thus awakened in the poor man's soul to see the very word of God printed in his own language. He helped me to learn words and master ideas with growing enthusiasm, and when my work of translating portions of Holy Scripture began, his delight was unbounded, and his help invaluable. The miracle of a speaking page was not less wonderful than that of speaking wood.

One day, while building the house, an old inland chief and his three sons came to see us. Everything was to them full of wonder. After returning home, one of the sons fell sick, and the father at once blamed us and the worship, declaring that if the lad died, we all should be murdered in revenge. By God's blessing and by our careful nursing and suitable medicine, he recovered and was spared. The old chief superstitiously wheeled round almost to another extreme; he became not only friendly but devoted to us. He attended the Sabbath services and listened to the Anaitium teachers and to my first attempts, partly in Tanese translated by the orator Tire, or the chief Namakay, and explained in our hearing to the people in their mother tongue. But on the heels of this, another calamity overtook us. So soon as two rooms of the Mission House were roofed in, I hired the stoutest of the young men to carry our boxes thither. Two of them started off with a heavy box suspended on a pole from shoulder to shoulder, their usual custom. They were shortly after attacked with vomiting of blood, and one of them, an Eramangan, died. The father of the other swore that if his son did not get better, every soul at the mission house should be slain in revenge. But God mercifully restored him.

As the boat landing was nearly three-quarters of a mile distant, and such a calamity recurring would be not only sorrowful in itself but perilous in the extreme for us all, I steeped my wits, and with such crude materials as were at hand, I manufactured not only a hand barrow but a wheelbarrow for the pressing emergencies of the time. In due course, I procured a more orthodox hand cart from the colonies and coaxed and bribed the natives to assist me in making a road for it. Perhaps the ghost of Macadam would shudder at the appearance of that road, but it has proved immensely useful ever since.

Chapter 52. A City of God.

When, in the course of years, everything had been completed to our taste, we lived practically in the midst of a beautiful village. The church, the school, the orphanage, the smithy and joiner's shop, the printing office, the banana and yam house, the cookhouse, etc., all very humble indeed, but all standing steadily up there among the orange trees and preaching the gospel of a higher civilization and of a better life for Aniwa. The little road leading to each door was laid with the white coral broken small. The fence around all shone fresh and clean with new paint. Order and taste were seen to be laws in the white man's new life, and several of the natives began diligently to follow our example.

Many and strange were the arts which I had to try to practice, such as handling the adze, the mysteries of tenon and mortise, and other feats of skill. If a native wanted a fishhook or a piece of red calico to bind his long whip-cord hair, he would carry me a block of coral or fetch me a beam. But continuous daily toil seemed to him a mean existence. The women were tempted by calico and beads for pay to assist in preparing the sugarcane leaf for thatch, gathering it in the plantations and tying it over reeds four or six feet long with strips of bark of pandanus leaf, leaving a long fringe hanging over on one side. How differently they acted when the gospel began to touch their hearts! They built their church and their schools, then by their own free toil, rejoicing to labor without money or price, and they have ever since kept them in good repair for the service of the Lord by their voluntary offerings of wood and sugarcane leaf and coral lime. The roof was firmly tied on, and nailed thereon were laid the reeds, fringed with sugarcane leaf, row after row, tied firmly to the wood. The ridge was bound down by coconut leaves dexterously plaited from side to side and skewered to the ridge pole with hard wooden pins, and overall a fresh storm-roof was laid on yearly for the hurricane months, composed of folded coconut leaves held down with planks of wood and bound to the framework below, which, however, had to be removed again in April to save the sugarcane leaf from rotting beneath it. There you were snugly covered in, and your thatching good to last from eight years to ten, that is, provided you were not caught in the sweep of the hurricane, before which trees went flying like straws, huts disappeared like autumn leaves, and your mission house, if left standing at all, was probably swept bare, alike of roof and thatch, at a single stroke. Well for you at such times if you have a good barometer indicating the approach of the storm, and better still, a large cellar like ours, 24 feet by 16, built round with solid coral blocks, where goods may be stored, and where into also all your household may creep for safety, while the tornado tosses your dwelling about and sets huge trees dancing around you.

We had also to invent a lime kiln, and this proved one of the hardest nuts of all that had to be cracked. The kind of coral required could be obtained only at one spot about three miles distant. Lying at anchor in my boat, the natives dived into the sea, broke off with hammer and crowbar piece after piece, and brought it up to me till I had my load. We then carried it ashore and spread it out in the sun to be blistered there for two weeks or so. Having thus secured 20 or 30 boatloads and had it duly conveyed round to the mission station, a huge pit was dug in the ground, dry wood piled in below, and green wood above to the height of several feet, and on the top of all the coral blocks were orderly laid. When this pile had burned for seven or ten days, the coral had been reduced to excellent lime, and the plaster work made therefrom shone like marble.

On one of these trips, the natives performed an extraordinary feat. The boat with full load was struck heavily by a wave, and the reef drove a hole in her side. Quicker's thought, the crew were all in the sea, and to my amazement, bearing up the boat with their shoulder and one hand while swimming and guiding us ashore with the other. There, on the land, we were hauled up, and four weary days were spent fetching and carrying from the mission station every plank, tool, and nail necessary for her repair. Every boat for these seas ought to be built of cedarwood and copper-fastened, which is by far the most economical in the end, and all houses should be built of wood which is as full as possible of gum or resin, since the large white ants devour not only other soft woods but even colonial blue gum trees. The hard coconut and window sashes, chairs, and tables.

Glancing back on all these toils, I rejoiced that such exhausting demands are no longer made on our newly arrived missionaries. Houses all ready for being set up are now brought down from the colonies; zinc roofs and other improvements have been introduced. The Synod appoints a deputation to accompany the young missionary and plant the house along with himself at the station committed to his care. Our strength is thus saved for higher uses, and not only property but life itself is oftentimes preserved.

I will close this chapter with an incident which, though it came to our knowledge only years afterwards, closely bears upon our settlement on Aniwa. At first, we had no idea why they so determinedly refused us one site and fixed us to another of their own choice. But after the old chief Namakay became a Christian, he one day addressed the Aniwan people in our hearing to this effect: "When Missy came, we saw his boxes; we knew he had blankets and calico, axes and knives, fish hooks, and all such things. We said, 'Don't drive him off, else we will lose all these things.' We will let him land, but we will force him to live on the sacred plot. Our gods will kill him, and we will divide all that he has amongst the men of Aniwa." But Missy built his house on our most sacred spot; he and his people lived there, and the gods did not strike. He planted bananas there, and we said, 'Now, when they eat of these, they will all drop down dead,' as our fathers assured us, if anyone ate fruit from that ground except only our sacred men themselves. These bananas ripened; they did eat them; we kept watching for days and days, but no one died. Therefore, what we say, and what our fathers have said, is not true. Our gods cannot kill them. Their Jehovah God is stronger than the gods of Aniwa."

I enforced old Namakay's appeal, telling them that though they knew it not, it was the living and true and only God who had sent them every blessing which they possessed, and had at last sent us to teach them how to serve and love and please Him. In wonder and silence, they listened while I tried to explain to them that Jesus, the Son of this God, had lived and died and gone to the Father to save them, and that He was now willing to take them by the hand and lead them through this life to glory and immortality together with Himself. The old chief led them in prayer, a strange, dark, groping prayer, with streaks of heathenism coloring every thought and sentence, but still a heartbreaking prayer, as the cry of a soul once cannibal, but now being thrilled through and through with the first conscious pulsations of the Christ spirit, throbbing into the words, "Father, Father, our Father." When these poor creatures began to wear a bit of calico or a kilt, it was an outward sign of a change, though yet far from civilization. And when they began to look up and pray to One whom they called Father, Our Father, though they might be far, very far, from the type of Christian that dubs itself respectable, my heart broke over them in tears of joy, and nothing will ever persuade me that there was not a Divine heart in the heavens rejoicing too.

Chapter 53. The Religion of Revenge.

On landing in November 1866, we found the natives of Aniwa some very shy and distrustful, and others forward and imperious. No clothing was worn, but the wives and elder women had grass aprons or girdles, like our first parents in Eden. The old chief interested himself in us and our work, but the greater number showed a far deeper interest in the axes, knives, fish hooks, strips of red calico, and blankets received in payment for work or for bananas. Even for payment, they would scarcely work at first, and they were most unreasonable, easily offended, and started off in a moment at any imaginable slight. For instance, a chief once came for medicine. I was so engaged that I could not attend to him for a few minutes, so off he went in a great rage, threatening revenge and muttering, "I must be attended to; I won't wait on him." Such were the exactions of a naked savage.

Shortly before our arrival, an Anaitium teacher was sacrificed on Aniwa. Circumstances are illustrative of what may be almost called their worship of revenge. Many long years ago, a party of Aniwan's had gone to Anaitium on a friendly visit, but the Anaitium natives, then all savages, murdered and at every man of them save one, who escaped into the bush, living on coconuts, he awaited a favorable wind, and launching his canoe by night, he arrived in safety. The bereaved Aniwan's, hearing his terrible story, were furious for revenge, but the 45 miles of sea between proving too hard an obstacle, they made a deep cut in the earth and vowed to renew that cut from year to year till the day of revenge came round. Thus the memory of the event was kept alive for nearly 80 years.

At length, the people of Anaitium came to the knowledge of Jesus Christ. They strongly yearned to spread their saving gospel to the heathen islands all around. Amid prayers and strong cryings to God, they, like the church at Antioch, designated two of their leading men to go as native teachers and evangelize Aniwa, whilst others went forth to Fortuna, Tana, and Erromanga as opportunity arose. Namakay, the principal chief of Aniwa, had promised to protect and be kind to them, but as time went on, it was discovered that the teachers belonged to the tribe on Anaitium, and one of them to the very land where long ago the Aniwan's had been murdered. The teachers had from the first known their danger, but were eager to make known the gospel to Aniwa. It was resolved that they should die, but the Aniwan's, having promised to protect them, shrank from doing it themselves. So they hired two Tanamen and an Aniwan chief, one of whose parents had belonged to Tana, to waylay and shoot the teachers as they returned from their tour of evangelism among the villages. On Sabbath afternoon, their muskets did not go off, but the murderers rushed upon them with clubs and left them for dead. Nimian was dead and entered that day amongst the noble army of martyrs. Poor Navalak was still breathing, and the chief Namakay carried him to his village and kindly nursed him. He pleaded with the people that the claims of revenge had been satisfied, and that Navalak should be cherished and sent home. The Christ spirit beginning to work in that darkened soul, Navalak was restored to his people, and is yet living (1888), a high-class chief on Anaitium and an honor to the Church of God, bearing on his body the marks of the Lord Jesus, and often since has he visited Aniwa in later years and praised the Lord amongst the very people who once thirsted for his blood and left him by the wayside as good as dead.

For a time, Aniwa was left without any witness for Jesus. The London Missionary Society teachers having suffered dreadfully for lack of food and from fever and ague, being also removed. But on a visit of a mission vessel, Namakay sent his orator Tire to Anaitium to tell them that now revenge was satisfied, the cut in the earth filled up, and a coconut tree planted and flourishing where the blood of the teachers had been shed, and that no person from Anaitium would ever be injured by Aniwan's further. He was to plead for more teachers and to pledge his chief's word that they would be kindly received and protected. They knew not the gospel and had no desire for it, but they wanted friendly intercourse with Anaitium, where trading vessels called, and once they might obtain mats, baskets, blankets, and iron tools. At length, two Anaitium natives again volunteered to go, Kangaroo and Nelmi, one from each side of the island, and were located by the missionaries along with their families on Aniwa, one with Namakay and the other at the South End, to lift up the standard of a Christ-like life among their heathen neighbors.

Tire, who went on the mission to Anaitium, was a great speaker and also a very cunning man. He was the old chief's appointed orator on all state occasions, being tall and stately in appearance, of great bodily strength, and possessed of a winning manner. On the voyage to Anaitium, he was constantly smoking and making things disagreeable to all around him. Being advised not to smoke while on board, he pleaded with the missionary, "Just let me take a whiff now and again till I finish the tobacco I have in my pipe, and then I will lay it aside." But like the widow's meal, it lasted all the way to Anaitium and never appeared to get less, at which the innocent Tire expressed much astonishment.

Chapter 54. First Fruits.

On Aniwa, the two teachers and their wives were little better than slaves when we landed there, toiling in the service of their masters and living in constant fear of being murdered. Doubtless, however, the mighty contrast presented by the life, character, and disposition of these godly teachers was the sowing of the seed that bore fruit in other days, though as yet no single Aniwan had begun to wear clothing out of respect to civilization, much less being brought to know and love the Savior.

So soon as I could speak a little to them in their own language, we began to visit regularly at their villages and to talk to them about Jesus and His love. We tried also to get them to come to our church under the shade of the Banyan Tree. Nasi and some of the worst characters would sit scowling not far off, or follow us with loaded muskets. Using every precaution, we still held on, doing our work, sometimes giving fish hooks or beads to the boys and girls, showing them that our objects were kind and not selfish. And however our hearts sometimes trembled in the presence of imminent death and sank within us, we stood fearless in their presence and left all results in the hands of Jesus. Often have I had to run into the arms of some savage when his club was swung or his musket leveled at my head, and praying to Jesus, so clung around him that he could neither strike nor shoot me till his wrath cooled down, and I managed to slip away. Often have I seized the pointed barrel and directed it upwards, or pleading with my assailant, uncapped his musket in the struggle. At other times, nothing could be said, nothing done, but stand still inside prayer, asking God to protect us, or to prepare us for going home to His glory. He fulfilled His own promise: "I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee."

The first Aniwan that ever came to the knowledge and love of Jesus was the old chief Namakay. We came to live on his land, as it was near our diminutive harbor, and upon the whole, he and his people were the most friendly, though his only brother, the sacred man of the tribe, on two occasions tried to shoot me. Came a good deal about us at the mission house and helped us to acquire the language. He discovered that we took tea evening and morning. When we gave him a cup and a piece of bread, he liked it well and gave a sip to all around him. At first, he came for the tea, perhaps, and disappeared suspiciously soon thereafter, but his interest manifestly grew till he showed great delight in helping us in every possible way. Along with him, and as his associates, came also the chief Nazwai and his wife Katua. These three grew into the knowledge of the Savior together. From being savage cannibals, they rose before our eyes, under the influence of the Gospel, into noble and beloved characters, and they and we loved each other exceedingly.

Namakay brought his little daughter, his only child, the queen of her race, called Litzisora (lit. Litz the Great), and said, "I want to leave my Litzi with you; I want you to train her for Jesus." She was a very intelligent child, learned things like any white girl, and soon became quite a help to Mrs. Burton. On seeing his niece dressed and so smart-looking, the old chief's only brother, the sacred man that had attempted to shoot me, also brought his child, Litzi Sisi (lit. the little), to be trained like her cousin. The mothers of both were dead. The children reported all they saw and all we taught them, and so their fathers became more deeply interested in our work, and the news of the Gospel spread far and wide. Soon we had all the orphans committed to us whose guardians were willing to part with them, and our home became literally the school of Christ, the boys growing up to help all my plans, and the girls to help my wife and to be civilized and trained by her, and many of them developing into devoted teachers and evangelists.

Our earlier Sabbath services were sad affairs. Every man came armed; indeed, every man slept with his weapons of war at his side, and bow and arrow, spear and tomahawk, club and musket were always ready for action. On fair days, we assembled under the Banyan Tree; on rainy days, in a native hut partly built for the purpose. One or two seemed to listen, but the most lay about on their backs or sides, smoking, talking, sleeping. When we stopped the feast at the close, which the Anaitium teacher had been forced to prepare before our coming, and for which they were always ready, the audiences at first went down to two or three. But these actually came to learn, and a better tone began immediately to pervade the service. We informed them that it was for their good that we taught them, and that they would get no pay for attending church or school, and the greater number departed in high dudgeon as very ill-used persons. Others of a more commercial turn came, offering to sell their idols, and when we would not purchase them but urged them to give up and cast them away for love to Jesus, they carried them off, saying they would have nothing to do with this new worship.

Amidst frequent trials and dangers in those earlier times on Aniwa, our little orphans often warned us privately and saved our lives from cruel plots. When, in baffled rage, our enemies demanded who had revealed things to us, I always said, "It was a little bird from the bush." So the dear children grew to have perfect confidence in us; they knew we would not betray them, and they considered themselves the guardians of our lives.

Chapter 55. Traditions and Customs.

What a suggestive tradition of the Fall came to me in one of those early days on Aniwa! Upon our leaving the hut and removing to our new house, it was seized upon by Tupa for his sleeping place, though still continuing to be used by the natives as clubhouse, court of law, etc. One morning at daylight, this Tupa came running to us in great excitement, wielding his club furiously and crying, "Missy, I have killed the table! I have killed Tipolo! He came to catch me last night; I raised all the people, and we fought him around the house with our clubs. At daybreak he came out, and I killed him dead! We will have no more bad conduct or trouble now Tipolo is dead!" "What nonsense!" I said. "Tipolo is a spirit and cannot be seen." But in mad excitement, he persisted that he had killed him, and at Mrs. Payton's advice, I went with the man, and he led me to a great sacred rock of coral near our old hut, over which hung the dead body of a huge and beautiful sea serpent, and exclaimed, "There he lies! Truly, I killed him!" I protested, "That is not the devil; it is only the body of a serpent." The man quickly answered, "Well, but it is all the game; he is Tipolo; he makes us bad and causes all our troubles."

Following up this hint by many inquiries then and afterwards, I found that they clearly associated man's troubles and sufferings somehow with the serpent. They worshiped the serpent as a spirit of evil under the name of "magic cheeky," that is to say, they lived in abject terror of his influence, and all their worship was directed towards propitiating his rage against man. Their story of creation, at least of the origin of their own Aniwa and the adjacent islands, is much more an outcome of the unaided native mind. They say that Magic Cheeky fished up these lands out of the sea, and they showed the deep print of his foot on the coral rocks opposite each island whereon he stood as he strained and lifted them up above the waters. He then threw his great fishing line round for Tana, 36 miles distant, to draw it close to Aniwa and make them one land, but as he pulled, the line broke, and he fell where his mark may still be seen upon the rock. So the islands remained separated unto this day. Magic Cheeky placed men and women on Aniwa. On the southern end of the island, there was a beautiful spring and a freshwater river with rich land all around for plantations, but the people would not do what Magic Cheeky wanted them, so he got angry and split off the richer part of Aniwa with the spring and river and sailed with them across to Anaitium, leaving them where Dr. Inglis has since built his beautiful mission station. To this day, the river there is called the Water of Aniwa by the inhabitants of both islands, and it is the ambition of all Aniwan's to visit Anaitium and drink of that spring and river, as they sigh to each other, "Alas for the Waters of Aniwa!"

Their picture of the flood is equally grotesque. Far back, when the volcano now on Tana was part of Aniwa, the rain fell and fell from day to day, and the sea rose till it threatened to cover everything. All were drowned except the few who climbed up on the volcano mountain. The sea had already put out the volcano at the southern end of Aniwa, and Magic Cheeky, who dwelt in the greater volcano, becoming afraid of the extinction of his big fire, too, split it off from Aniwa with all the land on the southeastern side and sailed it across to Tana. On the top of the flood, there, by his mighty strength, he heaved the volcano to the top of a high mountain in Tana, where it remains to this day. For on the subsiding of the sea, he was unable to transfer his big fire to Aniwa, and so it was reduced to a very small island without a volcano and without a river. For the sins of the people long ago.

Even where there are no snakes, they apply the superstitions about the serpent to a large black poisonous lizard called Keck Vow. They call it Tipolo, and women or children scream wildly at the sight of one. One of the darkest and most hideous blots on heathenism is the practice of infanticide. Only three cases came to our knowledge on Aniwa, but we publicly denounced them at all hazards and awoke not only natural feeling but the selfish interests of the community for the protection of the children. These three were the last that died there by parents' hands. A young husband who had been jealous of his wife buried their male child alive as soon as born. An old Tana woman who had no children living, having at last a fine healthy boy born to her, threw him into the sea before anyone could interfere to save, and a savage in anger with his wife snatched her baby from her arms, hid himself in the bush till night, and returned without the child, refusing to give any explanation except that he was dead and buried. Praise be to God, these three murderers of their own children were by and by touched with the story of Jesus, became members of the church, and each adopted little orphan children towards whom they continued to show the most tender affection and care.

Wife murder was also considered quite legitimate. In one of our inland villages dwelt a young couple, happy in every respect except that they had no children. The man, being a heathen, resolved to take home another wife, a widow with two children. This was naturally opposed by his young wife, and without the slightest warning, while she sat plaiting a basket, he discharged a ball into her from his loaded musket. It crashed through her arm and lodged in her side. Everything was done that was in my power to save her life, but on the tenth day, tetanus came on, and she soon after passed away.

Man appeared very attentive to her all the time, but being a heathen, he insisted that she had no right to oppose his wishes. He was not in any way punished or disrespected by the people of his village, but went out and in amongst them as usual and took home the other woman as his wife. A few weeks thereafter, his second wife began to attend church and school regularly with her children, and at last, he also came along with them, changing very manifestly from his sullen and savage former self. They have a large family. They are avowedly trying to train them all for the Lord Jesus, and they take their places meekly at the Lord's table. It would give a wonderful shock, I suppose, to many "namby-pamby" Christians, to whom the title "Mighty to Save" conveys no ideas of reality, to be told that nine or ten converted murderers were partaking with them the Holy Communion of Jesus. But the Lord, who reads the heart and weighs every motive and circumstance, has perhaps much more reason to be shocked by the presence of some of themselves. Penitence opens all the heart of God. "Today shalt thou be with me in Paradise."

Chapter 56. Mel Wong's Elopement.

Some most absurd and preposterous experiences were forced upon us by the habits and notions of the people. Amongst these, I recall very vividly the story of Nelwang's elopement with his bride. I had begun in spare hours to lay the foundation of two additional rooms for our house and felt rather uneasy to see a well-known savage hanging around every day with his tomahawk and eagerly watching me at work. He had killed a man before our arrival on Aniwa and had also startled my wife by suddenly appearing from amongst the boxes and causing her to run for life. On seeing him hovering so alarmingly near, tomahawk in hand, I saluted him. "Nelwang, do you want to speak to me?" "Yes, Missy," he replied. "If you will help me now, I will be your friend forever." I answered, "I am your friend; that brought me here and keeps me here." "Yes," said he very earnestly, "but I want you to be strong as my friend, and I will be strong for you." I replied, "Well, how can I help you?" He quickly answered, "I want to get married, and I need your help." I protested, "Nelwang, you know that marriages here are all made in infancy by children being bought and betrothed to their future husbands. How can I interfere? You don't want to bring evil on me and my wife and child; it might cost us our lives." "No, no, Missy," earnestly retorted Nelwang, "no one hears of this or can hear. Only help me now." "You tell me, if you were in my circumstances, how would you act?" "And that's surely very simple," I answered. "Every man knows how to go about that business if he wants to be honest. Look out for your intended, find out if she loves you, and the rest will follow naturally." "You will marry her?" "Yes," argued Nelwang, "but just there my trouble comes in." "And do you know the woman you would like to get?" I asked, wishing to bring him to some closer issue. "Yes," replied he very frankly. "I want to marry Yakin, the chief's widow, up at the Inland Village, and that will break no infant betrothals." "But," I persevered, "do you know if she loves you or would take you?" "Yes," replied Nelwang. "One day I met her on the path and told her I would like to have her for my wife. She took out her earrings and gave them to me, and I know thereby that she loves me. I was one of her late husband's men, and if she had loved any of them more than she loved me, she would have given them to another. With the earrings, she gave me her heart." "Then why," I insisted, "don't you go and marry her?" "There," said Nelwang gravely, "begins my difficulty. In her village, there are thirty young men for whom there are no wives. Each of them wants her, but no one has the courage to take her, for the other twenty-nine will shoot him. And if you take her," I suggested, "the disappointed thirty will shoot you." "That's exactly what I see, Missy," continued Nelwang. "But I want you just to think you are in my place and tell me how you would carry her off. You white men can always succeed, Missy. Hear my plans and advise me." With the serious faces I could command, I had to listen to Nelwang, to enter into his love affair, and to make suggestions with a view to avoiding bloodshed and other miseries. The result of the deliberations was that Nelwang was to secure the confidence of two friends, his brother and the orator Tire, to place one at each end of the coral rocks above the villagers' watchmen, to cut down with his American tomahawk a passage through the fence at the back, and to carry off his bride at dead of night into the seclusion and safety of the bush. Nelwang's eyes flashed as he flourished his tomahawk about and cried, "I see it now, Missy! I shall win her from them all. Yakin and I will be strong for you all our days."

Next morning, Yakin's house was found deserted. They sent to all the villages around, but no one had seen her. The hole in the fence behind was then discovered, and the thirty whispered to each other that Yakin had been wooed and won by some daring lover. Messengers were dispatched to all the villages, and Nelwang was found to have disappeared on the same night as the widow, and neither could anywhere be found. The usual revenge was taken: the houses of the offenders burned, their fences broken down, and all their property either destroyed or distributed. Work was suspended, and the disappointed thirty solaced themselves by feasting at Yakin's expense. Three weeks passed. The runaways were nowhere to be found. It was generally believed that they had gone in a canoe to Tana or Eramanga. But one morning, as I began my work at my house alone, the brave Nelwang appeared at my side. "Hello," I said, "where have you come from, and where is Yakin?" "I must not," he replied, "tell you yet. We are hid. We have lived on coconuts gathered at night. Yakin is well and happy. I come now to fulfill my promise. I will help you, and Yakin will help Missy Payton. The woman and we shall be your friends. I have ground to be built upon and fenced whenever we dare, but we will come and live with you till peace is secured. Will you let us come tomorrow morning?" "All right," I said. "Come tomorrow." And trembling with delight, he disappeared into the bush. Thus strangely God provided us with wonderful assistance. Soon learned to wash and dress and clean everything, and Nelwang served me like a faithful disciple. They clung by us like our very shadow, partly through fear of attack, partly from affection. But as each of them could handle freely both musket and tomahawk, which, though laid aside, were never far away, it was not every enemy that cared to try issues with Nelwang and his bride. After a few weeks had thus passed by, and as both of them were really showing an interest in things pertaining to Jesus and his gospel, I urged them strongly to appear publicly at the church on Sabbath, to show that they were determined to stand their ground together as true husband and wife, and that the others must accept the position and become reconciled. Delay now could gain no purpose, and I wished the strife and uncertainty to be put to an end. Nelwang knew our customs: every worshiper has to be seated when our church bell ceases ringing. Anyone would be ashamed to enter after the service had actually begun. As the bell ceased, Nelwang, knowing that he would have a clear course, marched in, dressed in shirt and kilt, but grasping very determinedly his tomahawk. He sat down as near to me as he could conveniently get, trying hard to conceal his manifest agitation, silently smiling towards me. He then turned and looked eagerly at the other door through which the women entered and left the church, as if to say, "Yakin is coming." But his tomahawk was poised ominously on his shoulder, and his courage gave him a defiant and almost impudent air. He was evidently quite ready to sell his life at a high price if anyone was prepared to risk the consequences. In a few seconds, Yakin entered, and if Nelwang's bearing and appearance were rather inconsistent with the feeling of worship, what on earth was I to do when the figure and costume of Yakin began to reveal itself? Marching in, the first visible difference betwixt a heathen and a Christian is that the Christian wears some clothing; the heathen wears none. Yakin had determined to show the extent of her Christianity by the amount of clothing she could carry upon her person. Being a chief's widow before she became Nelwang's bride, she had some idea of state occasions and appeared dressed in every article of European apparel, mostly portions of male attire that she could beg or borrow from about the premises. Her bridal gown was a man's drab-colored great coat, put on above her native grass skirts and sweeping down to her heels. Buttoned tight over this, she had hung on a vest, and above that again, most amazing of all, she had superinduced a pair of men's trousers, planting the body of them on her neck and shoulders and leaving her head and face looking out from between the legs, a leg from either side streaming over her bosom and dangling down absurdly in front. Fastened to the one shoulder also there was a red shirt, and to the other a striped shirt, waving about her like wings as she sailed along. Her head, a red shirt had been twisted like a turban, and her notions of art demanded that a sleeve thereof should hang aloft over each of her ears. She seemed to be a moving monster, loaded with a mass of rags. The day was excessively hot, and the perspiration poured over her face in streams. She too sat as near to me as she could get on the women's side of the church. Nelwang looked at me and then at her, smiling quietly, as if to say, "You never saw in all your white world a bride so grandly dressed." I little thought what I was bringing on myself when I urged them to come to church. The sight of that poor creature sweltering before me constrained me, for once, to make the service very short, perhaps the shortest I ever conducted in all my life. The day ended in peace. The two souls were extremely happy, and I praised God that what might have been a scene of bloodshed had closed thus, even though it were in a kind of wild grotesquery.

Chapter 57. The Christ Spirit at Work.

The progress of God's work was most conspicuous in relation to wars and revenges among the natives. The two high chiefs, Namakay and Nazwai, frequently declared, "We are the men of Christ now; we must not fight; we must put down murders and crimes among our people." Two young fools, returning from Tana with muskets, attempted twice to shoot a man in sheer wantonness and display of malice. The Islanders met and informed them that if man or woman was injured by them, the other men would load their muskets and shoot them dead. In general counsel, this was a mighty step towards public order, and I greatly rejoiced before the Lord. His Spirit, like leaven, was at work. My constant custom was, in order to prevent war, to run right in between the contending parties. My faith enabled me to grasp and realize the promise, "Lo, I am with you always." In Jesus, I felt invulnerable and immortal so long as I was doing His work, and I can truly say that these were the moments when I felt my Savior to be most truly and sensibly present, inspiring and empowering me.

Another scheme had an excellent educative and religious influence. I tried to interest all the villages and to treat all the chiefs equally. In our early days, after getting into my two-roomed house, I engaged the chief or representative man of each district to put up one or other at the many outhouses required at the station. One, along with his people, built the cook house; another, the store; another, the banana and yam house; another, the washing house; another, the boys' and girls' house; the houses for servants and teachers; the schoolhouse; and the large shed, a kind of shelter where natives sat and talked when not at work about the premises. Of course, these all were at first only native huts of larger or smaller dimensions, but they were all built by contract for articles which they highly valued, such as axes, knives, yards of print and calico, strings of beads, blankets, etc. They served our purpose for the time, and when another party, by contract also, had fenced around our premises, the Mission Station was really a beautiful, little, lively, and orderly village, and in itself no bad emblem of Christian and civilized life. The payments made to all, irrespectively, but only for work duly done and according to reasonable bargain, distributed property and gifts amongst them on wholesome principles and encouraged a well-conditioned rivalry which had many happy effects.

Heathenism made many desperate and some strange efforts to stamp out our cause on Aniwa, but the Lord held the helm. One old chief, formerly friendly, turned against us. He ostentatiously set himself to make a canoe, working at it very openly and defiantly on Sabbaths. He becoming sick and dying, his brother started on a Sabbath morning and, in contempt of the worship, with an armed company to provoke our people to war. They refused to fight, and one man, whom he struck with his club, said, "I will leave my revenge to Jehovah." A few days thereafter, this brother also fell sick and suddenly died. The heathen party made much of these incidents, and some clamored for our death in revenge, but most feared to murder us, so they withdrew and lived apart from our friends, as far away as they could get. By and by, however, they set fire to a large district belonging to our supporters, burning coconut and breadfruit trees and plantations. Still, our people refused to fight and kept near to protect us. Then all the leading men assembled to talk it over. Most were for peace, but some insisted upon burning our house and driving us away or killing us, that they might be left to live as they had hitherto done. At last, a sacred man, a chief who had been on Tana when the Kurokoa punished the murderers and robbers but protected the villages of the friendly natives, there stood up and spoke in our defense and warned them what might happen. And three others who had been under my instruction on Tana declared themselves to be the friends of Jehovah and of His missionary. Finally, the sacred man rose again and showed them rows of beautiful white shells strung around his left arm, saying, "Now, the great chief at Port Resolution on Tana, when he saw that Missy and his wife could not be kept there, took me to his heart and pledged me by these the shells of his office as chief, taken from his own arm and bound on mine, to protect them from all harm. He told me to declare to the men of Aniwa that if the Missy be injured or slain, he and his warriors will come from Tana and take the full revenge in blood." This turned the scale. The meeting closed in our favor.

Close on the heels of this, another and a rather perplexing incident befell. A party of heathens assembled and made a great display of fishing on the Lord's Day, in contempt of the practice of the men on Jehovah's side, threatening also to waylay the teachers and myself in our village circuits. A meeting was held by the Christian party at the close of the Sabbath services. All who wish to serve Jehovah were to come to my house next morning, unarmed, and accompany me on a visit to our enemies, that we might talk and reason together with them by day. By daybreak, the chiefs and nearly eighty men assembled at the Mission House, declaring that they were on Jehovah's side and wished to go with me. But alas, they refused to lay down their arms or leave them behind, nor would they either refrain from going or suffer me to go alone. Pledging them to peace, I was reluctantly placed at their head, and we marched off to the village of the unfriendly party. The villagers were greatly alarmed. The chief's two sons came forth with every available man to meet us. That whole day was consumed in talking and speechifying, sometimes chanting their replies. The natives are all inveterate talkers. To me, the day was utterly wearisome, but it had one redeeming feature: their rage found vent in hours of palaver instead of blows and blood. It ended in peace. The heathens were amazed at the number of Jehovah's friends, and they pledged themselves henceforth to leave the worship alone, and that everyone who pleased might come to it unmolested. For this, worn out and weary, we returned, praising the Lord.

Chapter 58. The Sinking of the Well.

But I must here record the story of the sinking of the well, which broke the back of heathenism on Aniwa. Being a flat coral island with no hills to attract the clouds, rain is scarce there as compared with the adjoining mountainous islands, and even when it does fall heavily with tropical profusion, it disappears, as said before, through the light-soiled and porous rock and drains itself directly into the sea. The rainy season is from December to April, and then the disease most characteristic of all these regions is apt to prevail: fever and ague. At certain seasons, the natives drink very unwholesome water, and indeed the best water they had at any time for drinking purposes was from the precious coconut, a kind of apple of paradise for all these Southern Isles. They also cultivate the sugar cane very extensively and in great variety, and they chew it when we would fly to water for thirst, so it is to them both food and drink. The black fellow carries with him to the field when he goes off for a day's work four or five sticks of sugarcane and puts in his time comfortably enough on these. Besides the sea being their universal bathing place, in which they swaddle like fish, and little water almost none being required for cooking purposes and none whatever for washing clothes, the lack of fresh springing water was not the dreadful trial to them that it would be to us. Yet they appreciate and rejoice in it immensely, too, though the water of the green coconut is refreshing and in appearance, taste, and color not unlike lemonade, one nut filling a tumbler, and though when mothers die, they feed the babies on it and on the soft white pith, and they flourish on the same, yet the natives themselves show their delight in preferring, when they can get it, the water from the well.

Aniwa, therefore, having no permanent supply of fresh water in spring or stream or lake, and my own household also suffering sadly for lack of the same, I resolved by the help of God to sink a well near the Mission premises, hoping that a wisdom higher than my own would guide me to the source of some blessed spring. Of the scientific conditions of such an experiment, I was comparatively ignorant, but I counted on having to dig through earth and coral above thirty feet, and my constant fear was that owing to our environment, the water, if water I found, could only be salt water after all my toils. Still, I resolved to sink that shaft in hope and in faith that the Son of God would be glorified thereby.

One morning, I said to the old chief and his fellow chief, both now earnestly inquiring about the religion of Jehovah and of Jesus, "I'm going to sink a deep well down into the earth to see if our God will send us fresh water up from below." They looked at me with astonishment and said, in a tone of sympathy approaching to pity, "Oh, Missy, wait till the rain comes down, and we will save all we possibly can for you." I replied, "We may all die for lack of water; if no fresh water can be got, we may be forced to leave you." The old chief looked imploringly and said, "Oh, Missy, you must not leave us, for that rain comes only from above. How could you expect our island to send up showers of rain from below?" I told him fresh water does come up springing from the earth in my land at home, and I hope to see it here also. The old chief grew more tender in his tones and cried, "Oh, Missy, your head is going wrong; you are losing something, or you would not talk wild like that. Don't let our people hear you talking about going down into the earth for rain, or they will never listen to your word or believe you again."

But I started upon my hazardous job, selecting a spot near the Mission Station and close to the public path, that my prospective well might be useful to all. I began to dig with pick and spade and bucket at hand, an American axe for a hammer and crowbar, and a ladder for service. By and by, the good old chief now told off his men in relays to watch me, lest I should attempt to take my own life or do anything outrageous, saying, "Poor Missy, that's the way with all who go mad; there's no driving of a notion out of their heads; we must just watch him. Now, he will find it harder to work with pick and spade than with his pen, and when he's tired, we'll persuade him to give it up." I did get exhausted sooner than I expected, toiling under that tropical sun, but we never owned before the natives that we are beaten, so I went into the house and filled my vest pocket with large, beautiful English-made fish hooks. These are very tempting to the young men as compared with their own skillfully made, though they'd be out of shell and serving their purposes wonderfully. Holding up a large hook, I cried, "One of these to every man who fills and turns over three buckets out of this hole." A rush was made to get the first turn, and back again for another and another. I kept those on one side who had got a turn till all the rest in order had a chance, and bucket after bucket was filled and emptied rapidly. Still, the shaft seemed to lower very slowly, while my fish hooks were disappearing very quickly. I was constantly there and took the heavy share of everything, and was thankful one evening to find that we had cleared more than twelve feet deep.

When, lo, next morning, one side had rushed in, and our work was all undone. The old chief and his best men now came around me more earnestly than ever. He remonstrated with me very gravely. He assured me for the fiftieth time that rain would never be seen coming up through the earth on Aniwa. "Now," said he, "had you been in that hole last night, you would have been buried, and a man-of-war would have come from Queen Victoria to ask for the Missy that lived here. We would have to say, 'He is down in that hole.' The captain would ask, 'Who killed him and put him down there?' We would have to say, 'He went down there himself.' The captain would answer, 'Nonsense! Whoever heard of a white man going down into the earth to bury himself? You killed him; you put him there; don't hide your bad conduct with lies.' Then he would bring out his big guns and shoot us and destroy our island in revenge. You're making your own grave, Missy, and you will make ours too. Will you not give it up now?"

I said all that I could to quiet his fears, explain to them that this falling in had happened by my neglect of precautions, and finally made known that by the help of my God, even without all other help, I meant to persevere. Steeping my poor brains over the problem, I became an extemporized engineer. Two trees were searched for with branches on opposite sides capable of sustaining a cross tree betwixt them. I sank them on each side firmly into the ground, passed the beam across them over the center of the shaft, fastened there on a rude homemade pulley and block, passed a rope over the wheel, and swung my largest bucket to the end of it. Thus equipped, I began once more sinking away at the well, but it's so great an angle that the sides might not again fall in. Not a native, however, would enter that hole, and I had to pick and dig away till I was utterly exhausted. But a native teacher, in whom I had confidence, took charge above, managing to hire them with axes, knives, etc., to seize the end of the rope and walk along the ground, pulling it till the bucket rose to the surface, and then he himself swung it aside, emptied it, and lowered it down again. I rang a little bell which I had with me when the bucket was loaded, and that was the signal for my brave helpers to pull their rope, and thus I toiled on from day to day, my heart almost sinking sometimes with the sinking of the well, till we reached a depth of about thirty feet, and the phrase "Living water! Living water!" kept chiming through my soul like music from God as I dug and hammered away.

Chapter 58. The Sinking of the Well.

At this depth, the earth and coral began to be soaked with damp. I felt that we were nearing water. My soul had a faith that God would open a spring for us, but side by side with this faith was a strange terror that the water would be salt. So perplexing and mixed are even the highest experiences of the soul; the rose flower of a perfect faith set round and round with prickly thorns. One evening, I said to the old chief, "I think that Jehovah God will give us water tomorrow from that hole." The chief said, "No, Missy, you will never see rain coming up from the earth on this island. We wonder what is to be the end of this mad work of yours. We expect daily, if you reach water, to see you drop through into the sea, and the sharks will eat you. That will be the end of it—death to you and danger to us all." I still answered, "Come tomorrow; I hope and believe that Jehovah God will send you the rain water up through the earth." At the moment, I knew I was risking much and probably incurring sorrowful consequences had no water been given, but I had faith that the Lord was leading me on, and I knew that I sought His glory, not my own.

Next morning, I went down again at daybreak and sank a narrow hole in the center about two feet deep. The perspiration broke over me with uncontrollable excitement, and I trembled through every limb when the water rushed up and began to fill the hole. Muddy though it was, I eagerly tasted it, lapping it with my trembling hand, and then I almost fell upon my knees in that muddy bottom as my heart burst up in praise to the Lord. It was water! It was fresh water! It was living water from Jehovah's well! True, it was a little brackish, but nothing to speak of, and no spring in the desert cooling the parched lips of a fevered pilgrim ever appeared more worthy of being called a well of God than did that water to me. The chiefs had assembled with their men nearby; they waited on in eager expectancy. It was a rehearsal in a small way of the Israelites coming round while Moses struck the rock and called for water. By and by, when I had praised the Lord and my excitement was a little calmed, the mud being also greatly settled, I filled a jug which I had taken down empty in the sight of them all, and ascending to the top, called for them to come and see the rain which Jehovah God had given us through the well. They closed around me in haste and gazed on it in superstitious fear. The old chief shook it to see if it would spill, and then touched it to see if it felt like water. At last, he tasted it, and rolling it in his mouth with joy for a moment, he swallowed it and shouted, "Rain! Rain! Yes, it is rain! But how did you get it?" I repeated, "Jehovah, my God, gave it out of His own earth in answer to our labors and prayers. Go and see it springing up for yourselves now." Though every man there could climb the highest tree as swiftly and as fearlessly as a squirrel or an opossum, not one of them had courage to walk to the side and gaze down into that well. To them, this was miraculous, but they were not without a resource that met the emergency. They agreed to take firm hold of each other by the hand, to place themselves in a long line, the foremost man to lean cautiously forward, gaze into the well, and then pass to the rear, and so on till all had seen Jehovah's rain. Far below it was somewhat comical, yet far more pathetic, to stand by and watch their faces as man after man peered down into the mystery and then looked up at me in blank bewilderment. When all had seen it with their own very eyes and were weak with wonder, the old chief exclaimed, "Missy, wonderful, wonderful is the work of your Jehovah God! No god of Aniwa ever helped us in this way. The world is turned upside down since Jehovah came to Aniwa." But, Missy," continued he, after a pause that looked like silent worship, "will it always rain up through the earth, or will it come and go like the rain from the clouds?" I told them that I believed it would always continue there for our use as a good gift from Jehovah. "Well," but, Missy," replied the chief, "some glimmering of self-interest beginning to strike his brain, will you or your family drink it all, or shall we also have some?" "You and all your people," I answered, "may come and drink and carry away as much of it as you wish. I believe there will always be plenty for us all, and the more of it we can use, the fresher it will be. That is the way with many of our Jehovah's best gifts to men, and for it and for all, we praise His name." "Then, Missy," said the chief, "it will be our water, and we may all use it as our very own." "Yes," I answered, "whenever you wish it, and as much as you need, both here and at your own houses, as far as it can possibly be made to go." The chief looked at me eagerly, fully convinced at length that the well contained a treasure, and exclaimed, "Missy, what can we do to help you now?" I was thankful indeed to accept of the chief's assistance, now sorely needed, and I said, "You have seen it fall in once already. If it falls again, it will conceal the rain from below which our God has given us. In order to preserve it for us and for our children in all time, we must build it round and round with great coral blocks from the bottom to the very top. I will now clear it out and prepare the foundation for this wall of coral. Let every man and woman carry from the shore the largest block they can bring. It is well worth all the toil thus to preserve our great Jehovah's gift." Scarcely were my words uttered when they rushed to the shore with shoutings and songs of gladness, and soon everyone was seen struggling under the biggest block of coral with which he dared to tackle. They lay like limestone rocks, broken up by the hurricanes and rolled ashore in the arms of mighty billows, and in an incredibly short time, scores of them were tumbled down for my use at the mouth of the well. Having prepared a foundation, I made ready a sort of bag basket into which every block was firmly tied, and then let down to me by the pulley a native teacher, a faithful fellow, cautiously guiding it. I received and placed each stone in its position, doing my poor best to wedge them one against the other, building circularly and cutting them to the needed shape with my American axe. The wall is about three feet thick, and the masonry may be guaranteed to stand till the coral itself decays. I wrought incessantly for fear of any further collapse till I had it raised about twenty feet, and now, feeling secure, and my hands being dreadfully cut up, I intimated that I would rest a week or two and finish the building then. But the chief advanced and said, "Missy, you've been strong to work; your strength has fled, but rest here beside us, and just point out where each block is to be laid. We will lay them there; we will build them solidly behind like you, and no man will sleep till it is done." With all their will and heart, they started on the job, some carrying, some cutting and squaring the blocks till the wall rose like magic, and a row of the hugest rocks laid round the top, bound all together, and formed the mouth of the well. Women, boys, and all wished to have a hand in building it, and it remains to this day a solid wall of masonry, the circle being thirty-four feet deep, eight feet wide at the top, and six at the bottom. I floored it over with wood above all and fixed the windlass and bucket, and there it stands as one of the greatest material blessings which the Lord has given to Aniwa. It rises and falls with the tide, though a third of a mile distant from the sea, and when, after using it, we tasted the pure fresh water on board the Dayspring, the latter seemed so insipid that I had to slip a little salt into my tea along with the sugar before I could enjoy it. All visitors are taken to see the well as one of the wonders of Aniwa, and an elder of the Native Church said to me on a recent visit, "But for that water, during the last two years of drought, we would have all been dead." Very strangely, though the natives themselves have since tried to sink six or seven wells in the most likely places near their different villages, they have either come to coral rock which they could not pierce or found only water that was salt, and they say amongst themselves, "Missy not only used pick and spade, but he prayed and cried to his God. We have learned to dig, but not how to pray, and therefore Jehovah will not give us the rain from below."

Chapter 60. The Old Chief's Sermon.

The well was now finished, the place was neatly fenced in, and the old chief said, "Missy, I think I could help you next Sabbath. Will you let me preach a sermon on the well?" "Yes," I had once replied, "if you will try to bring all the people to hear you." "Missy, I will try," he eagerly promised. The news spread like wildfire that the chief, Namakay, was to be missionary on the next day for the worship, and the people, under great expectancy, urged each other to come and hear what he had to say. Sabbath came round, and Aniwa were assembled in what was, for that island, a great crowd. Namakay appeared dressed in shirt and kilt. He was so excited and flourished his tomahawk about at such a rate that it was rather lively work to be near him. I conducted short opening devotions and then called upon Namakay. He rose at once, with eye flashing wildly and his limbs twitching with emotion. He spoke to the following effect, swinging his tomahawk to enforce every eloquent gesticulation:

"Friends of Namakay, men and women and children of Aniwa, listen to my words! Since Missy came here, he has talked many strange things we could not understand, things all too wonderful, and we said regarding many of them that they must be lies. White people might believe such nonsense, but we said that the black fellow knew better than to receive it. But of all his wonderful stories, we thought the strangest was about sinking down through the earth to get rain. Then we said to each other, 'The man's head is turned; he's gone mad.' But the Missy prayed on and wrought on, telling us that Jehovah God heard and saw, and that his God would give him rain. Was he mad? Has he not got the rain deep down in the earth? We mocked at him, but the water was there all the same. We have laughed at other things which the Missy told us because we could not see them, but from this day I believe that all he tells us about his Jehovah God is true. Someday our eyes will see it, for today we have seen the rain from the earth."

Then, rising to a climax, first the one foot and then the other, making the broken coral on the floor fly behind like a war horse pouring the ground, he cried with great eloquence, "And my people, the people of Aniwa, the world is turned upside down since the word of Jehovah came to this land! Whoever expected to see rain coming up through the earth? It has always come from the clouds. Wonderful is the work of this Jehovah God! No god of Aniwa ever answered prayers as the Missy's God has done. Friends of Namakay, all the powers of the world could not have forced us to believe that rain could be given from the depths of the earth if we had not seen it with our eyes, felt it, and tasted it as we here do now. By the help of Jehovah God, the Missy brought that invisible rain to view, which we never before heard of or saw, and something here in my heart tells me that the Jehovah God does exist, the invisible one whom we never heard of nor saw till the Missy brought him to our knowledge. The quarrel has been removed, the land has been cleared away, and lo, the water rises invisible till this day, yet all the same it was there, though our eyes were too weak. So I, your chief, do now firmly believe that when I die, when the bits of coral and the heaps of dust are removed which now blind my old eyes, I shall then see the invisible Jehovah God with my soul, as Missy tells me, not less surely than I have seen the rain from the earth below. From this day, my people, I must worship the God who has opened for us the well and who fills us with rain from below. The gods of Aniwa cannot hear, cannot help us like the God of Missy. Henceforth, I am a follower of Jehovah God. Let every man that thinks with me go now and fetch the idols of Aniwa, the gods which our fathers feared, and cast them down at Missy's feet. Let us burn and bury and destroy these things of wood and stone, and let us be taught by the Missy how to serve God who can hear, the Jehovah who gave us the well and who will give us every other blessing, for He sent His Son Jesus to die for us and bring us to Heaven. This is what the mission has been telling us every day since he landed on our neighbor. We laughed at him, but now we believe him. The Jehovah God has sent us rain from the earth; why should He not also send us His Son from Heaven?"

Namakay stands up for Jehovah! This address and the sinking of the well broke the back of heathenism on Aniwa. That very afternoon, the old chief and several of his people brought their idols and cast them down at my feet beside the door of our house. Oh, the intense excitement of the weeks that followed! Company after company came to the spot, loaded with their gods of wood and stone, and piled them up in heaps amid the tears and sobs of some and the shoutings of others, in which was heard the oft-repeated word, "Jehovah! Jehovah!" What could be burned, we cast into the flames; others we buried in pits twelve or fifteen feet deep, and some few more likely than the rest to feed or awaken superstition, we sank far out into the deep sea, let no heathen eyes ever gaze on them again.

One of the very first steps in Christian discipline, to which they readily and almost unanimously took, was the asking of God's blessing on every meal and praising the great Jehovah for their daily bread. Whosoever did not do so was regarded as a heathen. Query: How many white heathens are there? The next step, and it was taken in a manner as if by some common consent that was not less surprising than joyful, was a form of family worship every morning and evening. Doubtless, the prayers were often very queer and mixed up with many remaining superstitions, but they were prayers to the great Jehovah, the compassionate Father, the invisible one, no longer to gods of stone. Necessarily, these were the conspicuous features of our life as Christians in their midst: morning and evening family prayer and grace at meat, and hence most naturally their instinctive adoption and imitation of the same as the first outward tokens of Christian discipline. Every house in which there was not prayer to God in the family was known thereby to be heathen. This was a direct and practical evidence of the new religion, and so far as it goes, and that is very far indeed, where there is any sincerity beneath it, the test was one about which there could be no mistake on either side.

A third conspicuous feature stood out distinctly and at once: the change as to the Lord's Day. Village after village followed in this also the example of the Mission House. All ordinary occupations ceased. Sabbath was spoken of as the day for Jehovah. Saturday came to be called "cooking day," referring to the extra preparations for the coming day of rest and worship. They believed that it was Jehovah's will to keep the first day holy. The reverse was a distinctive mark of heathenism. The first traces of a new social order began to rise visibly on the delighted eye. The whole inhabitants, young and old, now attended school, three generations sometimes at the one copy or ABC book. Thefts, quarrels, crimes, etc., were settled now not by club law, but by fine or bonds or lash, as agreed upon by the chiefs and their people. Everything was rapidly and surely becoming new under the influence of the leaven of Jesus. Industry increased; huts and plantations were safe. Formerly, every man in traveling carried with him all his valuables; now they were secure, left at home. Even a brood of fowls or a litter of pigs would be carried in bags on their person in heathen days. Hence, at church, we had sometimes lively episodes: the chirping of chicks, the squealing of piggies, and the barking of puppies, one gaily responding to the other as we sang or prayed or preached the gospel, being glad to see the natives there even with all their belongings. We carefully refrained from finding fault, but the thread of devotion was sometimes apt to slip through one's fingers, especially when the conflict of the owner to silence a baby pig inspired the little wretch to drown everything in a long, sustained, and high-pitched scream. The natives, finding this state of matters troublesome to themselves and disagreeable all-round, called a general assembly, unanimously condemned dishonesty, agreed upon severe fines and punishments for every act of theft, and covenanted to stand by each other in putting it down. The chiefs, however, found this a long and difficult task, but they held at it under the inspiration of the gospel and prevailed. Even the trials and difficulties with which they met were overruled by God in assisting them to form, by the light of their own experience, a simple code of social laws fitted to repress the crimes there prevailing and to encourage the virtues especially needing to be cultivated there. Heathen worship was gradually extinguished, and though no one was compelled to come to church, every person on Aniwa, without exception, became, many years, an avowed worshiper of Jehovah God. Again, O Galilee, and thou hast conquered!

Chapter 61. The First Book in the New Eyes.

The printing of my first Aniwa book was a great event, not so much for the toil and worry which it cost me, though that was enough to have broken the heart of many a compositor, as rather for the joy it gave to the old chief Namakay. The breakup at Tana had robbed me of my own neat little printing press. I had since obtained at Atium the remains of one from Eramanga that had belonged to the murdered Gordon, but the supply of letters in some cases was so deficient that I could print only four pages at a time, and besides, bits of the press were wanting, and I had first to manufacture substitutes from scraps of iron and wood. I managed, however, to make it go, and by and by it did good service: a portion of Genesis in Aniwa, a small book in Aramangan for the second Gordon, and some other little things. The old chief had eagerly helped me in translating and preparing this first book. He had a great desire to hear it speak, as he graphically expressed it. It was made.

up chiefly of short passages from the scriptures that might help me to introduce them to the treasures of divine Truth and Love. Namakay came to me morning after morning, saying, "Missy, is it done? Can it speak at last?" I was able to answer, "Yes." The old chief eagerly responded, "Does it speak my words?" "I said, 'It does.'" With rising interest, Namakay exclaimed, "Make it speak to me, Missy! Let me hear it speak!" I read to him a part of the book, and the old man fairly shouted in an ecstasy of joy, "It does speak! It speaks my own language too! Oh, give it to me!" He grasped it hurriedly, turned it all round every way, pressed it to his bosom, and then, closing it with a look of great disappointment, handed it back to me, saying, "Missy, I cannot make it speak. It will never speak to me." "No," said I, "you don't know how to read it yet, how to make it speak to you. But I will teach you to read, and then it will speak to you as it does to me." "Oh, Missy, dear Missy, show me how to make it speak!" persisted the bewildered chief. He was straining his eyes so that I suspected they were dim with age and couldn't see the letters. I looked out for him a pair of spectacles and managed to fit him well. He was much afraid of putting them on at first, manifestly in dread of some sort of sorcery. At last, when they were properly placed, he saw the letters and everything so clearly that he exclaimed in great excitement and joy, "I see it all now! This is what you told us about Jesus. He opened the eyes of a blind man. The word of Jesus has just come to Anua. He has sent me these glass eyes. I have gotten back again the sight that I had when a boy! Oh, Missy, make the book speak to me now!"

I walked out with him to the public village ground. There I drew a BC in large characters upon the dust, showed him the same letters in the book, and left him to compare them and find out how many occurred on the first page. Fixing these in his mind, he came running to me and said, "I've lifted up a BC. They are here in my head, and I will hold them fast. Give me other three." This was repeated time after time. He mastered the whole alphabet and soon began to spell out the smaller words. Indeed, he came so often, getting me to read it over and over, that before he himself could read it freely, he had it word for word committed to memory. When strangers passed him or young people came around, he would get out the little book and say, "Come, and I will let you hear how the book speaks our own words. You say it is hard to learn to read and make it speak, but be strong to try. If an old man like me has done it, it ought to be much easier for you." One day I heard him read to a company with wonderful fluency. Taking the book, I asked him to show me how he had learned to read so quickly. Immediately I perceived that he could recite the whole from memory. He became our right-hand helper in the conversion of Anua.

Next after God's own word, perhaps the power of music was most amazingly blessed in opening up our way. Amongst many other illustrations, I may mention how Namakay's wife was one. The old lady positively shuddered at coming near the mission house and dreaded being taught anything. One day she was induced to draw near the door, and fixing a hand on either post and gazing inwards, she exclaimed, "Away, Missy! Kai, Missy!" The native cry for unspeakable wonder. Mrs. Payton began to play on the harmonium and sang a simple hymn in the old woman's language. Manifestly charmed, she drew nearer and nearer, and drank in the music as it were at every pore of her being. At last she ran off, and we thought it was with fright, but it was to call together all the women and girls from her village to hear the "bokis" sing. Having no ex- the word "box" is pronounced thus. She returned with them all at her heels. They listened with dancing eyes, and ever after the sound of a hymn and the song of the "bokis" made them flock freely to class or meeting. Being myself as nearly as possible destitute of the power of singing, all my work would have been impaired and sadly hindered, and the joyous side of the worship and service of Jehovah could not have been presented to the natives but for the gift bestowed by the Lord on my dear wife. She led our songs of praise both in the family and in the church, and that was the first avenue by which the new religion winged its way into the heart of cannibal and savage.

The old chief was particularly eager that this same aged lady, his wife Yawaki, should be taught to read, but her sight was far gone. So one day he brought her to me, saying, "Missy, can you give my wife also a pair of new glass eyes like mine? She tries to learn, but she cannot see the letters. She tries to sew, but she pricks her finger and throws away the needle, saying, 'The ways of the white people are not good.' If she could get a pair of glass eyes, she would be in a new world like Namakay." In my bundle I found a pair that suited her. She was in positive terror about putting them on her face, but at last she cried with delight, "Oh, my new eyes! My new eyes! I have the sight of a little girl! Oh, my new eyes!"

Chapter 62: A Roof Tree for Jesus

At first, we moved about amongst the natives from village to village, acquired their language, and taught them everywhere by the roadside, under the shade of a tree, or on the public tillage ground. Our old native hut, when we removed to the Mission House, formerly referred to, was also used for all sorts of public meetings. Feeling by and by, however, that the time had come to interest them in building a new church, and that it would be everywhere helpful, I laid the proposal before them, carefully explaining that for this work no one would be paid, that the church was for all the Islanders and for the worship alone, and that everyone must build purely for the love of Jesus. I told them that God would be pleased with such materials as they had to give, that they must not begin till they had divided the work and counted the cost, and that for my part, I would do all that I could to direct and help, and would supply the senate which I had brought from Anatium and the nails from Sydney.

They held meeting after meeting throughout the island. Chiefs made long speeches, orators chanted their palavas, and warriors acted their part by waving of club and tomahawk. An unprecedented friendliness sprang up amongst them. They agreed to sink every quarrel and unite in building the first church on Anua. One chief only holding back. Women and children began to gather and prepare the sugarcane leaf for thatch. Men searched for and cut down suitable trees. The church measured 62 feet by 24. The wall was 12 feet high. The studs were of hard ironwood, and were each by tenon and mortise fastened into six ironwood trees, forming the upper wall plates. All were not only nailed but strongly tied together by senate rope, so as to resist the hurricanes. The roof was supported by four huge ironwood trees and a fifth of equally hard wood, sunk about eight feet into the ground, surrounded by building at the base, and forming massive pillars. There were two doorways and eight window spaces. The floor was laid with white coral broken small and covered with coconut tree leaf mats, on which the people sat. I had a small platform floored and surrounded with reeds, and Mrs. Payton had a seat, enclosing the harmonium also made of reeds. And in keeping, great harmony prevailed all the time, and no mishap marred the work. One hearty fellow fell from the roof tree to the ground and was badly stunned, but jumping up, he shook himself and saying, "I was working for Jehovah, He has saved me from being hurt," he mounted the roof again and went on cheerily with his work.

But our pride in this new church soon met with a dreadful blow. That very season, a terrific hurricane leveled it with the ground. After much wailing, the principal chief, in a public assembly, said, "Let us not weep like boys over their broken bows and arrows. Let us be strong and build a yet stronger church for Jehovah." By our council, ten days were spent first in repairing houses and fences and saving food from the plantations, many of which had been swept into utter ruin. Then they assembled on the appointed day. A hymn was sung, God's blessing was invoked, and all the work was dedicated afresh to Him. Days were spent in taking the ironwood roof to pieces and saving everything that could be saved. The work was allocated equally amongst the villages, and a wholesome emulation was created. One chief still held back. After a while, I visited him and personally invited his help, telling him that it was God's house and for all the people of Anua, and that if he and his people did not do their part, the others would cast it in their teeth that they had no share in the house of God. He yielded to my appeal and entered vigorously upon the work.

One large tree was still needed to complete the couples and could nowhere be found. The work was at a standstill, for though the size was now reduced to 50 feet by 22, the roof lowered by four feet, and there was still plenty of smaller wood on Anua, the larger trees were apparently exhausted. One morning, however, we were awakened at early daybreak by the shouting and singing of a company of men carrying a great black tree to the church, with this same chief dancing before them, leading the singing and beating time with the flourish of his tomahawk. Determined not to be beaten, though late in the field, he had lifted the roof tree out of his own house, as black as soot could make it, and was carrying it to complete the couplings. The rest of the builders shouted against this. All the other wood of the church was white and clean, and they would not have this black tree conspicuous in the very center of all. But I praised the old chief for what he had done and hoped he and his people would come and worship Jehovah under his own roof tree. At this, all were delighted, and the work went on apace with many songs and shoutings. Whenever the church was roofed in, we met in it for public worship. Coral was being got and burned, and preparations made for plastering the walls.

The natives were sharp enough to notice that I was not putting up the bell, and suspicions arose that I kept it back in order to take it with me when I returned to Tana. It was a beautiful church bell, cast and sent out by our dear friend James Taylor. The only ones therefore gave me no rest till I agreed to have it hung on their new church. They found a large ironwood tree near the shore, cut a road for half a mile through the bush, tide poles across it every few feet, and with shouts lifted it bodily on their shoulders, six men or so at each pole, and never set it down again till they reached the church. For as one party got exhausted, others were ready to rush in and relieve them. At every stage of the journey, the two old chiefs, flourishing their tomahawks, went capering in front of all the rest and led the song to which they marched joyfully bearing their load. They dug a deep hole into which to sink it. I squared the top and screwed on the bell. Then we raised the tree by ropes, letting it sink into the hole, and built it round eight feet deep with coral blocks and lime, and there, from its top, swings and rings ever since the church bell of Aniwa.

Chapter 63: Knock the Devil Out

One of the last attempts ever made on my life resulted, by God's blessing, in great good to us all and to the work of the Lord. It was when Nuri, one of Nasi's men, struck at me again and again with the barrel of his musket, but I evaded the blows till rescued by the women, the men looking on stupefied. After he escaped into the bush, I assembled our people and said, "If you do not now try to stop this bad conduct, I shall leave Aniwa and go to some island where my life will be protected." Next morning at daybreak, about 100 men arrived at my house, and in answer to my query why they came armed, they replied, "We are now going to that village where the men of wicked conduct are gathered together. We will find out why they sought your life, and we will rebuke their sacred man for pretending to cause hurricanes and diseases. We cannot go unarmed. We will not suffer you to go alone. We are your friends and the friends of the worship, and we are resolved to stand by you, and you must go at our head today." In great perplexity, yet believing that my presence might prevent bloodshed, I allowed myself to be placed at their head. The old chief followed next, then a number of fiery young men, then all the rest, single file along the narrow path.

At a sudden turn, as we neared their village, Nuri, who had attacked me the Sabbath day before, and his brother was seen lurking with their muskets, but our young men made a rush in front, and they disappeared into the bush. We took possession of the village public ground, and the chief, the sacred man, and others soon assembled. A most characteristic native palava followed. Speeches, endless speeches, were fired by them at each other. My friends declared, in every conceivable form of language and of graphic illustration, that they were resolved at any cost to defend me and the worship of Jehovah, and that they would as one man punish every attempt to injure me or take my life. The orator, Tire, exclaimed, "You think that Missy is here alone, and that you can do with him as you please? No! We are now all Missy's men. We will fight for him and his rather than see him injured. Everyone that attacks him attacks us. That is finished today!" In the general scolding, the sacred man had special attention for pretending to cause hurricanes. One pointed out that he had himself a stiff knee and argued, "If he can make a hurricane, why can't he restore the joint of his own knee? It is surely easier to do the one than the other." The natives laughed heartily and taunted him. Meantime, he sat looking down to the earth in sullen silence.

And a ludicrous episode ensued. His wife, a big strong woman, scolded him roundly for the trouble he had brought them all into, and then, getting indignant as well as angry, she seized a huge coconut leaf out of the bush and with the butt end thereof began thrashing his shoulders vigorously as she poured out the vials of her wrath in torrents of words, always winding up with the cry, "I'll knock the devil out of him! He'll not try hurricanes again!" The woman was a Malay, as all the animals were. Had a Papuan woman on Tana or Eramanga dared such a thing, she would have been killed on the spot, but even on Anua, the unwanted spectacle of a wife beating her husband created uproarious amusement. At length, I remonstrated, saying, "You had better stop now. You don't want to kill him, do you? You seem to have knocked the devil pretty well out of him now. You see how he receives it all in silence and repents of all his bad talk and bad conduct." They exacted from him a solemn promise as to the making of no more diseases or hurricanes, and that he would live at peace with his neighbors. The offending villagers at length presented a large quantity of sugarcane and food to us as a peace offering, and we returned praising God that the whole day's scolding had ended in talk, not blood. The result was every way most helpful. Our friends knew their strength and took courage. Our enemies were disheartened and afraid. We saw the balance growing heavier every day on the side of Jesus, and our souls blessed the Lord.

Chapter 64: The Conversion of Eu Willy

These events suggest to me another incident of those days, full at once of trial and of joy. It pertains to the story of our young chief Eu Willy. From the first, and for long, he was most audacious and troublesome. Observing that for several days no natives had come near the mission house, I asked the old chief if he knew why, and he answered, "Eu Willy has tabooed the paths and threatens death to anyone who breaks through it." I at once replied, "Then I conclude that you all agree with him and wish me to leave. We are here only to teach you and your people. If he has power to prevent that, we shall leave." With the day spring, the old chief called the people together, and they came to me, saying, "Our anger is strong against Eu Willy. Go with us and break down the taboo. We will assist and protect you." I went at their head and removed it. It consisted simply of reeds stuck into the ground with twigs and leaves and fiber tied to each in a peculiar way in a circle around the mission house. The natives had an extraordinary dread of violating the taboo and believed that it meant death to the offender or to someone of his family. All present entered into a bond to punish on the spot any man who attempted to replace the taboo or to revenge its removal. Thus, a mortal blow was publicly struck at this most miserable superstition, which had caused bloodshed and misery untold.

One day thereafter, I was engaged in clearing away the bush around the mission house, having purchased and paid for the land for the very purpose of opening it up, when suddenly Eu Willy appeared and menacingly forbade me to proceed. For the sake of peace, I for the time desisted, but he went straight to my fence and with his tomahawk cut down the portion in front of our house, also some bananas planted there. The usual declaration of war, intimating that he only awaited his opportunity similarly to cut down me and mine. We saw the old chief and his men planting themselves here and there to guard us, and the natives prowling about armed and excited. On calling them, they explained the meaning of what Eu Willy had done and that they were determined to protect us. I said, "This must not continue. Are you to permit one young fool to defy us all and break up the Lord's work on Anua? If you cannot righteously punish him, I will shut myself up in my house and withdraw from all attempts to teach or help you till the vessel comes, and then I can leave the island." Now that they had begun really to love us and to be anxious to learn more, this was always my most powerful argument. We retired into the Mission House. The people surrounded our doors and windows and pleaded with us. After long silence, we replied, "You know our resolution. It is for you now to decide. Either you must control that foolish young man, or we must go." Much speech-making, as usual, followed. The people resolved to seize and punish Eu Willy, but he fled and had hid himself in the bush. Coming to me, the chief said, "It is left to you to say what shall be Eu Willy's punishment. Shall we kill him?" I replied firmly, "Certainly not. Only for murder can life be lawfully taken away." "But what then?" they continued. "Shall we burn his houses and destroy his plantations?" I answered, "No." "Shall we bind him and beat him?" "No." "Shall we place him in a canoe, thrust him out to sea, and let him drown or escape as he may?" "No, by no means." "Then, Missy," said they, "these are our ways of punishing. What other punishment remains that Eu Willy cares for?" I replied, "Make him, with his own hands and alone, put up a new fence and restore all that he has destroyed, and make him promise publicly that he will cease all evil conduct towards us. That will satisfy me." This idea of punishment seemed to tickle them greatly. The chiefs reported our words to the assembly, and the natives laughed and cheered as if it were a capital joke. They cried aloud, "It is good! Obey the word of the Missy!" After considerable hunting, the young chief was found. They brought him to the assembly and scolded him severely and told him their sentence. He was surprised by the nature of the punishment and cowed by the determination of the people. "Tomorrow," said he, "I will fully repair the fence. Never again will I oppose the Missy. His word is good." By daybreak next morning, Eu Willy was diligently repairing what he had broken down, and before evening, he had everything made right, better than it was before. While he toiled away, some fellows of his own rank tweeted him, saying, "Eu Willy, you found it easier to cut down Missy's fence than to repair it again. You will not repeat that in a hurry." But he heard all in silence. Others passed with averted heads, and he knew they were laughing at him. He made everything tight and then left without uttering a single word. My heart yearned after the poor fellow, but I thought it better to let his own mind work away on its new ideas as to punishment and revenge for a little longer by itself alone. I instinctively felt that Eu Willy was beginning to turn, that the Christ spirit had touched his darkly groping soul. My doors were now thrown open, and every good work went on as before. We resolved to leave Eu Willy entirely to Jesus, setting apart a portion of our prayer every day for the enlightenment and conversion of the young chief, on whom all other means had been exhausted apparently in vain. A considerable time elapsed, no sign came, and our prayers seemed to fail. But one day I was toiling between the shafts of a handcart, assisted by two boys drawing it along from the shore loaded with coral blocks. Eu Willy came rushing from his house 300 yards or so off the path and said, "Missy, that is too hard for you. Let me be your helper." Without waiting for a reply, he ordered the two boys to seize one rope, while he grasped the other, threw it over his shoulder, and started off, pulling with the strength of a horse. My heart rose in gratitude, and I wept with joy as I followed him. I knew that that yoke was but a symbol of the yoke of Christ, which Eu Willy, with his changed heart, was beginning to carry. Truly, there is only one way of regeneration, being born again by the power of the spirit of God, the new heart, but there are many ways of conversation, of outwardly turning to the Lord, of taking the actual first step that shows on whose side we are. Like those of old praying for the deliverance of Peter, and who could not believe their ears and eyes when Peter knocked and walked in amongst them, so we could scarcely believe our eyes and ears when Eu Willy became a disciple of Jesus. Though he had been praying for his conversion every day, his once sullen countenance became literally bright with inner light. His wife came immediately for a book and a dress, saying, "Eu Willy sent me. His opposition to the worship is over now. I am to attend church and school. He is coming too. He wants to learn how to be strong like you for Jehovah and for Jesus." Oh, Jesus, to Thee alone be all the glory! Thou hast the key to unlock every heart that Thou hast created.

Chapter 65: First Communion on Anua

And this leads me to relate the story of our first communion on Anua. It was Sabbath, the 24th of October, 1869, and surely the angels of God and the church of the redeemed in glory were amongst the great cloud of witnesses who eagerly peered down upon the scene when we sat around the Lord's table and partook the memorials of His body and blood with those few souls rescued out of the heathen world. My communicants' class had occupied me now a considerable time. The conditions of attendance at this early stage were explicit and had to be made very severe, and only 20 were admitted to the roll. At the final examination, only 12 gave evidence of understanding what they were doing and of having given their hearts to the service of the Lord Jesus. At their own urgent desire, and after every care in examining and instructing, they were solemnly dedicated in prayer to be baptized and admitted to the holy table. On that Lord's day, after the usual opening service, I gave a short and careful exposition of the Ten Commandments and of the way of salvation according to the gospel. The twelve candidates then stood up before all the inhabitants there assembled, and after a brief exhortation to them as converts, I put to them the two questions that follow, and each gave an affirmative reply: "Do you, in accordance with your profession of the Christian faith and your promises before God and the people, wish me now to baptize you, and will you live henceforth for Jesus only, hating all sin and trying to love and serve your Savior?" Then, beginning with the old chief, the twelve came forward, and I baptized them one by one according to the Presbyterian usage. Two of them had also little children, and they were at the same time baptized and received as the lambs of the flock. Solemn prayer was then offered, and in the name of the Holy Trinity, the Church of Christ on Anua was formally constituted. I addressed them on the words of the Holy Institution, and then, after the prayer of thanksgiving and consecration, administered the Lord's Supper, the first time since the island of Anua was heaved out of its coral depths. Mrs. Miner, my wife, and myself, along with six Anitumi's teachers, communicated with the newly baptized twelve, and I think if ever in all my earthly experience, on that day I might truly add the blessed words, "Jesus in the midst." The whole service occupied nearly three hours. The Islanders looked on with a wonder whose unwanted silence was almost painful to bear. Many were led to inquire carefully about everything they saw so new and strange. For the first time, the Dorcas Street Sabbath School teachers' gift from South Melbourne Presbyterian Church was put to use, a new communion service of silver. They gave it in faith that we would require it, and in such we received it, and now the day had come and gone. For three years we had toiled and prayed and taught for this. At the moment when I put the bread and wine into those dark hands, once stained with the blood of cannibalism, but now stretched out to receive and partake the emblems and seals of the Redeemer's love, I had a foretaste of the joy of glory that well-nigh broke my heart to pieces. I shall never taste a deeper bliss till I gaze on the glorified face of Jesus Himself.

On the afternoon of that communion day, an open-air prayer meeting was held under the shade of the great Banyan tree in front of our church. Seven of the new church members there led the people in prayer to Jesus, a hymn being sung after each. My heart was so full of joy that I could do little else but weep. Oh, I wonder, I wonder, when I see so many good ministers at home crowding each other and treading on each other's heels, whether they would not part with all their home privileges and go out to the heathen world and reap a joy like this—the joy of the Lord.

Chapter 66: The New Social Order

The new social order, referred to already in its dim beginnings, rose around us like a sweet-scented flower. I never interfered directly unless expressly called upon or appealed to. The two principal chiefs were impressed with the idea that there was but one law, the will of God, and one rule for them and their people as Christians: to please the Lord Jesus. In every difficulty, they consulted me. I explained to them and read in their hearing the very words of Holy Scripture, showing what appeared to me to be the will of God and what would please the Savior, and then sent them away to talk it over with their people and to apply these principles of the word of God as wisely as they could according to their circumstances. Our own part of the work went on very joyfully, notwithstanding occasional trying and painful incidents. Individual cases of greed and selfishness and vice brought us many a bitter pang, but the Lord never lost patience with us, and we did not therefore lose patience with them. We trained the teachers, we translated and printed and expounded the scriptures, we ministered to the sick and dying, we dispensed medicines, every day we taught them the use of tools, we advised them as to laws and penalties, and the new society grew and developed and bore, amidst all its imperfections, some traces of the fair kingdom of God amongst men. Our life and work will reveal itself to the reader if I briefly outline a Sabbath day on Anua.

Breakfast is partaken of immediately after daylight. The church bell then rings, and ere it stops, every worshiper is seated. The natives are guided in starting by the sunrise, and are forward from farthest corners. At this early hour, the first service is over in about an hour. There is an interval of 20 minutes. The bell is again rung, and the second service begins. We follow the ordinary Presbyterian ritual, but in every service, I call upon an elder or a church member to lead in one of the prayers, which they do with great alacrity and with much benefit to all concerned. As the last worshiper leaves at close of second service, the bell is sounded twice very deliberately, and that is the signal for the opening of my communicants' class. I carefully expound the church's Shorter Catechism and show how its teachings are built upon Holy Scripture, applying each truth to the conscience and the life. This class is conducted all the year round, and from it, step by step, our church members are drawn as the Lord opens up their way. The most of them attending two full years at least before being admitted to the Lord's table. This discipline accounts for the fact that so very few of our baptized converts have ever fallen away, as few in proportion, I verily believe, as in churches at home. Meantime, many of the church members have been holding a prayer meeting amongst themselves in the adjoining school, a thing started of their own free accord, in which they invoke God's blessing on all the work and worship of the day. Having snatched a brief meal of tea or a cold dinner cooked on Saturday, the bell rings within an hour, and our Sabbath School assembles, in which the whole inhabitants, young and old, take part, myself superintending and giving the address, as well as questioning on the lesson, Mrs. Payton teaching a large class of adult women, and the elders and best readers instructing the ordinary classes for about half an hour or so. About one o'clock, the school is closed, and we then start off on our village tours. An experienced elder with several teachers takes one side of the island this Sabbath, I with another company taking the other side. A next Sabbath we reverse the order. A short service is conducted in the open air or in schoolrooms at every village that can be reached, and on their return, they report to me cases of sickness or any signs of progress in the work of the Lord. The whole island is thus steadily and methodically evangelized. As the sun is setting, I am creeping home from my village tour, and when darkness begins to approach, the canoe drum is beat at every village, and the people assemble under the Banyan tree for evening village prayers. The elder or teacher presides, five or six hymns are joyously sung, and five or six short prayers offered between, and thus the evening hour passes happily in the fellowship of God.

On a calm evening, after Christianity had fairly taken hold of the people, and they loved to sing over and over again their favorite hymns, these village prayer meetings formed a most blessed close to every day and set the far distant bush echoing with the praises of God. Nor is our weekday life less crowded or busy, though in different ways. At gray dawn on Monday, and every morning, the tavaka, or signal canoe drum, is struck in every village on Anua. The whole inhabitants turn into the early school, which lasts about an hour and a half, and then the natives are off to their plantations, having partaken of breakfast. I then spend my forenoon in translating or printing or visiting the sick or whatever else is most urgent. About two o'clock, the natives return from their work, bathed in the sea, and dine off coconut, breadfruit, or anything else that comes handily in the way. At three o'clock, the bell rings, and the afternoon school for the teachers and the more advanced learners then occupy my wife and myself for about an hour and a half. After this, the natives spend their time in fishing or lounging or preparing supper, which is amongst them always the meal of the day. Towards sundown, the tavaka sounds again, and the day closes amid the echoes of village prayers from under their several Banyan trees. Thus, day after day and week after week passed over us on Anua, and much the same on all the islands where the missionary has found a home. In many respects, it is a simple and happy and beautiful life, and the man whose heart is full of things that are dear to Jesus feels no desire to exchange it for the poor frivolities of what calls itself society, which seems to find its life in pleasures that Christ cannot be asked to share, and in which, therefore, Christians should have neither lot nor part.

Chapter 67: The Orphans and Their Biscuits

The habits of morning and evening family prayer and of grace at meat took a very wonderful hold upon the people and became, as I have shown elsewhere, a distinctive badge of Christian versus Heathen. This was strikingly manifested during a time of bitter scarcity that befell us. I heard a father, for instance, at his hut door with his family around him, reverently blessing God for the food provided for them and for all His mercies in Christ Jesus. Drawing near and conversing with them, I found that their meals consisted of fig leaves, which they had gathered and cooked. A poor enough dish, but hunger makes a healthy appetite, and contentment is a grateful relish. During the same period of privation, my orphans suffered badly also. Once they came to me, saying, "Missy, we are very hungry." I replied, "So am I, dear children, and we have no more white food till the day spring comes." They continued, "Missy, you have two beautiful fig trees. Will you let us take one? Feast of the young and tender leaves. We will not injure branch or fruit." I answered gladly, "My children, take your fill." In a twinkling, each child was perched upon a branch, and they feasted there, happy as squirrels. Every night we prayed for the vessel, and in the morning our orphan boys rushed to the coral rocks and eagerly scanned the sea for an answer. Day after day they returned with sad faces, saying, "Missy, tavaka jimra." But at gray dawn of a certain day, we were awoke by the boys shouting from the shore and running for the mission house with the cry, "Tavaka OA! Tavaka OA! The vessel, hurray!" We arose at once, and the boys exclaimed, "Missy, she is not our own vessel, but we think she carries her flag. She has three masts, and our Dayspring only two." I looked through my glass and saw that they were discharging goods into the vessel's boats, and the children, when I told them that boxes and bags and casks were being sent on shore, shouted and danced with delight. As the first boatload was discharged, the orphans surrounded me, saying, "Missy, here is a cask that rattles like biscuits. Will you let us take it to the mission house?" I told them to do so if they could, and in a moment it was turned into the path, and the boys had it flying before them, some tumbling and hurting their knees, but up and at it again, and never pausing till it rolled up at the door of our storehouse. On returning, I found them all around it, and they said, "Missy, have you forgotten what you promised us?" I said, "What did I promise you?" They looked very disappointed and whispered to each other, "Missy has forgot." "Forgot what?" inquired I. "Missy," they answered, "you promised that when the vessel came you would give each of us a biscuit." "Oh," I replied, "I did not forget. I only wanted to see if you remembered it." They laughed, saying, "No fear of that, Missy. Will you soon open the cask? We are dying for biscuits." At once, I got hammer and tools, knocked off the hoops, took out the end, and then gave girls and boys a biscuit each. To my surprise, they all stood round, biscuit in hand, but not one beginning to eat. "What?" exclaimed I. "You are dying for biscuits, why don't you eat?" "Are you expecting another?" "One of the eldest said, 'We will first thank God for sending us food and ask Him to bless it to us all.'" And this was done in their own simple and beautiful childlike way, and then they did eat and enjoy their food as a gift from the Heavenly Father's hand. Is there any child reading this or hearing it read who never thanks God or asks Him to bless daily bread? Then is that child not a white heathen? We ourselves at the Mission House could very heartily rejoice with the dear orphans, for some weeks past our European food had been all exhausted except a little tea, and the coconut had been our chief support. It was beginning to tell against us. Our souls rose in gratitude to the Lord who had sent us these fresh provisions that we might love Him better and serve Him more. The children's sharp eyes had read correctly. It was not the Dayspring. Our brave little ship, as I afterwards learned, had gone to wreck on the 6th of January, 1873, and this vessel was the Paragon, chartered to bring down our supplies. Alas! The record gone, auction sale to a French slaving company, who cut a passage through the coral reef and had the vessel again floating in the bay. Elated at the prospect of employing our mission ship in the blood-stained Tanaka traffic, our souls sank in horror and concern. Many natives would unwittingly trust themselves to the Dayspring, and revenge would be taken on us, as was done on noble Bishop Patterson when the deception was found out. What could be done? Nothing but cry to God, which all the friends of our mission did day and night, not without tears, as we thought of the possible degradation of our noble little ship. Listen! The French slavers, anchoring their prize in the bay and greatly rejoicing, went ashore to celebrate the event. They drank and feasted and reveled, but that night a mighty storm arose. The old Dayspring dragged her anchor, and at daybreak she was seen again on the reef, but this time with her back broken in two and forever unfit for service, either fair or foul. O white-winged virgin daughter of the waves, better for thee, as for thy human sisters, to die and pass away than to suffer pollution and live on in disgrace.

Chapter 68: The Finger Posts of God

I'd often said that I would not again leave my beloved work on the islands unless compelled to do so, either by the breakdown of health or by the loss of our mission ship and my services being required to assist in providing another. Very strange that in this one season both of these events befell us. During the hurricanes from January to April 1873, when the Dayspring was wrecked, we lost a darling child by death, my dear wife had a protracted illness, and I was brought very low with severe rheumatic fever. I was reduced so far that I could not speak, and was reported as dying. The captain of a vessel having seen me called at Tana and spoke of me as in all probability dead by that time. Our unfailing and ever beloved friends and fellow missionaries, Mr. and Mrs. Watt, at once started from Quamera in their open boat and rode and sailed 30 miles to visit us. But a few days before they arrived, I had fallen into a long and sound sleep, out of which, when I awoke, consciousness had again returned to me. I had got the turn; there was no further relapse, but when I did regain a little strength, my weakness was so great that I had to travel about on crutches for many a day.

In the circumstances of our baby Lena's death, every form of heart-rending tenderness seemed to meet. On Friday, the 28th of March, at 3 AM, she came from God and seemed to both of us the angel child of all our flock. Alas! On Saturday, I was seized with sciatica so dreadful and agonizing that I had to be borne to my bed and could not stir a limb any more than if my back had been broken. My dear wife struggled to attend to the baby with such help as native girls could give, and I directed the teachers about the services in church. Next Sunday, the first time is yet that I had been unable to appear and lead them from the beds where we lay. My wife and I could hear each other's voices and tried to console one another in our sorrowful and helpless state. On Tuesday, the 1st of April, the child was bright and vigorous, but the mother's strength had been overtaxed, and she fell back fainting in her bed. When helping to dress the baby next morning, to our dismay, there were symptoms of wheezing and feverishness in the little darling. All due measures were at once taken to check these, and Willyag, an experienced native, now having charge, kept everything warm and cozy. Before tea, when receiving a little food, Lena opened her dark blue eyes and gazed up peacefully and gladly in her mother's face, but immediately after tea, within less than an hour, when the nurse brought her and placed her in the mother's arms, the angel's soul fled away. Poor William, seeing the mother's pathetic look, and as if she herself had been guilty, fell on her knees and cried, "I knew it, Missy! I knew it!" She gave two big sighs and went away. "Missy, away!" When the mother called to me something about the child having fainted, I was talking with Chorus, but my heart guessed the worst. Alas! All means were seen to be vain. I could not rise, could not move, nor could the mother, but we prayed in each other's hearing and in the hearing of our blessed Lord, and He did not leave us without consolation. In such cases, the Heathen usually fly away in terror, but our teachers were faithful and obedient, and our little boys, Bob and Fred, six and four respectively, followed all our tearful directions. One of their small toy boxes was readily given up to make the baby's coffin. Yawachi brought calico and dressed the precious body at the mother's instructions. I then offered a prayer to the clear Lord, whilst the mother clasped the coffin in her arms. The little grave, dug by the teachers in the mission plot, was within earshot of where we lay, and there Bob and Fred, kneeling in their snow-white dresses, sang, "There is a Happy Land," as their sister's dust was laid in the earth and in the arms of Jesus, who is the resurrection and the life. God only can ever know how our hearts were torn by the pathos of that event as we lay helpless, almost dying, and listened to our children's trembling voices. Jonah, the teacher, then prayed, while the Heathen, in groups of wonder, but holding far aloof, had many strange ideas awakened in their puzzled brains. The mother and I gave ourselves once more away to God and to the service of our dear Lord Jesus as we parted with our darling Lena, and when by and by we were raised up again and able to move about, often, often did we find ourselves meeting together at that precious grave. Being ordered to seek health by change and by higher medical aid, and if possible in the cooler air of New Zealand, we took the first opportunity and arrived at Sydney, anxious to start the new movement to secure the Paragon there and then to go on to the sister colony, being scarcely able to walk without the crutches. We called privately a preliminary meeting of friends for consultation and advice. The conditions were laid before them and discussed. The insurance company had paid two thousand pounds on the first Dayspring. Of that sum, one thousand pounds had been spent on chartering and maintaining the Paragon, so that we required an additional two thousand pounds to purchase her, according to Dr. Steele's bargain with the owners, besides a large sum for alterations and equipment for the mission. The late Mr. Learmouth looked across to Mr. Goodlett and said, "If you'll join me, we will at once."

Secure this vessel for the missionaries, that God's work may not suffer from the wreck of the Day Spring. Those two servants of God, excellent Elders of the Presbyterian Church, consulted together, and the vessel was purchased next day. How I did praise God and pray Him to bless them and theirs!

The late Dr. Fullerton, our dear friend, said to them, "But what guarantee, ask you, from the missionaries for your money?" Mr. Learmonth's noble reply was, and the other heartily re-echoed it, "God's work is our guarantee. From them we will ask none." "What guarantee have they to give us, except their faith in God?" "That guarantee is ours already," I answered. "You take God and His work for your guarantee. Rest assured that He will soon repay you, and you will lose nothing by this noble service."

Having secured Saint Andrew's Church for a public meeting, I advertised it in all the papers. Ministers, Sabbath School teachers, and other friends came in great numbers. The scheme was fairly launched, and collecting cards largely distributed. Committees carried everything out into detail, and all worked for the fund with great goodwill.

I then sailed from Sydney to Victoria and addressed the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church in session at Melbourne. The work was easily set to going there, and willing workers fully and rapidly organized it through congregations and Sabbath Schools. Under medical advice, I next sailed for New Zealand in the SS Hero, Captain Logan. Reaching Auckland, I was in time to address the General Assembly of the Church there also. They gave me cordial welcome, and every congregation and Sabbath School might be visited as far as I possibly could. The ministers promoted the movement with hearty zeal. The Sabbath Scholars took collecting cards for shares in the new Mission Ship. A meeting was held every day and three every Sabbath. Auckland, Nelson, Wellington, Dunedin, and all towns and churches within reach of these were rapidly visited, and I never had greater joy or heartiness in any of my tours than in this happy intercourse with the ministers and people of the Presbyterian Church in New Zealand.

I arrived in Sydney about the end of March. My health was wonderfully restored, and New Zealand had given me about £1,700 for the new ship, the £1,000 of insurance money, and about £700 from New South Wales and £400 from Victoria, besides the £500 for her support also from Victoria. We were able to pay back the £3,000 of purchase money and about £800 for alterations and repairs, as well as equip and provision her to sail for her next year's work amongst the islands free of debt.

"I said to our two good friends at Sydney, 'You took God and His work for your guarantee; He has soon relieved you from all responsibility. You have suffered no loss, and you have had the honor and privilege of serving your Lord. I envy you the joy you must feel in so using your wealth, and I pray God's double blessing on all your store.'"

Our agent, Dr. Steele, had applied to the home authorities for power to change the vessel's name from Paragon to Dayspring, so that the old associations might not be broken. This was cordially granted, and so our second Dayspring, owing no man anything, sailed on her annual trip to the New Hebrides, and we returned with her, praising the Lord and reinvigorated alike in spirit and in body.

Chapter 69

The Gospel in Living Capitals in Heathendom

Every true convert becomes at once a missionary. The changed life, shining out amid the surrounding darkness, is a gospel in largest capitals which all can read. Our Islanders, especially, having little to engage or otherwise distract attention, become intense and devoted workers for the Lord Jesus, if once the divine passion for souls stirs within them.

A heathen has been all his days groping after peace of soul in dark superstition and degrading rites. You pour into his soul the light of revelation. He learns that God is love, that God sent His Son to die for him, and that he is the heir of life eternal in and through Jesus Christ. By the blessed enlightenment of the Spirit of the Lord, he believes all this. He passes into a third heaven of joy, and he burns to tell everyone of this glad tidings. Others see the change in his disposition, in his character, in his whole life and actions, and amid such surroundings, every convert is a burning and a shining light.

Even whole populations are thus brought into the outer court of the temple, and islands still heathen and cannibal are positively eager for the missionary to live amongst them and would guard his life and property now in complete security, where a very few years ago everything would have been instantly sacrificed on touching their shores. They are not Christianized, neither are they civilized, but the light has been kindled all around them, and though still only shining afar, they cannot but rejoice in its beams.

But even where the path is not so smooth, nor any welcome awaiting them, native converts show amazing zeal. For instance, one of our chiefs, full of the Christ-kindled desire to seek and to save, sent a message to an inland chief that he and four attendants would come on Sabbath and tell them the gospel of Jehovah God. The reply came back sternly forbidding their visit and threatening with death any Christian that approached their village. Our chief sent in response a loving message, telling them that Jehovah had taught the Christians to return good for evil, and that they would come unarmed to tell them the story of how the Son of God came into the world and died in order to bless and save his enemies. The heathen chief sent back a stern and prompt reply once more: "If you come, you will be killed."

On Sabbath morning, the Christian chief and his four companions were met outside the village by the heathen chief, who implored and threatened them once more. But the former said, "We come to you without weapons of war. We come only to tell you about Jesus. We believe that He will protect us." Today, as they steadily pressed forward towards the village, spears began to be thrown at them. Some they evaded, being all except one most dexterous warriors, and others they literally received with their bare hands, striking them and turning them aside in an incredible manner.

The heathen, apparently thunderstruck at these men thus approaching them without weapons of war, and not even flinging back their own spears which they had turned aside, desisted from mere surprise after having thrown what the old chief called "a shower of spears." Our Christian chief called out, as he and his companions drew up in the midst of them on the village public ground, "Jehovah thus protects us! He has given us all your spears! Once we would have thrown them back at you and killed you, but now we come not to fight, but to tell you about Jesus. He has changed our dark hearts. He asks you now to lay down all these your other weapons of war and to hear what we can tell you about the love of God, our great Father, the Only Living God."

The heathen were perfectly overawed. They manifestly looked upon these Christians as protected by some invisible One. They listened for the first time to the story of the gospel and of the cross. We lived to see that chief and all his tribe sitting in the school of Christ, and there is perhaps not an island in these Southern Seas amongst all those one for Christ where similar acts of heroism on the part of converts cannot be recited by every missionary to the honor of our poor natives and to the glory of their Savior.

Larger and harder tests were sometimes laid upon their new faith. Once the war on Tana drove about 100 of them to seek refuge on Aniwa. Not so many years before, their lives would never have been thus entrusted to the inhabitants of another cannibal island, but the Christ spirit was abroad upon Aniwa. The refugees were kindly cared for and in process of time were restored to their own lands by our missionary ship, the Dayspring. The chiefs, however, and the elders of the church laid the new laws before them very clearly and decidedly. They would be helped and sheltered, but Aniwa was now under law to Christ, and if any of the Tannese broke the public rules as to moral conduct, or in any way disturbed the worship of Jehovah, they would at once be expelled from the island and sent back to Tana. In all this, the chief of the Tana party, my old friend Nova, strongly supported our Christian chiefs. The Tannese behaved well, and many of them wore clothing and began to attend church, and the heavy drain upon the poor resources of Aniwa was borne with a noble and Christian spirit, which greatly impressed the Tannese and commended the gospel of Christ.

Chapter 70

The Death of Namakay

In claiming Aniwa for Christ and winning it as a small jewel for His crown, we had the experience which has ever marked God's path through history. He raised up around us and wonderfully endowed men to carry forward His own blessed work. Among these must be specially commemorated Namakay, the old chief of Aniwa. Slowly but very steadily the light broke in upon his soul, and he was ever very eager to communicate to his people all that he learned. In heathen days he was a cannibal and a great warrior, but from the first, as shown in the preceding chapter, he took a warm interest in us and our work, a little selfish, no doubt, at the beginning, but soon becoming purified as his eyes and heart were opened to the Gospel of Jesus.

On the birth of a son to us on the island, the old chief was in ecstasies. He claimed the child as his heir, his own son being dead, and brought nearly the whole inhabitants in relays to see the white chief of Aniwa. He would have him called Namakay the Younger, an honor which I fear we did not too highly appreciate. As the child grew, he took his hand and walked about with him freely amongst the people, learning to speak their language like a native, not only greatly interesting them in himself, but even in us and in the work of the Lord. This too was one of the bonds, however purely human, that drew them all nearer and nearer to Jesus.

It was this same child who, in the moment of our greatest peril, when the mission house was once surrounded by savages who had resolved to murder us, managed in some incredible way to escape and appeared, to our horror and amazement, dancing with glee amongst the armed warriors. He threw his arms around the neck of one after another and kissed them to their great surprise. At last he settled down like a bird upon the ringleader's knee, and there from prattled to them all, while we from within gazed on in speechless and helpless terror. He roundly scolded them for being "naughty, naughty." The frowning faces began to relax into broad grins. Another spirit came over them, and one after another they rapidly slipped away. The council of death was broken up, and we had a new illustration of the Lord's precious work: "A little child shall lead them."

The death of Namakay had in it many streaks of Christian romance. He had heard about the missionaries annually meeting on one or other of the islands and consulting about the work of Jehovah. What ideas he had formed of a mission synod, one cannot easily imagine. But in his old age, and when very frail, he formed an impassioned desire to attend our next meeting on Atium and see and hear all the missionaries of Jesus gathered together from the New Hebrides. Terrified that he would die away from home, and that that might bring great reverses to the good work on Aniwa, where he was truly beloved, I opposed his going with all my might. But he and his relations and his people were all set upon it, and I had at length to give way. His few booklets were then gathered together, his meagre wardrobe was made up, and a small native basket carried all his belongings. He assembled his people and took an affectionate farewell, pleading with them to be strong for Jesus, whether they ever saw him again or not, and to be loyal and kind to Missy. The people wailed aloud, and many wept bitterly. Those on board the Dayspring were amazed to see how his people loved him.

The old chief stood the voyage well. He went in and out to our meeting of synod and was vastly pleased with the respect paid to him on Atium. When he heard of the prosperity of the Lord's work, and how island after island was learning to sing the praises of Jesus, his heart glowed, and he said, "Missy, I am lifting up my head like a tree; I am growing tall with joy."

On the fourth or fifth day, however, he sent for me out of the synod, and when I came to him, he said eagerly, "Missy, I am near to die. I have asked you to come and say farewell. Tell my daughter, my brother, and my people to go on pleasing Jesus, and I will meet them again in the fair world." I tried to encourage him, saying that God might raise him up again and restore him to his people. But he faintly whispered, "Oh, Missy, death is already touching me; I feel my feet going away from under me. Help me to lie down under the shade of that banyan tree." Saying so, he seized my arm. We staggered near to the tree, and he lay down under its cool shade. He whispered again, "I am going, oh Missy; let me hear your words raising up in prayer, and then my soul will be strong to go." Amidst many choking sobs, I tried to pray. At last he took my hand, pressed it to his heart, and said in a stronger and clearer tone, "Oh, I miss you, my dear Missy. I go before you, but I will meet you again in the home of Jesus. Farewell."

That was the last effort of dissolving strength. He immediately became unconscious and fell asleep. My heart felt like to break over him. He was my first Aniwan convert, the first who ever on that island of love and tears opened his heart to Jesus, and as he lay there on the leaves and grass, my soul soared upward after his, and all the harps of God seemed to thrill with song as Jesus presented to the Father this trophy of redeeming love. He had been our true and devoted friend and fellow helper in the gospel, and next morning all the members of our synod followed his remains to the grave. There we stood, the white missionaries of the cross from far distant lands, mingling our tears with Christian natives of Aniwa, and letting them fall over one who only a few years before was a blood-stained cannibal, and whom now we mourned as a brother, a saint, an apostle amongst his people. "Ye ask an explanation? The Christ entered into his heart, and Namakay became a new creature. Behold, I make all things new."

Chapter 71

Christianity and Coconuts

Nazwai, the friend and companion of Namakay, was an inland chief. He had, as his followers, by far the largest number of men in any village on Aniwa. He had certainly a dignified bearing, and his wife, Couture, was quite a lady in look and manner as compared with all around her. She was the first woman on the island that adopted the clothes of civilization, and she showed considerable instinctive taste in the way she dressed herself in these. Her example was a kind of gospel in its good influence on all the women. She was a real companion to her husband and went with him almost everywhere.

Nazwai was younger and more intelligent than Namakay, and in everything except in translating the scriptures, he was much more of a fellow helper in the work of the Lord. For many years it was Nazwai's special delight to carry my pulpit Bible from the mission house to the church every Sabbath morning and to see that everything was in perfect order before the service began. He was also the teacher in his own village school, as well as an elder in the church. His addresses were wonderfully happy in graphic illustrations, and his prayers were fervent and uplifting. Yet his people were the worst to manage on all the island, and the very last to embrace the gospel. He died when we were in the colonies on furlough in 1875, and his wife, Couture, very shortly predeceased him. His last counsels to his people made a great impression on them. They told us how he pleaded with them to love and serve the Lord Jesus, and how he assured them with his dying breath that he had been a new creature since he gave his heart to Christ, and that he was perfectly happy and going to be with his Savior.

I must here recall one memorable example of Nazwai's power and skill as a preacher. On one occasion, the Dayspring brought a large deputation from Futuna to see for themselves the change which the gospel had produced on Aniwa. On Sabbath, after the missionaries had conducted the usual public worship, some of the leading Aniwan spoke to the Futunese, and amongst others, Nazwai spoke to the following effect: "Men of Futuna, you come to see what the gospel has done for Aniwa. It is Jehovah, the Living God, that has made all this change. As heathens, we quarreled, killed, and ate each other. We had no peace and no joy in heart or house, in villages or in lands. But we now live as brethren and have happiness in all these things. When you go back to Futuna, they will ask you, 'What is Christianity?' and you will have to reply, 'It is that which has changed the people of Aniwa.' But they will still say, 'What is it?' and you will answer, 'It is that which has given them clothing and blankets, knives and axes, fish hooks and many other useful things. It is that which has led them to give up fighting and to live together as friends.' But they will ask you, 'What is it like?' and you will have to tell them a lot that you cannot explain, that you have only seen its workings, not itself, and that no one can tell what Christianity is but the man that loves Jesus, the invisible Master, and walks with Him and tries to please Him.

"Now, you people of Futuna, you think that if you don't dance and sing and pray to your gods, you will have no crops. We once did so too, sacrificing and doing much abomination to our gods for weeks before our planting season every year. But we saw our Missy only praying to the invisible Jehovah and planting his yams, and they grew fairer than ours. You are weak every year before your hard work begins in the fields with your wild and bad conduct to please your gods, but we are strong for our work, for we pray to Jehovah, and He gives quiet rest instead of wild dancing and makes us happy in our toils. Since we followed Missy's example, Jehovah has given us large and beautiful crops, and we now know that He gives us all our blessings."

Turning to me, he exclaimed, "Missy, have you the large yam we presented to you? Would you not think it well to send it back with this man of Futuna to let their people see their yams which Jehovah grows for us in answer to prayer? Jehovah is the only God who can grow yams like that." Then, after a pause, he proceeded, "Oh, when you go back to Futuna, and they ask you, 'What is Christianity?' you will be like an inland chief of Era Manga, who once came down and saw a great feast on the shore. When he saw so much food and so many different kinds of it, he asked, 'What is this made of?' and was answered, 'Coconuts and yams,' and 'This, coconuts and bananas,' and 'This, coconuts and chestnuts.' The chief was immensely astonished at the host of dishes that could be prepared from the coconuts. On returning, he carried home a great load of them to his people, that they might see and taste the excellent food of the shore people. One day, all being assembled, he told them the wonders of that feast, and having roasted the coconuts, he took out the kernels, all charred and spoiled, and distributed them amongst his people. They tested the coconut, they began to chew it, and then spat it out, crying, 'Our own food is better than that!' The chief was confused, and only God laughed that for all his trouble was the fault in the coconuts. No, but they were spoiled in the cooking. So your attempts to explain Christianity will only spoil it. Tell them that a man must live as a Christian before he can show others what Christianity is."

On their return to Futuna, they exhibited Jehovah's yam, given in answer to prayer and labor. They told what Christianity had done for Aniwa, but did not fail to qualify all their accounts with the story of the Era Manga chief and the coconuts.

Chapter 72

There Was Beautiful Farewell

The chief of next importance on Aniwa was Nerwa, a keen debater, all of whose thoughts ran in the channels of logic. When I could speak a little of their language, I visited and preached at his village, but the moment he discovered that the teaching about Jehovah was opposed to their heathen customs, he sternly forbade us. One day, during my address, he blossomed out into a full-fledged and pronounced agnostic, with as much reason at his back as the European type, and angrily interrupted me. "I see lies! You come here to teach us, and you call it worship. You say your Jehovah God dwells in heaven; whoever went up there to hear Him or see Him? You talk of Jehovah as if you had visited His heaven. Why, you cannot climb even to the top of one of our coconut trees, though we can, and that with ease. In going up to the roof of your own mission house, you require the help of a ladder to carry you, and even if you could make your ladder higher than our highest coconut tree, on what would you lean its top? And when you get to its top, you can only climb down the other side and end where you began. The thing is impossible! You never saw that God; you never heard Him speak. Don't come here with any of your white lies, or I'll send my spear through you!" He drove us from his village and furiously threatened murder if we ever dared to return.

But very shortly thereafter, the Lord sent us a little orphan girl from Naira's village. She was very clever and could soon both read and write, and told over all that we taught her. Her visits home, or at least amongst the villagers where her home had been, her changed appearance, and her childish talk produced a very deep interest in us and in our work. An orphan boy next was sent from that village to be kept and trained at the mission house, and he too took back his little stories of how kind and good to him were Missy the man and Missy the woman. By this time, chief and people alike were taking a lively interest in all that was transpiring.

One day, the chief's wife, a quiet and gentle woman, came to the worship and said, "There is opposition. Dies fast." The story of the orphans did it. He has allowed me to attend the church and to get the Christians' book. We gave her a book and a bit of clothing. She went home and told everything. Woman after woman followed her from that same village, and some of the men began to accompany them. The only thing in which they showed a real interest was the children singing the little hymns which I had translated into their own Aniwan tongue, and which my wife had taught them to sing very sweetly and joyfully. Nerwa never at last got so interested that he came himself and sat with an earshot and drank in the joyful sound. In a short time, he drew so near that he could hear the preaching, and then began openly and regularly to attend the church. His keen reasoning faculty was constantly at work. He weighed and compared everything he heard, and soon out-distanced nearly all of them in his grasp of the ideas of the Gospel. He put on clothing, joined our school, and professed himself a follower of the Lord Jesus. He eagerly set himself with all his power to bring in a neighboring chief and his people, and constituted himself at once an energetic and very pronounced helper to the missionary.

On the death of Nazwai, Nerwa once took his place in carrying my Bible to the church and seeing that all the people were seated before the stopping of the bell. I have seen him clasping the Bible like a living thing to his breast, as if he would cry, "Oh, to have this treasure in my own words of Aniwa!" When the Gospels of Matthew and Mark were at last printed in Aniwan, he studied them incessantly and soon could read them freely. He became the teacher in his own village school and delighted in instructing others. He was assisted by Ruawa, whom he himself had drawn into the circle of gospel influence, and at our next election these two friends were appointed elders of the church and greatly sustained our hands in every good work on Aniwa.

After years of happy, useful service, the time came for Nerwa to die. He was then so greatly beloved that most of the inhabitants visited him during his long illness. He read a bit of the Gospels in his own Aniwan and prayed with and for every visitor. He sang beautifully and scarcely allowed anyone to leave his bedside without having a verse of one or other of his favorite hymns, "Happy Land" and "Nearer, My God, to Thee." On my last visit to Naira, his strength had gone very low, but he drew me near his face and whispered, "Missy, my Missy, I am glad to see you. You see that group of young men? They came to sympathize with me, but they have never once spoken the name of Jesus, though they have spoken about everything else. They could not have weakened me so if they had spoken about Jesus, read me the story of Jesus, prayed for me to Jesus. No, stop! Let us call them, and let me speak with them before I go." I called them all around him, and he strained his dying strength and said, "After I'm gone, let there be no bad talk, no heathen ways. Sing Jehovah's songs and pray to Jesus, and bury me as a Christian. Take good care of my Missy and help him all you can. I am dying happy and going to be with Jesus, and it was Missy that showed me this way. And who among you will take my place in the village school and in the church? Who amongst you all will stand up for Jesus?" Many were shedding tears, but there was no reply. After which the dying chief proceeded, "Now let my last work on earth be this: we will read a chapter of the book about, and then I will pray for you all, and the Missy will pray for me, and God will let me go while the song is still sounding in my heart." At the close of this most touching exercise, we gathered the Christians who were nearby close around and sang very softly in Aniwan, "There is a Happy Land." As they sang, the old man grasped my hand and tried hard to speak, but in vain. His head fell to one side.

Chapter 73

Ruawa

His great friend, Ruawa, the chief, had waited by Nerwa like a brother till within a few days of the latter's death, when he also was smitten down, apparently by the same disease. He was thought to be dying, and he resigned himself calmly into the hands of Christ. One Sabbath afternoon, sorely distressed for lack of air, he instructed his people to carry him from the village to a rising ground on one of his plantations. It was fallow; the fresh air would reach him, and all his friends could sit around him. They extemporized a rest: two posts stuck into the ground, slanting sticks tied across them, then dried banana leaves spread on these, and also as a cushion on the ground, and there sat Ruawa, leaning back and breathing heavily. After the church services, I visited him and found half the people of that side of the island sitting around him in silence in the open air. Ruawa beckoned me, and I sat down before him. Though suffering sorely, his iron face had the look of ecstasy. "Missy," he said, "I could not breathe in my village, so I got them to carry me here, where there is room for all. They are silent, and they weep because they think I am dying. If it were God's will, I would like to live and to help you in His work. I am in the hands of our dear Lord. If He takes me, it is good; if He spares me, it is good. Pray and tell our Savior all about it."

I explained to the people that we would tell our Heavenly Father how anxious we all were to see Ruawa given back to us, strong and well, to work for Jesus, and then leave all to His wise and holy disposal. I prayed, and the place became a very vacuum. When I left him, Ruawa exclaimed, "Farewell, Missy! If I go first, I will welcome you to glory; if I am spared, I will work with you for Jesus. So all is well."

One of the young Christians followed me and said, "Missy, our hearts are very sore. If Ruawa dies, we have no chief to take his place in the church, and it will be a heavy blow against Jehovah's worship on Aniwa." I answered, "Let us each tell our God and Father all that we feel and all that we fear, and leave Ruawa and our work in His holy hands." We did so with earnest and unceasing cry, and when all hope had died out of every heart, the Lord began to answer us. The disease began to relax its hold, and the beloved chief was restored to health. As soon as he was able, though still needing help, he found his way back to the church, and we all offered special thanksgiving to God. He indicated a desire to say a few words, and although still very weak, spoke with great pathos thus: "Dear friends, God has given me back to you all. I rejoice those to come here and praise the great Father who made us all, and who knows how to make and keep us well. I want you all to work hard for Jesus and to lose no opportunity of trying to do good, and so to please Him. In my deep journey away, near to the grave, it was the memory of what I had done in love to Jesus that made my heart sing. I am not afraid of pain; my dear Lord Jesus suffered far more for me and teaches me how to bear it. I am not afraid of war or famine or death, or of the present or of the future. My dear Lord Jesus died for me, and in dying I shall live with Him in glory. I fear and love my dear Lord Jesus because He loved me and gave Himself for me." Then he raised his right hand and cried in a soft, full-hearted voice, "My own, my dear Lord Jesus!" and stood for a moment looking joyfully upward, as if gazing into his Savior's face. When he sat down, there was a long hush, broken here and there by a smothered sob, and Ruawa's words produced an impression that is remembered to this day.

In 1888, when I visited the islands, Ruawa was still devoting himself heart and soul to the work of the Lord on Aniwa, assisted by Chorus, a teacher from Atium, and visited annually by our ever dear and faithful friends, Master and Mrs. Watt from Tana. The good Ruawa carried forward all the work of God on Aniwa, along with others, in our absence as in our presence. The meetings, the communicants' class, the schools, and the church services are all regularly conducted and faithfully attended. "Bless the Lord, O my soul!"

Chapter 74

Litzi, Nazwai, and Mongor

Litzi, the only daughter of Namakay, had both in her own career and in her connection with poor dear Mongor an almost unparalleled experience. She was entrusted to us when very young and became a bright, clever, and attractive Christian girl. Many sought her hand, but she disdainfully replied, "I am queen of my own island, and when I like, I will ask a husband in marriage, as your great Queen Victoria did her first husband." However, one was undoubtedly the tallest and most handsome man on Aniwa, but he was a giddy fool, and on his early death, she again returned to live with us at the mission house.

Her second marriage had everything to commend it, but it resulted in indescribable disaster. Mongor, heir to a chief, had been trained with us and gave every evidence of decided Christianity. They were married in the church and lived in the greatest happiness. He was able and eloquent, and was first chosen as a deacon, then as an elder of the church, and finally as high chief of one half of the island. He showed the finest Christian spirit under many trying circumstances. Once, when working at the lime for the building of our church, two bad men armed with muskets sought his life for blowing the conch to assemble the workers. Hearing of the quarrel, I rushed to the scene and heard him saying, "Don't call me coward or think me afraid to die. If I died now, I would go to be with Jesus, but I am no longer a heathen; I am a Christian, and wish to treat you as a Christian should." Two loaded muskets were leveled at him. I seized one in each of my hands and held their muzzles aloft in air so that if discharged the balls might pass over his head and mine, and thus I stood for some minutes pleading with them. Others soon coming to the rescue, the men were disarmed, and after much talk, they professed themselves ashamed and promised better conduct for the future. Next day they sent a large present as a peace offering to me, but I refused to receive it till they should first of all make peace with the young chief. They sent a larger present to him, praying him to receive it and to forgive them. Mongor brought a still larger present in exchange, laid it down at their feet in the public ground, shook hands with them graciously, and forgave them in the presence of all the people. His constant saying was, "I am a Christian, and I must do the conduct of a Christian."

In one of my furloughs to Australia, I took the young chief with me in the hope of interesting the Sabbath schools and congregations by his eloquent addresses and noble personality. The late Dr. Cameron of Melbourne, having heard him as translated by me, publicly declared that Mongor's appearance and speech in his church did more to show him the grand results of the Gospel amongst the heathen than all the missionary addresses he ever listened to or read.

Our lodging was instantly killed her. My dear wife was suddenly seized with a dangerous illness on a visit to Taradale, and I was telegraphed for. Finding that I must remain with her, I got Mongor booked for Melbourne, on the road for St. Kilda, in charge of a railway guard. Some white wretches in the guise of gentlemen offered to see him to the St. Kilda station, assuring the guard that they were friends of mine and interested in our mission. They took him instead to some den of infamy in Melbourne. On refusing to drink with them, they said they threw him down on a sofa and poured drink or drugs into him till he was nearly dead. Having taken all his money, he had only two or three pounds, made up of little presents from various friends. They thrust him out to the street with only one penny in his pocket. On becoming conscious, he applied to a policeman who either did not understand or would not interfere. Hearing an engine whistle, he followed the sound and found his way to Spencer Street Station, where he proffered his penny for a ticket, all in vain. At last, a sailor took pity on him, got him some food, and led him to the St. Kilda station. There he stood for a whole day, offering his penny for a ticket by every train, only to meet with refusal after refusal, till he broke down and cried aloud in such English as desperation gave him: "Day, my Missy Patton live at Kilda! Mi wango Kilda, mi no money! Bad fellow took all! Send me Kilda!" Some gentle Samaritan gave him a ticket, and he reached our house at St. Kilda at last. There, for about three weeks, the poor creature lay in a sort of stupid doze. Food he could scarcely be induced to taste, and he only rose now and again for a drink of water. When my wife was able to be removed thither also, we found dear Mongor dreadfully changed in appearance and in conduct. Twice thereafter I took him with me on mission work, but on medical advice, preparations were made for his immediate return to the islands. I entrusted him to the kind care of Captain Logan, who undertook to see him safely on board the Dayspring, then lying at Auckland. Mongor was delighted, and we hoped everything from his return to his own land and people.

After some little trouble, he was landed safely home on Aniwa, but his malady developed dangerous and violent symptoms, characterized by long periods of quiet and sleep, and then sudden paroxysms in which he destroyed property, burned houses, and was a terror to all. On our return, he was greatly delighted, but he complained bitterly that the white men had spoiled his head, and that when it burned hot, he did all these bad things for which he was extremely sorry. He deliberately attempted my life and most cruelly abused his dear and gentle wife, and then, when the frenzy was over, he wept and lamented over it. Many a time he marched round and round our house with loaded musket and spear and tomahawk, while we had to keep doors and windows locked and barricaded. Then the paroxysm passed off, and he slept long and deep like a child. When he came to himself, he wept and said, "The white men spoiled my head; I know not what I do; my head burns hot, and I'm driven."

One day in the church, he leaped up during worship with a loud yelling war cry, rushed off through the imrai to his own house, set fire to it, and danced around till everything he possessed was burned to ashes. Nasi, a bad Tana chief living on Aniwa, had a quarrel with Mongor about a cask found at the shore and threatened to shoot him. Others encouraged him to do so, as Mongor was growing every day more and more destructive and violent. When any person became outrageous or insane on Aniwa, as they had neither asylum nor prison, they first of all held him fast and discharged a musket close to his ear, and then, if the shock did not bring him back to his senses, they tied him up for two days or so, and finally, if that did not restore him, they shot him dead. Thus, the plan of Nasi was favored by their own customs.

One night, after family worship, for amidst all his madness, when clear moments came, he poured out his soul in faith and love to the Lord. He said, "I am melting; my head burns; let us go out and get cold in the open air." She warned him not to go, as she heard voices whispering under the veranda. He answered a little wildly, "I am not afraid to die, and life is a curse and burden. The white man spoiled my head. If there is a hope of dying, let me go quickly and die." As he crossed the door, a ball crashed through him, and he fell dead. We got the mother and her children away to the mission house, and next morning they buried the remains of poor Mongor under the floor of his own hut and enclosed the whole place with a fence. It was a sorrowful close to so noble a career. I shed many a tear that I ever took him to Australia. What will God have to say to those white fiends who poisoned and maddened poor dear Mongor!

After a while, the good Queen Litzi was happily married again. She became possessed with a great desire to go as a missionary to the people and tribe of Nasi, the very man who had murdered her husband. She used to say, "Is there no missionary to go and teach Nasi's people? I weep and pray for them that they too may come to know and love Jesus." I answered, "Let's see, if I had only wept and prayed for you but stayed at home in Scotland, would that have brought you to know and love Jesus as you do?" "Certainly not," she replied. "And now," I proceeded, "would it not please Jesus and be a grand and holy revenge if you, the Christians of Aniwa, could carry the gospel to the very people whose chief murdered Mongor?" The idea took possession of her soul. She was never worried talking and praying over it. When at length the missionary was got for Nasi's people, Litzi and her new husband offered themselves as the head of a band of six or eight Aniwan Christians and were engaged there to open up the way and assist as teachers and helpers. The missionary and his wife there; she and they have labored ever since. They are strong for the worship. Her son is being trained up by his cousin, an elder of the church, to be the good chief of Aniwa, so she calls him in her prayers as she cries on God to bless and watch over him while she is serving the Lord in at once serving the mission family and ministering to the natives in that foreign field.

Many years have now passed, and when lately I visited that part of Tana, Litzi ran to me, clasped my hand, kissed it with many sobs, and cried, "Oh, my father, God has blessed me to see you again! Is my mother, your dear wife, well, and your children, my brothers and sisters? My love to them all! Oh, my heart clings to you!" We had sweet conversation, and then she said more calmly, "My days here are hard. I might be happy and independent as queen of my own Aniwa, but the heathen here are beginning to listen. The Missy sees them coming nearer to Jesus, and oh, what a reward when we shall hear them sing and pray to our dear Savior! The hope of that makes me strong for anything."

Chapter 75

The Conversion of Nasi

Nasi, the Tana man, was a bad and dangerous character, though some readers may condone his putting an end to Mongor in the terrible circumstances of our case. During a great illness that befell him, I ministered to him regularly, but no kindness seemed to move him. When about to leave Aniwa, I went specially to visit him. On parting, I said, "Nasi, are you happy? Have you ever been happy?" He answered gloomily, "No, never." "I said, 'Would you like this dear little boy of yours to grow up like yourself and lead the life you have lived?'" "No," he replied warmly, "I certainly would not." "Then," I continued, "you must become a Christian and give up all your heathen conduct, or he will just grow up to quarrel and fight and murder as you have done, and oh, Nasi, he will curse you through all eternity for leading him to such a life and to such a doom." He was very much impressed but made no response.

After we had sailed, a band of our young native Christians held a consultation over the case of Nasi. They said, "We know the burden and terror that Nasi has been to our dear Missy. We know that he has murdered several persons with his own hands and has taken part in the murder of others. Let us unite in daily prayer that the Lord would open his heart and change his conduct and teach him to love and follow what is good, and let us set ourselves to win Nasi for Christ, just as Missy tried to win us." So they began to show him every possible kindness, and one after another helped him in his daily tasks, embracing every opportunity of pleading with him to yield to Jesus and take the new path of life. At first, he repelled them and sullenly held aloof, but their prayers never ceased, and their patient affection continued to grow.

At last, after long waiting, Nasi broke down and cried to one of the teachers, "I can oppose your Jesus no longer. If He can make you treat me like that, I yield myself to Him and to you. I want Him to change me too. I want a heart like that of Jesus." He rubbed off the ugly, thick-daubed paint from his face; he cut off his long heathen hair; he went to the sea and bathed, washing himself clean, and then he came to the Christians and dressed himself in a shirt and a kilt. The next step was to get a book; his was the translation of the Gospel according to Saint John. He eagerly listened to everyone that would read bits of it aloud to him, and his soul seemed to drink in the new ideas at every pore. He attended the church and the school most regularly, and could in a very short time read the gospel for himself. The elders of the church took special pains in instructing him, and after due preparation, he was admitted to the Lord's table. My brother missionary from Tana, baptizing and receiving.

Him, imagine my joy on learning all this regarding one who had sullenly resisted my appeals for many years, and how my soul praised the Lord who is mighty to save. During a recent visit to Aniwa in 1886, God's Almighty compassion was further revealed to me when I found that Nasi, the murderer, was now a scripture reader and able to comment in a wonderful and interesting manner on what he read to the people.

On arriving at the island after my tour in Great Britain (1884-85), all the inhabitants of Aniwa seemed to be assembled at the boat landing to welcome me, except Nasi. He was away fishing at a distance and had been sent for, but had not yet arrived. On the way to the mission house, he came rushing to meet me. He grasped my hand and kissed it and burst into tears. I said, "Nasi, do I now at last meet you as a Christian?" He warmly answered, "Yes, Missy. I now worship and serve the only Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Bless God, I am a Christian at last." My soul went out with a silent cry, "Oh, that the men at home who discuss and doubt about conversion and the new heart and the power of Jesus to change and save could but look on Nasi and spell out the simple lesson: He that created us at first by his power can create us anew by his love."

Chapter 76. The Appeal of Lamu.

My first Sabbath on Aniwa after this tour in Great Britain and the colonies gave me a blessed surprise. Before daybreak, I lay awake thinking of all my experiences on that island and wondering whether the church had fallen off in my four years' absence, when suddenly the voice of song broke on my ears. It was scarcely full dawn yet. I jumped up and called to a man that was passing, "Have I slept in? Is it already church time, or why are the people met so early?" He was one of their leaders and gravely replied, "Missy, since you left, we have found it very hard to live near to God. So the chief and the teachers and a few others meet when daylight comes in every Sabbath morning and spend the first hour of every Lord's Day in prayer and praise. They are met to pray for you now, that God may help you in your preaching and that all hearts may bear fruit to the glory of Jesus."

This day I return to my room and felt wonderfully prepared myself. It would be an easy and a blessed thing to lead such a congregation into the presence of the Lord; they were there already. On that day, every person on Aniwa seemed to be at church, except the bedridden and the sick. At the close of the services, the elders informed me that they had kept up all the meetings during my absence and had also conducted the communicants' class, and they presented to me a considerable number of candidates for membership. After a careful examination, I set apart nine boys and girls, about 12 or 13 years of age, and advised them to wait for at least another year or so, that their knowledge and habits might be matured. They had answered every question indeed and were eager to be baptized and admitted, but I feared for their youth, lest they should fall away and bring disgrace on the church. One of them, with very earnest eyes, looked at me and said, "We have been taught that whosoever believeth is to be baptized. We do most heartily believe in Jesus and try to please Jesus." I answered, "Hold on for another year, and then our way will be clear." But he persisted, "Some of us may not be living then, and you may not be here. We long to be baptized by you, our own Missy, and to take our place among the servants of Jesus."

After much conversation, I agreed to baptize them, and they agreed to refrain from going to the Lord's table for a year, that all the church might by that time have knowledge and proof of their consistent Christian life, though so young in years. This discipline, I thought, would be good for them, and the Lord might use it as a precedent for guidance in future days. Of other 10 adults at this time admitted, one was specially noteworthy. She was about 25, and the elders objected because her marriage had not been according to the Christian usage on Aniwa. She left us weeping deeply.

I was writing late at night in the cool evening air, as was my wont in that oppressive tropical clime, and a knock was heard at my door. I called out, "Akera, who is there?" A voice softly answered, "Missy, it is Lamu. Oh, do speak with me." This was the rejected candidate, and I at once opened the door. "Oh, Missy," she began, "I cannot sleep, I cannot eat. My soul is in pain. Am I to be shut out from Jesus? Some of those at the Lord's table committed murder; they repented and have been saved. My heart is very bad, yet I never did any of those crimes of heathenism, and I know that it is my joy to try and please my Savior Jesus. How is it that I only am to be shut out from Jesus?" I tried all I could to guide and console her, and she listened to all very eagerly. Then she looked up at me and said, "Missy, you and the elders may think it right to keep me back from showing my love to Jesus at the Lord's table, but I know here in my heart that Jesus has received me, and if I were dying now, I know that Jesus, Jesus would take me to glory and present me to the Father." Her look and manner thrilled me. I promised to see the elders and submit her appeal, but Lamu appeared and pled her own cause before them with convincing effect. She was baptized and admitted along with other nine, and that communion day will be long remembered by many souls on Aniwa.

It has often struck me, when relating these events, to press this question on the many young people, the highly privileged white brothers and sisters of Lamu: Did you ever lose one hour of sleep or a single meal in thinking of your soul, your God, the claims of Jesus, and your eternal destiny? And when I saw the diligence and fidelity of these poor Aniwan elders teaching and ministering during all those years, my soul has cried aloud to God, "Oh, what could not the church accomplish if the educated and gifted elders and others in Christian lands would set themselves thus to work for Jesus, to teach the ignorant, to protect the tempted, and to rescue the fallen?"

Chapter 77. Wanted: A Steam Auxiliary.

In December 1883, I brought a pressing and vital matter before the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church of Victoria. It pertained to the New Hebrides Mission, to the vastly increased requirements of the missionaries and their families there, and to the fact that the Dayspring was no longer capable of meeting the necessities of the case, thereby incurring loss of time, loss of property, and risk, and even loss of precious lives. The missionaries on the spot had long felt this and had loudly and earnestly pleaded for a new and larger vessel, or a vessel with steam auxiliary power, or some arrangement whereby the work of God on these islands might be overtaken without unnecessary exposure of life and without the dreaded perils that accrue to a small sailing vessel such as the Dayspring, alike from deadly calms and from treacherous gales.

The Victorian General Assembly, heartily at one with the missionaries, commissioned me to go home to Britain in 1884, making me at the same time their missionary delegate to the Pan-Presbyterian Council at Belfast, and also their representative to the General Assemblies of the several Presbyterian churches in Great Britain and Ireland. And they empowered and authorized me to lay our proposals about a new steam auxiliary mission ship before all these churches and to ask and receive from God's people whatever contributions they felt disposed to give towards the sum of six thousand pounds, without which this great undertaking could not be faced.

A few days after my arrival, I was called upon to appear before the Supreme Court of the English Presbyterian Church, then assembled at Liverpool. While a hymn was being sung, I took my seat in the pulpit under great depression, but light broke around when my dear friend and fellow student, Dr. Oswald Dykes, came up from the body of the church, shook me warmly by the hand, whispered a few encouraging words in my ear, and returned to his seat. God help me to tell my story, and the audience were manifestly interested.

Next, by kind invitation, I visited and addressed the United Presbyterian Synod of Scotland, assembled in Edinburgh. My reception there was not only cordial; it was enthusiastic. Though as a church they had no denominational interest in our mission, the Moderator, amidst the cheers of all the ministers and elders, recommended that I should have free access to every congregation and Sabbath school which I found it possible to visit, and hoped that their generous-hearted people would contribute freely to so needful and noble a cause. My soul rose in praise, and I may here say, in passing, that every minister of that church whom I wrote to or visited treated me in the same spirit throughout all my tour.

Having been invited by Mr. Dixon, an elder of the Free Church, to address a midday meeting of children in the Free Assembly Hall, I was able by all appearances greatly to interest and impress them. At the close, my dear and noble friend, Principal Cairns, warmly welcomed and cheered me, and that counted for much amid all anxieties, for I had learned that very day at headquarters that the Free Church authorities were resolved, in view of a difference of opinion betwixt the Dayspring at Sydney and the Victorian Assembly as to the new steam auxiliary, to hold themselves absolutely neutral. Having letters from Andrew Scott, Esq., Carugal, my very dear friend and helper in Australia, to Dr. J. Hood Wilson, Barclay Free Church, Edinburgh, I resolved to deliver them that evening, and I prayed the Lord to open up all my path, as I was thus thrown solely on Him for guidance and bereft of the aid of man.

Dr. Wilson and his lady, neither of whom I had ever seen before, received me as kindly as if I had been an old friend. He read my letters of introduction, conversed with me as to plans and wishes, chiefly through Mrs. Wilson, for he was suffering from sore throat, and then he said with great warmth and kindliness, "God has surely sent you here tonight. I feel myself unable to preach tomorrow. Occupy my pulpit in the forenoon and address my Sabbath school, and you shall have a collection for your ship thereafter." Thereafter, I was with equal kindness received by Mr. Balfour, having a letter of introduction from his brother, and he offered me his pulpit for the evening of that day. I lay down, blessing and praising Him, the angel of whose presence was thus going before me and opening up my way.

That Lord's Day I had great blessing and joy. There was an extraordinary response financially to my appeals, and my proposal was thus fairly launched in the metropolis of our Scottish Church life. I remembered an old saying: "Difficulties are made only to be vanquished," and I thought in my deeper soul thus: "Our God throws us back upon Himself, and if these six thousand pounds ever come to me, to the Lord God alone, and not to man, shall be all the glory."

On the Monday following, after a long conversation and every possible explanation, Colonel Young of the Free Church Foreign Missions Committee said, "We must have you to address the Assembly on the evening devoted to missions." Thus, I had the pleasure and honor of addressing that great Assembly, and though no notice was taken of my proposals in any finding of the court, yet many were thereby interested deeply in our work, and requests now poured in upon me from every quarter to occupy pulpits and receive collections for the new ship.

At the meeting in the Assembly Hall of the Church of Scotland, which along with others I was cordially invited to address, the good and noble Lord Polwarth occupied the chair. That was the beginning of a friendship in Christ which will last and deepen as long as we live. From that night, he took the warmest personal interest, not only by generously contributing to my fund, but by organizing meetings at his own mansion house and introducing me to a wide circle of influential friends. Nor, whilst the pen leads on my mind to recall these border memories, must I fail to record how John Scott, Dungan, a greatly esteemed elder of the church, went from town to town in all that region and from minister to minister, arranging for me a series of happy meetings. I shared also the hospitality of his beautiful home and added himself and his much-beloved wife to the precious roll of those who are dear for the gospel's sake and for their own.

Her Majesty's Commissioner to the General Assembly for the year was that distinguished Christian, as well as nobleman, the Earl of Aberdeen. He graciously invited me to meet the Countess and himself at ancient Holyrood. After dinner, he withdrew himself for a length and time from the general company and entered into a close and interested conversation about our mission, and especially about the threatened annexation of the New Hebrides by the French. There also I had the memorable pleasure of meeting, and for a long while conversing with, that truly noble and large-hearted lady, his mother, the much-beloved Dowager Countess, well known for her lifelong devotion to so many schemes of Christian philanthropy. At her own home, Alva House, she afterwards arranged meetings for me, as well as in halls and churches in the immediately surrounding district, and her letters of interest in the work, of sympathy, and of helpfulness from time to time received, were amongst the sustaining forces of my spiritual life. When one sees men and women of noble rank thus consecrating themselves in humble and faithful service to Jesus, their dawn upon the mind a glimpse of what the prophet means, and of what the world will be like when it can be said regarding the Church of God on Earth: "Kings have become thy nursing fathers, and their queens thy nursing mothers."

Chapter 78. England's Open Door.

My steps were next directed towards Ireland. Immediately after the church meetings at Edinburgh, after my time there, I returned to Scotland. I settled down at my headquarters, the house of my brother James in Glasgow, and thence began to open up the main line of my operations as the Lord day by day guided me. Having the aid of no committee, I cast myself on minister after minister and church after church. Then the time arrived for me to go to England. In addition, the Lord opened doors for the work to be shared there as well.

It was my privilege also to visit and address the Müller Orphanages at Bristol and to see that saintly man of faith and prayer moving about as a wise and loving father amongst the hundreds, even thousands, that looked to him for their daily bread and for the bread of life eternal. At the close of my address, the venerable founder thanked me warmly and said, "Here, a pound fifty, which God has sent to me for your mission." I replied, saying, "Dear friend, how can I take it? I would rather give you 500 pounds for your orphans if I could, for I'm sure you need it all." He replied with sweetness and great dignity, "God provides for His own orphans. This money cannot be used for them. I must send it after you by letter. It is the Lord's gift."

Often as I've looked at the doings of men and churches and tried to bring all to the test as if in Christ's very presence, it has appeared to me that such work as Müller's and Barnardo's and that of my own countryman, William Quarrier, must be peculiarly dear to the heart of our blessed Lord, and were He to visit this world again and seek a place where His very Spirit had most fully wrought itself out into deeds, I fear that many of our so-called churches would deserve to be passed by, and that His holy, tender, helpful, divinely human love would find its most perfect reflex in these orphan homes. Still and forever, amidst all changes of creed and of climate, this, this is pure and undefiled religion before God and the Father.

But in this connection, I must not admit to mention that the noble and world-famous servant of God, the minister of the Tabernacle, invited me to a garden party at his home and asked me to address his students and other Christian workers. When I arrived, I found a goodly company assembled under the shade of lovely trees and felt the touch of that genial humor, so mighty a gift when sanctified, which is so often given wings to C.H. Spurgeon's words when he saluted me as "the king of the cannibals." On my leaving, Mrs. Spurgeon presented me with her husband's Treasury of David and also five pounds from the Lord's cows, which I afterwards learned was part of the profits from certain cows kept by the good lady, and that everything produced thereby was dedicated to the work of the Lord. I praise God that He had privileged me to meet this extraordinarily endowed man, to whom the whole Christian world had been so specially indebted, and who had consecrated all his gifts and opportunities to the proclamation of the pure and precious Gospel.

Of all my London associations, however, the deepest and the most imperishable is that which weaves itself around the Honorable Ion Keith Falconer, who has already passed to what may truly be called a martyr's crown. At that time, I met him at his father-in-law's house at Trent, and on another occasion spent a whole day with him at the house of his noble mother, the Countess Dowager of Kintore. His soul was then full of his projected mission to the Arabs, being himself one of the most distinguished orientalists of the day, and as we talked together and exchanged experiences, I felt that never before had I visibly marked the fire of God, the holy passion to seek and to save the lost, burning more steadily or brightly on the altar of any human heart. The heroic founding of the mission at Aden is already one of the precious annals of the Church of Christ. His young and devoted wife survives to mourn indeed, but also to cherish his noble memory, and with the aid of others and the banner of the Free Church of Scotland, to see the Keith Falconer Mission rising up amidst the darkness of blood-stained Africa as at once a harbor of refuge for the slave and a beacon light to those who are without God and without hope. The servant does his day's work and passes on through the gates of sleep to the happy dawn, but the Divine Master lives and works and reigns, and by our death, as surely as by our life, His holy purposes shall be fulfilled.

Chapter 79. Farewell Scenes.

On returning to Scotland, every day was crowded with engagements for the weeks that remained, and almost every mail brought me contributions from all conceivable corners of the land. My heart was set upon taking out two or three missionaries with me to claim more and still more of the islands for Christ, and with that view I had addressed divinity students at Edinburgh, Glasgow, and Aberdeen again and again. By conversation and correspondence, consecrated young men were just on the point of volunteering, but again and again the larger and better-known fields of labor turned the scale, and they finally decided for China, or Africa, or India. Deeply disappointed at this, and thinking that God directed us to look to our own Australia alone for missionaries for the New Hebrides, I resolved to return and took steps towards securing a passage by the Orient line to Melbourne.

But just then, two able and devoted students, Mrs. Morton and Leggett, offered themselves as missionaries for our islands, and shortly thereafter a third, Mr. Landlz, also an excellent man, and all being on the eve of their licenses as preachers, were approved of, accepted, and set to special preparations for the mission field, particularly in acquiring practical medical knowledge. On this turn of affairs, I managed to have my passage delayed for six weeks and resolved to cast myself on the Lord, that He might enable me in that time to raise at least £500 in order to furnish the necessary outfit and equipment for three new mission stations and to pay the passage money of the missionaries and their wives, that there might be no difficulty on this score amongst the foreign mission committees on the other side. And then the idea came forcibly, and for a little unmanned me, that it was wrong in me to speak of these limits as to times and money in my prayers to God, but I reflected again how it was for the Lord's own glory alone in the salvation of the heathen, and for no personal aims of mine, and so I fell back on His promise: "Whatsoever ye shall ask in my name," and believingly asked it in His name and for His praise and service alone.

I think it due to my Lord and for the encouragement of all His servants that I should briefly outline what occurred in answer to these prayers. Having gone to the center of one of the great shipbuilding districts of Scotland and held a series of meetings and raised a sum of about £55 only after nine services and many Sabbath school collecting cards, my heart was beginning to sink, as I did not think my health would stand another six weeks of incessant strain. When, at the close of my last meeting in a Free Church, an elder and his wife entered the vestry and said, "We are deeply interested in you and in all your work and plans. You say that you have asked £500 more. We gave you the first £100 at the Dundee conference, and it is a joy to us to give you this £100 too towards the making up of your final sum. We pray that you may speedily realize your wish, and that God's richest blessing may ever rest upon your head."

Another week passed by, and at the close of it, a lady called upon me, and after delightful conversation about the mission, said, "How near are you to the sum required?" I explained to her what is recorded above, and she continued, "I gave you one little piece of paper at the beginning of your efforts. I have prayed for you every day since. God has prospered me, and this is one of the happiest moments of my life when I am now able to give you another little piece of paper." So saying, she put into my hand £100. I protested, "You are surely too generous; can you afford a second £100?" She replied to this effect, and very joyfully, as one who had genuine gladness in the deed: "My Lord has been very kind to me in my business; my wants are simple, and are safe in His hands. I wait not till death forces me, but give back whatever I am able to the Lord now, and hope to live to see much blessing thereby through you in the conversion of the heathen."

My last week had come, and I was in the midst of preparations for departure, when amongst the letters delivered to me was one to this effect: "Restitution money, which now, however, can be returned to its owner. Since my conversion, I have labored hard to save it. I now make my only possible amends by returning it to God through you. Pray for me and mine, and may God bless you in your work." I rather startled my brother and his wife at our breakfast table by shouting out in an unwantedly excited tone, "Hallelujah! The Lord has done it! Hallelujah!" But my tones softened down into intense reverence, and my words broke at last into tears when I found that this, the second largest subscription ever received by me (£1,000 by one friend, have since been given to the John G. Payton Mission Fund), came from a converted tradesman who had consecrated his all to the Lord Jesus, and whose whole leisure was now centered upon seeking to bless and save those of his own rank and class amongst whom he had spent his early and unconverted days. Jesus said unto him, "Go home to thy friends and tell them how great things the Lord hath done for thee, and hath had compassion on thee."

Bidding farewell to dear old Glasgow, so closely intertwined with all my earlier and later experiences, I started for London, accompanied by my brother James. We were sitting at breakfast at Mrs. Matheson's table, Mildmay, when a telegram was put into my hands announcing a thank-offering from Lord and Lady Polwarth, received since our departure from Glasgow. The Lord had now literally exceeded my prayers. With other gifts repeated again by friends at Mildmay, the special fund for outfit and traveling expenses for new missionaries had risen above the £500 and now approached £650.

In a farewell meeting at Mildmay, the Lord's servants being assembled in great numbers from all quarters of London, dedicated me and my work very solemnly to God amid songs of praise and many prayers and touching last words. And when at length Mr. Matheson, intimating that I must go, as another company of Christian workers were elsewhere waiting also to say goodbye, suggested that the whole audience should stand up and, instead of handshaking, quietly breathe their benedictory farewell as I passed from the platform down through their great hall, a perfect flood of emotion overwhelmed me. I never felt a humbler man, nor more anxious to hide my head in the dust, than when all these noble, gifted, and beloved followers of Jesus Christ and consecrated workers in His service stood up and with one heart said, "Godspeed and God bless you," as I passed on through the hall. To one who had striven and suffered less, or who less appreciated how little we can do for others compared with what Jesus had done for us, this scene might have ministered to spiritual pride, but long ere I reached the door of that hall, my soul was already prostrated at the feet of my Lord in sorrow and in shame that I had done so little for Him, and I bowed my head and could have gladly bowed my knees to cry, "Not unto us, Lord, not unto us."

Chapter 80. Welcome to Victoria and Aniwa.

On the 28th of October 1885, I sailed for Melbourne and in due course safely arrived there. By the goodness of God, the church and people of my own beloved Victoria gave me a right joyful welcome, and in public assembly presented me with a testimonial which I shrank from receiving, but which all the same was the highly prized expression of their confidence and esteem during my absence at the islands, to which I immediately proceeded. They unanimously elected me moderator of their Supreme Court and called me back to fill that highest chair of honor in the Presbyterian Church. God is my witness how very little any or all of these things in themselves ever have been coveted by me, but how, when they have come in my way, I have embraced them with a single desire thereby to promote the church's interest in that cause to which my whole life and all my opportunities are consecrated: the conversion of the heathen world.

My mission to Britain was to raise six thousand pounds in order to enable the Australian churches to provide a steam auxiliary mission ship for the enlarged and constantly enlarging requirements of the New Hebrides. I spent exactly 18 months at home, and when I returned, I was enabled to hand over to the church that had commissioned and authorized me no lesser sum than £9,000. And all this had been forwarded to me as the free-will offerings of the Lord's stewards in the manner illustrated by the preceding pages. Behold, what God hath wrought! Of this sum, six thousand pounds are set apart to build or acquire the new mission ship. The remainder is added to what we call our Number Two Fund for the maintenance and equipment of additional missionaries. It has been the dream of my life to see one missionary at least, with trained native teachers, planted on every island of the New Hebrides, and then I could lie down and whisper gladly, "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace."

As to the new mission ship, unexpected delay has arisen. There are differences of opinion about the best way of carrying out the proposal. There must be an understanding betwixt New South Wales and Victoria and the other colonies as to the additional annual expenditure, and the perplexity as to the wisest course has deepened since the colonial government began to run mail ships regularly from Australia to Fiji, willing on certain terms of subsidy to call at one or other harbor in the New Hebrides. Meantime, let all friends who are interested in us and our work understand that the monies so generously entrusted to me has been safely handed over to my own Victorian church and is deposited at good interest in the bank to be spent at their discretion in due time, when all details are settled, and as nearly as possible in the altered circumstances, exclusively for the purposes for which it was asked and bestowed. To me personally, this delay is confessedly a keen and deep disappointment, but the special work laid upon me has, however, been accomplished. The colonial churches have now all the responsibility of the further steps in this, as in many a harder trouble of my checkered life. I calmly roll all my burden upon the Lord; I await with quietness and confidence His wise disposal of events. His hand is on the helm, and whether He steers us all shall be well.

But let me not close this chapter till I have struck another and a diviner note. I have been to the islands again since my return from Britain. The whole inhabitants of Aniwa were there to welcome me, and my procession to the Old Mission House was more like the triumphal march of a conqueror than that of a humble missionary. Everything was kept in beautiful and perfect order; every service of the church, as previously described in this book, was fully sustained by the native teachers, the elders, and the occasional visit once or twice a year of an ordained missionary from one of the other islands. Aniwa, like Aneityum, is a Christian land. Jesus has taken possession, never again to quit those shores. Glory, glory to His blessed name! My home has since been at Melbourne; my life's work now, 1892, and probably during the remainder of my active days, will be to visit and address the congregations and Sabbath schools of the Presbyterian churches of Australia, telling them, as in this book, the story of my experiences and inspiring the Christian people of these colonies to support the New Hebrides Mission and to claim all these islands for the Lord Jesus Christ. One last chapter still awaits us. By His grace who has sustained me from childhood till now, I would work out that chapter and live through these closing scenes. With this book still open before you, I implore you to go alone before your blessed Savior and pledge yourself so to live and so to die in the service and fellowship of the Lord Jesus, that you and I, who have companied with each other through these pages, may meet again and renew our happy intercourse in our Father's house.

Chapter 81. Good News from Tanna.

1891. This chapter was written by the editor, James Payton. Now let us pass on and look in upon them at the opening and dedication of this Scotch Church on Tanna to the Lord God on a fixed day, Wednesday, the 28th of October, exactly 12 months to a day from our leaving Liverpool. Natives from far and near assembled for the occasion. Mr. and Mrs. Gray, with their two children, a Mr. Volare, a German who has come to Tanna as a trader, and our neighbor Mr. Bramwell joined us, so that when we all met for the opening services, we were a somewhat mixed company, speaking a medley of languages: English, Scotch, German, Fijian, and Atchin, Aniwan, and at least two of the Tanese languages. The building was well filled, but the bigger crowd was gathered outside, for our heathen onlookers were afraid to enter the sacred edifice. The service was beautiful; all seemed very happy. After it, there was an exchange of gifts: we giving 50 fathoms of print and calicos, some handkerchiefs, two pots full of cooked rice, a pile of raw yams and taro, and two pieces of salt beef. Our neighbor gave some print, some 10 lb. of lunch and beef, and some uncooked rice. The natives gave two cooked pigs and native puddings ad libitum. These things being divided to the satisfaction of all, we had speeches, when doubtless some good impressions were made.

On the Sabbath following, we had a good attendance, Mr. Gray addressing the people. On the Sabbath following that, we made our first money collection on Tanna. I again ask my readers to listen and to lay to heart what the lady missionary tells us of these once cruel and cannibal souls. We asked the people to give it as a thank-offering for the remarkable exemption from accident during the building of the church, though at times the work was rather dangerous. The collection was three pounds and five shillings. We were much pleased with the hearty way the people responded to this, the first call to give a free gift to the Lord. One man, whose whole purse was 17 shillings, gave one shilling himself, and gave one shilling to each of his three sons, so that they too might have something to give. Knowing how meanly the Tana treated the spirits whom they worshiped in heathenism, giving them the scraggiest fish, the poorest bananas, and the smallest yams, we rejoiced in this Christian liberality.

"Preferring to exaggerated newspaper rumors," she says, "Tana bulks largely in some minds, though it is only a small island, a little larger than Arran. We had noticed that our civil war was telegraphed not only to the Australian papers but to San Francisco and even to the London Standard. We have been receiving letters of condolence from friends who think our lives in danger. Now mark what the presence of the gospel and the missionary has brought about as compared with former days. Personally, the said civil war has not affected us in the slightest. The Grays, who were in the center of the scene of action, and who more than once had the bullets whizzing over and around their house, was so assured of their complete safety that Mrs. Gray stayed there bravely alone with their children, while Mr. Gray came up here to assist at our church building. The list of killed and wounded has been unusually large for Tana, while the atrocities committed have been worse than we ever heard of before. Indignities were offered to the dead of both sexes, and in one case at least, a mutilated woman was left unburied to be eaten by dogs, and would have been completely devoured had not one of our teachers come on the scene next day and unaided dug a grave and buried her."

And then the writer lets in the lurid light of the nether pit in this closing picture: "One instance of the disgusting depravity of the people shocked me much. A man who even attends service in the district where the above dreadful affair took place, on seeing the poor mutilated form of the woman, addressed it thus: 'If only the gospel had not reached my village, how I would have enjoyed a feast off you!' I cannot tell you how much this has preyed upon my mind, or how glad I feel at realizing that Jesus is an Almighty Savior and can save to the uttermost, else I would despair of these people." This may be commended to the attention of those who still affect to believe that the cannibalism of my brother's book is overdrawn. "That half-civilized Tana man, smacking his lips at the thought of what might have been his but for the gospel, outweighs all cavils and is tenfold stronger than arguments."

Also, let us ask all readers to ponder the dear lady's parting shot at unsympathetic and disparaging critics: "Some have said that the backwardness of the gospel on Tana is due to the want of faith on the part of her missionaries, but I agree with our fellow-laborer, Mr. Gray, who declares that it is only gigantic faith that could have toiled so many years amongst such a people." Dear sister in the Lord, courageous, much-enduring, free of all mock modesty, conscious of thy cross, I thank thee for that word; it is the right one: "Gigantic faith."

Chapter 82. The Autobiography and a World Tour.

The following chapters are from an updated version of this book published in 1923 by Albert Kent Langridge. In this brief chapter, let another speak for the missionary in recording a fresh development that more than fulfilled his hopes for the permanent development of the mission and ultimately gave him his ship. One of the pioneer missionaries says of the New Hebrides Mission that "one chapter after another of its history has developed as God in His Providence has opened up the way; that He has originated movements and raised up agencies in such ways as clearly to demonstrate that the work has been His own."

In this short chapter, the reader will see fresh evidence of God's leading. When the missionary was in Britain conducting his mission-ship campaign, his youngest brother, Dr. James Payton of Glasgow, after long persuasion, prevailed upon him to write his autobiography, assuring him of his assistance in editing the volume and arguing that its publication might be the means, in God's Providence, of advancing the cause that the missionary had so much at heart. His pleading prevailed. The book was published and was received with acclamation by the Christian public. All unexpectedly, for the book was in no sense intended as an appeal, readers began to send their gifts for the development of the work, and prayer and gifts together made John G. Payton grow young again, as his beloved islands became the center of world missionary interest. Further, the John G. Payton Mission Fund was formed, a voluntary organization that would become one of the main pillars upon which the future of the work would be built.

At this juncture, there arose in the New Hebrides fresh cause for anxiety. The Kanaka traffic, a systematic and organized method of securing natives from the islands to work in the sugar plantations of Queensland, Fiji, and New Caledonia, which had been under a ban because of the scandal of its evil deeds, was revived, and a further menace to the natives was being vigorously pushed by traders in the group in the sale of strong drink and firearms. Britain, to her everlasting credit, had stipulated that traders sailing under her flag should not be permitted to sell liquor or firearms, but France was openly abetting the evil, and American traders were taking some part in the evil system. Sir Arthur Gordon, the High Commissioner for the Western Pacific, advised that the only hope of stopping the evil would be to send deputies to try and arouse the Christian conscience of America on the subject. This advice was accepted, and as a result, the choice of an advocate fell on John G. Payton, now a veteran of 68 years. Thus, he was once more called upon to undertake the task of a world voyage for the emancipation of his beloved islanders.

Within hours of receiving the call, the missionary was on his way to San Francisco across the Pacific. At first, he had difficulty finding open doors for his message in his previous visit to Britain, but after publishing his life story, he found that his mission had attracted such attention that he found doors wide open this time, both in America and in Britain, and invitations poured in from every direction. As a result of his book, influential citizens introduced him to the highest in the land, and President Harrison, and later President Cleveland, who invited him to the White House and became deeply interested in his efforts to stop slavery, grog traffic, and firearms.

It was inevitable, then, that he would refer to his pioneering years among cannibals in his speeches. His response to a question on whether natives are eager for missionaries was made during a public meeting. As a response, he related the following incident: "When I went to the cannibal island of Ambrym in the north of the New Hebrides three years ago, we saw natives on shore all lying with weapons. We hesitated to land, and whenever we approached them, they rushed to the shore and drew up their canoes. For hours they acted in that way. At last, two men came off in canoes with shaking and trembling limbs, and one called, 'Are you a missionary?' 'Yes, I am a missionary.' 'You true missionary?' 'Yes.' 'You don't have a revolver?' I bared my body and showed I had none. 'You don't steal girls or women?' 'No, we come to tell you about God.' Then he cried, 'We say you are true missionary! You brought Missy Gordon, who come here long, long ago.' I said, 'Yes,' and with one rush, the two men came in their canoes and leaped into our boat, and one called ashore, 'Missy, Missy, Missy!' and something else that we did not understand. Soon the cry was taken up along the shore of the island; you heard it echoing everywhere: 'Missionary, missionary!' The people then piled up their rifles and crowded together as we came near the shore. When we got there, they rushed in and took our boat up onto the beach. As soon as I got out, I saw a painted, intimidating-looking savage staring at me. I kept my eye on him, not knowing what he was after. He seized me by the arm and began in broken English, 'Me die for missionary! Me die for a missionary! Me know got a missionary! Me know got a missionary! Me die for missionary!' I said, 'We cannot give you a missionary.' He said, looking at the young men with us, 'I said they were for another island.' He replied, 'You stop long me, me die, me die, me want missionary to teach me.' When we went to the boat, he said, 'When you come with the missionary?' I said, 'We cannot for a year.' 'Oh, me want missionary! Me die from missionary! Me not wait for one year!' As we left the island, crowds caught at me to keep me back, and the last sight that I had was that of the old chief sitting there on the beach, silent and despairing." And his plea is still ringing in my heart: "The anxiety of the heathen lies at the feet of Jesus." That is my one consoling thought, and He will answer their need.

The object of the American deputation was not fully achieved owing to diplomatic difficulties with other countries, notably France, who refused to prohibit trade by their nationals in liquor and firearms. Nevertheless, the Christian conscience of America was aroused on the subject, and forces were there set in motion towards the repression of injustice to the islanders. Still bent on saving the black man from the white man's greed, he voyaged from America to Britain only to find that his path was to be no easy way. Advocates of the Kanaka traffic saw the danger of allowing this propaganda against their schemes to pass unnoticed, and they had preceded him and set to work to dog his footsteps wherever he took up the fight against the system. His foes were present, distributing literature favorable to the traffic at his meetings and doing all possible to thwart his purpose. Such tactics, had they only known it, were the very means of strengthening the missionary's resolution. His passion was fueled by opposition. Natives of these same black races had persistently tried to take his life, and yet his soul blazed in wrath against wrongs done to them, and for his part, there could be no cessation in this warfare against wrong.

A leading journal in London referred to the marvelous energy of the veteran missionary as a signal proof of the mastering passion which inspired him. By this time, his autobiography had, to his amazement, made him famous. Applications for meetings poured in from every quarter; crowds flocked to hear him, and influential people competed for the privilege of offering him hospitality. No praise, however, had the smallest effect upon his humility. "I'm only a poor missionary," was the expression often upon his lips. There was no mistaking the sincerity of the sentiment, and poor and rich alike held him in deepest regard. Having been with him on many journeys, the writer recalls that when he was driven to or from meetings in the carriage of influential people, he never failed to smile and thank the coachman, saying, "Thank you, dear sir, for your kindness in driving me. Goodbye." In addition to his fare, the London taxi driver received this word of appreciation and was stunned.

After a big meeting in Manchester, a bevy of clergymen were talking to him, and he was overheard saying he had been ordained by a bishop. His remark drew instant attention because he was a Presbyterian. In response to the request for an explanation, he replied, "Bishop Selwyn laid His hands on my head at my dear wife's grave in the midst of my loneliness on Tanna and solemnly consecrated me to God. I therefore claim that I have been ordained by a bishop of your church to the service of God, but in the New Hebrides, we do not know one another as Episcopalians, Presbyterians, Congregationalists, etc., but as brethren in one common cause under one Master." In proposing a vote of thanks to the missionary after his address to the students of his old University at Glasgow, Professor Story brought down the house by saying, "Had I been a cannibal, one look at Dr. Payton's gentle and noble face would have made me a vegetarian to the end of my days." It was to these very students that Dr. Payton gave the deeply interesting account of how he found

Out the equivalent for the word faith in the language of his island of Aniwa. For a long time, he said, no equivalent could be found, and my work on Bible translation was paralyzed for the want of so fundamental and oft-recurring a term. The natives apparently regarded the verb "to hear" as equivalent to "to believe." I would ask a native whether he believed a certain statement, and his reply would be, should he credit the statement, "Yes, I heard it." But should he disbelieve it, he would answer, "No, I did not hear it," meaning not that his ears had failed to catch the words, but that he did not regard them as true. This definition of faith was obviously insufficient.

I prayed continually that God would supply the missing link, and spared no effort in interrogating the most intelligent native pundits, but all in vain. None caught the hidden meaning of the word. When I was in the mission house, I sat anxiously pondering. As I sat on an ordinary kitchen chair, my feet rested on the floor. I thought of asking the all-absorbing question yet again, if possible, in a new light. Just as an intelligent native woman entered the room, did I not rest my head on the chair? Would that attitude facilitate the discovery? I asked, "What am I doing now?" The native replied, "You're sitting down, Missy, leaning back in a posture of repose." I placed my feet upon the bar of the chair just above the floor and asked, "What am I doing now?" "You are leaning wholly, Missy, or you have lifted yourself from every other support." "That's it!" I shouted with an exultant cry, and a sense of holy joy owed me as I realized that my prayer had been so fully answered. To lean on Jesus wholly and only is surely the true meaning of appropriating or saving faith. And now, leaning on Jesus unto eternal life, or for all the things of eternal life, is the happy experience of those Christian Islanders, as it is of all who thus cast themselves unreservedly on the Savior of the world for salvation.

Professor Gärtner stated that this illustration from the little island of Aniwa was particularly interesting. He had never heard anything that came nearer to the exact significance of the meaning underlying the Hebrew word for faith. It appeared to him very wonderful that so perfect an illustration should be discovered in the language of one of the smallest islands in the Pacific, among perhaps the smallest tribe of people in the world. At this time, the constant strain of traveling and speaking was beginning to take its toll on his health. A doctor with whom he stayed discovered, after some skillful probing, that the missionary was suffering from constant sleeplessness. He urged that to avoid a breakdown, there must be a temporary cessation of work, but it was in vain. He was as the deaf adder, ignoring all admonitions to slow down. He resolutely refused to forgo any engagements, cancel nothing. He wrote to his brother, "I'll work on, trusting to Him who has promised, 'As thy days so shall thy strength be.'" And so the days and weeks sped on without a moment's cessation of activity until the time came to turn his face again towards the Pacific. On the 10th of August, 1894, he left Tilbury and sped away to begin afresh his absorbing work for and among the natives of his beloved New Hebrides.

Chapter 83: A New Day Spring and Death of the Kanaka Traffic. It is not to be wondered at that in the course of his meetings and in the homes he visited, the missionary could not refrain from referring to the postponed missionership scheme, expressing the conviction that a ship was of vital importance to the work and the hope that the means for its maintenance might yet be forthcoming. As a result of his devotion, gifts and promises began to flood in. So he left for Australia with enough money to build a larger ship and with the promise of an additional sum each year for her upkeep, backed by the efforts of the home committee, which he treasured and enjoyed. On arrival in Melbourne, he urged the Australian committee to approve the building and commissioning of the new Dayspring mission ship. A short time later, an agreement had been reached and a message had been sent to proceed. In Britain, no time was wasted. A Clyde shipbuilding yard offered expert advice, and the vessel was soon in the yard. On the 19th of August, 1895, the Dayspring was launched, and subsequently, she visited Greenock, Ayr, Belfast, and Liverpool, where crowds flocked to see her. The voyage via the Cape of Good Hope was accomplished without mishap, and on the 21st of December, 1895, only 16 months after the missionary left Britain with his promise of annual support, the Dayspring entered the mouth of the Yarra and was safely berthed at Melbourne. To his intense joy, his ceaseless prayers and labors had at length accomplished the difficult enterprise.

In light of the missionary's absence on the other side of the world, it is interesting to consider events in the islands during his absence. In 1894, Mrs. Payton returned to the islands to see their missionary son, the Reverend Fred J. Payton, stationed on the island of Malakula in the northern part of the group, and to visit and encourage the natives of their own island of Vanua. Her letters to the missionary give a refreshing glimpse of the conditions and passing events in the islands at that time. When she reached Aniwa, the natives recognized their missionary's wife, and shouts of "Thomasifine!" passed from lip to lip. Native women flung their arms about her neck and wept for joy. But "Missy" Dr. Patton had not come, and questions poured in as to the cause of his absence. The natives were working at the erection of a new church, and the evidence of their consistent Christian life was most encouraging. The visit was but brief, as the boat was bound for the northern islands, where the rest of the time was to be spent. On the heathen island of Malakula, the conditions were by no means as hopeful as on Aniwa. The mission had only comparatively recently been commenced on Malakula, and the natives were still cannibals. Seeing the desperate condition of the natives, Mrs. Payton remarks, "One requires a specific reason, a divine command, to live in heathenism. Since I came, there have been three murders, the last of which I cannot get over. The victim was a native woman who had long been ill. Her husband got tired of keeping her, so he buried her alive. Weak though she was, she fought hard to keep above ground till the chief gave her a blow on the head to kill her before her face was smothered."

By way of comment on the hateful kanaka traffic of slaves, one of the natives described to Mrs. Payton how, in his youth, he was stolen away from the islands. "White men tell me, 'Come, look at big ship,' and he gives me things. Then, when I want to jump back in my canoe, he'd push it away and hold me firm. Then he'd get up anchor and go away. Oh, I cry, cry plenty! But he tell me to dry up, or he would shut me. I cry, for I no want him to shut me, but my heart break for my mother all the time, and I know I can help myself. He got me." But the traffic was doomed, as all evil is. Not that the end came as a direct result of the missionary's fervent appeals and fearless denunciation. A political movement for a "White Australia" arose and soon became the settled policy of the Australian people. Such a policy, of course, involved the cessation of all imported black labor and necessitated the removal of all the Islanders back to their homes. So ended the conflict which had been waged with such persistent energy to ensure justice for the black races. But sad to say, some abuses still continue in the deception practiced on the natives to secure them for plantation work in French New Caledonia and in islands other than their own.

Chapter 84: Reverend Frank Payton, Missionary to Tana. Let's follow the missionary to a new venture that absorbed the extraordinary energy of his advancing years. Tana was never forgotten by Dr. Patton. After years of suffering, he was forced off that island by the savage natives, but he always worried about their salvation. He confided in friends in England that if he could not get a missionary for the west coast of Tana, he intended to go himself among these cannibals and lay the foundation for God's work there, if possible. Tana, the scene of his first baptism of fire, was still his first love, and that dogged spirit of his never yielded. Tana must be conquered for God.

Early in 1896, shortly before his 71st birthday, the missionary sailed again to his beloved New Hebrides. He went straight to Tana and landed on the west coast. "I have been ashore and talked with a big chief and some other natives, and they are going to consult with the surrounding chiefs and see if all are agreed to have a missionary. Two of the tribes are at war, and only a few days before I landed, they had killed and feasted on a man and two women." From Tana, he returned to Aniwa, and his delight at being again with his own natives, now steadfast and devoted Christians, was refreshing to witness. Some had come to Tana as evangelists, while others were boat crews setting good examples through their simple Christian lives. One boat's crew refused to work on the Sabbath and gave us their reason: "God's book forbids work on the Sabbath. We fear God and will not work for you on the Lord's Day." They were told that if they refused to work with the others on board, they would get no food. The answer came quickly: "We can live without food for a day, and we will not work."

A pathetic instance of the hold that the idea of Sabbath-keeping had upon the native mind came to light just here. In connection with his pioneer work on Tana 20 years before, Dr. Patton had paid a visit to a fierce cannibal tribe in the interior. Subsequently, another missionary was working on the east coast of the island, and two old chiefs living in the interior heard of him and made their way through the bush, a toilsome and risky journey. Mr. Gray was surprised at the two strange old men. Their appearance excited curiosity and awakened intense interest. They were strangers from a dark cannibal tribe. The surprise, however, was not in this, but in the fact that each of them was wearing a very old, worn-out, and dilapidated shirt. Heathen as the missionary knew to his sorrow, despised clothing of any sort, so that Mr. Gray's interest was thoroughly aroused by the appearance of the strange visitors. Asked their errand, they at once disclosed in eager tones that they had come to seek a missionary, or at least a native teacher, to go with them into the interior and teach them and their people about the Jehovah Jesus God. "But," said Mr. Gray, "how do you know about Jehovah?" "Oh, don't you see? We are Christians! Don't you say we have shirts on? That we wear the clothing of the Christians." "How did you get them, and when and where?" came quickly from the now thoroughly aroused missionary. "Well, long, long ago, the Missy that lived on this island came to our district and told us about the Jehovah Jesus God, and when he left, he gave us these shirts and told us we should worship Jehovah and give up war. And he said we should not work on the Sabbath, but should wear our shirts." "And ever since," they continued, "we have put on our shirts every Sabbath and had worship and told our young men not to work." "But how do you worship?" inquired Mr. Gray. "Oh, we put on our shirts, and we sit round with the young men and say, 'We won't work.' And when they get tired, and we don't know what to do, we tell them to hold on, and we say, 'How happy we shall be when someone comes to tell us about the Jehovah Jesus God.'" Thus, for 20 years, a faint glimmer of light had been maintained in the hearts of those poor heathens who had longed for the knowledge of the true and living God. The old chief's prayer was about to be answered.

Circumstances of intense interest, showing in a wonderful way the hand of God, had followed the building of the Dayspring. She sailed for the islands, and her arrival was the signal for wild delight on the part of the natives everywhere. They crowded to see her; they felt that they had a real interest in the vessel; she was their very own. But it was not only the ship that aroused enthusiasm; her passengers were none other than Dr. Patton, accompanied by his son, the Reverend Frank Payton, who had volunteered his missionary for the west coast of Tana, to be supported by the British organization, the John G. Patton Mission Fund, now so strongly established as to be able to undertake responsibility for the development of the mission to islands and tribes not yet reached. In May, the Dayspring arrived off Tana, and after a hurried visit to Port Resolution, the scene of so many tragic events, she sailed for the west coast. At five o'clock in the evening, what was known as the Fijian Anchorage was reached. After some careful boating, a little sandy bay was found which could be reached through a narrow opening in the reef. Soon, John G. Payton found his feet again, treading the soil of Tana. The party greeted the trader who lived near the boat landing and then turned to find the natives. They had not far to search, for there, a short distance away, fastening their eyes upon them, stood a small company of fiercely painted savages, armed to the teeth. Carefully, a conference was suggested and agreed to. The next morning, savages squatted on the sand with their guns about them, and the momentous talk began: would they receive a missionary or not? Hearts were lifted to God in that moment of anxiety, pleading that He would soften the hearts of those who, humanly speaking, were to decide whether Christ's gospel should come to save them or whether they should be left in their savagery and misery. Hope and fear alternated as the talk proceeded. The chief of the savages maintained a dignified and independent attitude and resented any attempt at undue pressure, but ultimately, to the intense delight of Dr. Patton, the savages agreed to receive the son of the white-haired missionary to live amongst them and tell them of his father's God.

Writing on the 18th of June following, the missionary says, "The work of the two and a half days spent this week on Tana has been of the most intense and absorbing interest. After the savages had agreed to permit Frank and his wife to land, we unshipped the wood and began clearing the ground for the house. The Tanese were more gracious than I expected, and the trader and his wife living there, Mr. and Mrs. Worthington, were very kind. The natives are the same nude, painted savages that I have all along known on Tana. Women wear grass skirts or aprons, and many girls of seven or eight years of age have nothing. Sad indeed is it to see a noble race so extremely degraded." The trader told us that a few days before we landed, in a quarrel about a woman, two women were shot and two children murdered, and it is not long since they killed three persons and feasted on their bodies near his house. "But I do hope the Lord's day to favor Tana is near now. Frank and his party live in tents till they can erect a house. Mr. McKenzie, the carpenter from the Dayspring, has been engaged for about two months to help them. He is a good Christian, deeply interested in our work, and will be a great help for the first two months."

To the young people, the humane commander of Her Majesty's ship Royalist was passing Tana and, seeing the Dayspring at anchor, landing the material for the house, he came to anchor just as the Dayspring was leaving. The natives had been threatening the life of the trader and boasted that no man-of-war could call on this side of Tana. This providential call will do good. The commander is going to call again on his return voyage in about a month and may let the natives see some demonstration and warn them against taking lives. "We feel grateful for his kind call in the circumstances. I praise the Lord for having another son and his highly accomplished young wife so hopefully settled in our mission. May they and all our young missionaries have great success and many converts for their hire in the service of our dear Lord Jesus."

Chapter 85: The Wreck of the Dayspring. Once again, troubles and anxieties followed closely behind joy. As the Dayspring made its fourth voyage, a strong Northerly wind blew. Subsequently, a Northeast wind blew so severely that no headway could be made, and the vessel was off the coast of New Caledonia, just at the entrance to the Grand Pass, a channel between 20 and 30 miles wide. Suddenly, a terrific shock was experienced. Though no reef was charted at the point, the Dayspring had evidently struck a reef or a sunken coral patch. All hands instantly turned out in the effort to save the vessel. From 2:30 to 7:00 in the morning, she was grinding on the jagged coral. At last, the force of the waves drove her off the reef, and the water poured into the great holes in the bottom that had been punched in the bottom of the vessel. The sea soon swept over the main deck, and the boats had to be manned. They had scarcely cleared away when they saw the little vessel founder and disappear forever. It carried all the cargo, besides food for all the stations, furniture, and other possessions, and medicines – a total, irreparable wreck, all engulfed but the lives of the crew. The captain had charge of one boat, and the first mate of the other. After an adventurous journey and many hardships, both boats safely reached Australia. Not a man was lost. But alas for the hopes, the gifts, and the sacrifices! Alas for the years of toil and labor that had produced the vessel so dear to the New Hebrides! That little boat took more than its cargo into the mysterious depths of the ocean. Never perhaps will it all be fully understood here, but the sad event no doubt serves as a further test of faith and trust in the all-wise God who gave and took away. The occurrence, so unexpected, so sudden, so lamentable, spread a deep gloom over the mission and wrung the hearts of lovers and helpers of the work. To the aged missionary, the event was wrapped in deep mystery. It was a terrible shock, and his letters revealed something of his heart's grief, but the indomitable spirit still remained, and it was not long before he began scheming afresh for the building of yet another ship.

At this time, however, Australian interests in the islands were concerned with the commercial success of a service of trading steamers, and though many were in favor of Dr. Patton's scheme for another Dayspring, the majority felt that it would be the better policy to pay an annual subsidy to the shipping company for services to the mission. The Dayspring project, therefore, remained in suspension, and finally, though much that happened subsequently showed that the aged missionary's views were correct, the mission ship project had to be abandoned.

By 1899, he had revised and seen through the press the whole New Testament in the language of Aniwa, 320 closely printed pages of a strange language acquired by him without assistance from any literature, for before his arrival on Aniwa, the language of the people was unknown and had never been reduced to a written form. In the rush of his ceaseless wanderings, this great task had been accomplished: in trains, steadying paper on the back of his hand, at junctions, waiting for connections, in station waiting rooms, late into the night, and long before dawn, in houses where he was guest, often after two or three meetings, he never lost an instant. The manuscript went by post from all sorts of outlying villages, and the proofs came back and were read and checked in the same tireless journeyings. Such had been his lifelong habit. This is how the only New Testament was produced, and then he sailed in triumph to Aniwa, carrying with him those humble boxes packed with jewels rarer than the diamonds of kings, containing the word that will never die.

In March, this letter came from him from Aniwa: "My intense desire to visit my dear converts once more and give to each able to read (and all above infancy can read the New Testament) had been granted, and I am again on Aniwa. We reached the west coast of Tana in the afternoon of Saturday. We had very little time ashore owing to a sudden hurricane, but at our first service, 220 decently dressed natives were present, whom I addressed, interpreted by an eloquent Tana Christian chief. Each audience was very attentive. The people have the Gospels according to St. Matthew and St. Mark translated and printed, and after worship, groups of them were reading and teaching one another to read. What a contrast to the nude, painted savages carrying loaded rifles whom we met when two and a half years ago we left my son Frank and his wife among them! This time, we did not see a naked man or woman, nor one carrying a rifle, except one powerfully built, tall, old chief. It seems as if God's time has come to give the light and joys of the Gospel to Tana, after a resistance of 50 years, which proves that the Gospel is the power of God unto salvation to all who believe, of every color and country."

When we reached Aniwa, a great sea was breaking high in roaring foam all over that side of the island. There is no landing place elsewhere, and I was informed that it was impossible for a boat to go on shore. In vain I pleaded that I would risk it and guide the boat. The opinion was that it could not be done, and I had to submit. The captain said it is the worst and most dangerous landing in the group. Judge of our disappointment when the ship had to turn back! I had my choice to go around the group in the steamer and to be landed on her return, or to be put ashore on the east coast of Tana. The latter alternative I accepted in the hope of somehow getting over from there to Aniwa. The steamer landed us at Port Resolution, and the next morning there was a fair wind, and we sailed across to Aniwa. What a welcome we got! On the Sabbath, we had a service of Thanksgiving preceding the great event of the distribution of the complete New Testament. No one can realize my overflowing joy as I presented to each a copy of that book, the divine teachings of which had raised them from their former savagery. They were intensely delighted with their prize, for this they had prayed and wrought for many years to pay for the printing and binding, and I had been privileged to translate and to see the great work completed. And now I am here, gladly reading and trying to help them to understand the Epistles and portions that are new to them. We study together three or four chapters in Romans each week. I've long had an intense desire to be spared to give this blessed book to my people, and now I hope by the Holy Spirit's sanctifying power, it will increase their love and devotion to Jesus and His work. My daughter Minnie, who is with me, has a school every morning with 34 little children, and in the evening another class of about 70, teaching them to sing hymns. I have a class of big boys and girls to teach writing and reading the scriptures, etc., and I am occupied with the translation of new hymns.

Mr. Frank Payton went over from West Tana to visit his father on Aniwa. He wrote, "One of the most hopeful features of the work in Aniwa is the number of bright, intelligent children, and they are so eager to learn. To see the delight of the Aniwan's at getting the whole New Testament in their own tongue, and my father's overflowing joy as he went from village to village, followed always by a crowd of happy children, and to watch the growing spirit of earnestness among the people, was surely a reward worth all the toil of the long years past."

On the communion Sunday on Aniwa, Lomai, a Christian chief of Tana, gave an address, of which the following is a condensed account: "Our joy is great today as we meet in God's house and around the holy Feast of Jesus. Long ago, Dr. Patton, the aged, was a young man and lived in Scotland. The light came into his heart, and he said within himself, 'I must not hide this light; I must let it shine.' And so he left his own land and brought the light of Jesus to Aniwa. Aniwa was then a dark land, but now it is full of light. Men and women of Aniwa, don't hide your light; let it shine. There is a dark land across the sea there; take the light of Jesus there and let it shine till that land is full of light like your own. This is what Jesus told us to do: let our light shine." And Aniwa was surely bearing its share in the conquest of Tana by sending its best and bravest teachers to help by life and word at lonely and dangerous outstations to lead the savages to God. In the year 1899, no less than five teachers and their wives volunteered for Tana.

Chapter 86: Round the World Again at 76. Before the end of the year 1899, the missionary was called upon to undertake another world tour. His life was based on prompt obedience to any clear leading from God, even at the age of 76. In these journeys through the United States and Canada, his pleas for the prohibition of the sale of firearms and strong drink to the natives of the New Hebrides were listened to with deep sympathy, and there came many gifts for the extension of the work. In spite of the long railway journeys and the crowded engagements, he was usually up at five in the morning, attending to his correspondence. Often and often his hosts appealed to him to spare himself, but all in vain. "I will just work till I drop," was his determined reply. It was during this tour that an attempt was made by the savages of Tana to kill his son Frank. Happily, the bullet missed its mark. Then there came news of the death on Aniwa of his little grandson, child of Mr. and Mrs. Frank Payton. These anxieties, added to the rush of work, at length began to tell. The ominous news came that a breakdown seemed inevitable. Iron will and resolution notwithstanding, the body that had been so long driven to its last ounce of strength, and whose warnings of pain, weakness, and weariness had been so persistently set aside and denied, at last broke down. He still dragged himself onto platforms and into trains and sat in pain and agony, but the trouble could no longer be hidden or ignored. Medical aid had to be called, and an imperative demand followed to cancel everything, or fatal results would immediately follow. There must be rest.

Scores of affectionate and loving welcomes and offers of tender nursing came to him from Canadian friends, but no. He had resolved that if he had to rest, he would rest on board the ship where he could not work. He would go to the coast and book straight to his own beloved Scotland. He had to be almost carried into the train, and the long agony of that last journey was all but the end. However, he did get on board the ship and lay down to rest after sending a hasty note to Glasgow that he was coming home. Invaded, the letter announcing this breakdown arrived only two days before the vessel was due at Greenock, and the anxiety of those two days can better be imagined than described. Would he survive, or should we hear that, like Judson, his great forerunner, the sea had covered him and he had gone to God? At Greenock, long before the hour of arrival, his youngest brother was pacing up and down the quay, peering into the distance, waiting and anxious. At last, the vessel came slowly into sight. Age and fatigue gave way to a slower step and a bent form as life eventually yielded its inevitable ending. The terrible sufferings in Canada had left their mark, but in a few days, threats, persuasion, orders were all ignored. "I will be no loafer. If I cannot work, I will go off to the islands where I can live and die among my Aniwan's," was the determined resolve. And so commenced the last tour in the Homeland. The interest was as intense as during the previous visit, but those who knew him best could not fail to mark the missionary's declining strength, though the iron will still drove the frail body with relentless pressure.

The political horizon was then becoming overcast with clouds, and questions affecting the future of the islands were adding their weight to his daily burden. The French were undoubtedly actively engaged in securing, by every means, the lands of the natives of the New Hebrides. French settlers were being granted free passages to the islands in steamers highly subsidized by the French government, and the French centers of activity were the two largest harbors in the group, each sufficient for the whole Navy of France. The most frustrating point in all this was the fact that France had done practically nothing towards the pacification of the erstwhile cannibal Islanders. That change had been brought about through the efforts of British men and women who had carried the gospel and their lives in their hands for a period of over 60 years and at an enormous expenditure of money. A further burden was the anxious news from Tana of the severe illness of Mr. Frank Payton. Private information had come which led to the fear that the work in the tropics of the missionary's third son was over. The constant fever appeared to have affected the vital organs, and a specialist in Melbourne, after an examination of the most searching character, had expressed the view that to go back permanently to the humid climate of Tana would be to slowly sink and die. Such were the burdens that weighed on the mind of the aged Apostle as he held on to his "one thing I do."

At length, the time came to say farewell. Meetings were arranged in London to give an opportunity to friends of the mission to take personal leave of the missionary. His farewell message was full of melting tenderness. He brewed it with intense feeling over the crowning joy of his life, almost within sight, in the planting of a missionary on every island of the New Hebrides. Britain and America had united in holy bonds to help him accomplish this prayer of his heart. As always, he gave the place of honor to the churches of Canada and Scotland, the originators of the mission. Nor did he omit to extol the splendid tenacity and courage of the churches of Australia, upon whom the main responsibility for the mission had so long rested. Yet, the peculiar circumstances and difficulties of the mission among isolated islands and polyglot, savage, fever-stricken natives seemed to render necessary some special assistance, and God had marvelously created the British Fund, instituted without the missionary's knowledge and called by the originators after his name. To this fund, to its honorary committee, and to the friends who had gathered around it, he confidently left the future maintenance of their part of the mission. And so his face was turned for the last time to the Pacific. On the 31st of July, he reached Melbourne. In April 1902, came the glad news that America had decided to prohibit traders flying the Stars and Stripes from selling strong drink and firearms in the New Hebrides. The main object of his two visits to the States was thus secured, and his heart rose to God in adoring praise.

Chapter 87: Back to the Islands Again and Yet Again. In the same month, the missionary sailed for his loved Islands. His joy knew no bounds, and he seemed young again at the thought of going among his spiritual children. Of his landing at Aniwa, he wrote, "No person could conceive what were my mingled feelings of joy and anxiety as we approached the shore. All the natives, young and old, were at the boat landing, and went from the rocks. They saw Mrs. Payton and me in the boat. Three ringing cheers of great joy arose, and they ran to greet us, many of them in tears. Our great Thanksgiving service in the church was an inspiration to hear once again, in the soft, musical tongue of that little island, the hymns of God and sentences of heart-gladness for our return. To listen to their pleading for the divine blessing and for more spiritual power and consecration and fruit to His glory was like the benediction of Heaven. In our absence, the native teachers have worked faithfully. Every child above infancy can read the New Testament fluently. We gave out the new hymn book of 153 hymns and the new catechism, which I had translated and got printed and bound in Melbourne. Their contribution of arrowroot in payment amounted to £4 sterling."

In January 1903, another letter came from Aniwa to the friends in Great Britain: "As I write, tears will suffuse my eyes at the thought of all the help and labor of love that you and others give so ungrudgingly to our beloved Mission. The Lord reward and bless you all. There is much to encourage us on these islands: schools and teachers well organized, and the foundation laid for a blessed work in the conversion of the remaining heathen. The converts have built Christian villages in which they live. All are clothed. To these villages, they welcome all new converts, teach them, and help to protect them, and if they resolve to remain, all unite and assist in building a new house for them. Observing straight street lines, such cottages are a great contrast to the heathen hovels. They are homes of happiness. No day begins or ends without praise and prayer, a daily object lesson to the heathen of the joy and peace that come through Christ. Since we've been back again on Aniwa, Mrs. Payton has had serious turns of weakness, and for her sake, we go up to Australia sometime this month. Were it not for her, I would risk all with Jesus and remain on Aniwa. I've had a severe turn of lumbago, but I'm better of that now. Of course, I'm not fit for continued exertion as I used to be. I get more and more feeble on my legs, and sometimes my memory fails me, but I hope yet to be spared for the blessed work, if the Lord will."

Later in 1903, the missionary again paid farewell to Aniwa. The farewell always wrung his heart. The whole population gathered to weep and to wave their last goodbyes. In those simple Islanders' hearts, the aged missionary was enthroned as the embodiment of all that is good. To him, they looked up as their father in God, and to Mrs. Payton equally. The women clung as the one white woman who had dared to live amid the savagery of their heathen days and who had won their hearts and purified their lives. Though she kept the thought as a secret of her heart, there is little doubt that Mrs. Payton knew that day that this farewell would be the last, and that she would never again look on the little island that for so many years had been the home of her children and her first love.

On the 24th of May 1904, the missionary was 80 years of age. It was practically the eve of a fresh departure for the group, and there was something intensely touching and pathetic in the sight of the brave old man, with his heart set upon his converts, again facing the discomforts of a voyage and a period of residence on Aniwa. There was not only the voyage but the landing, with its concomitant of open boats engineered through narrow passages in the reefs, often involving a plunge through boiling surf and a somewhat unceremonious dumping on the shore of the harborless islands such as Aniwa. Further, there was on Aniwa little really to attract except the natives, who were his children in God, and therefore his chief joy.

The Reverend Fred Patton, the missionary of Malakula, who was on Aniwa in January 1904, gives the following picture of the conditions: "I am writing from the old spot where I was born. Someone speaking of mosquitoes on his own island said they were bad. Thank God, not as bad as on Aniwa. This is the worst spot for mosquitoes, both day and night, that I ever knew. The dear old thatch of the home of our childhood affords a nice damp breeding place, and the cedar and other trees have so overgrown the place that the very natives cannot sleep at night for mosquitoes. I'm writing under a curtain, and two little black children have obligingly crawled under it and are killing off as many mosquitoes as they can catch." And anyone humorously described the mosquitoes of Aniwa, calling to another black man, he said, "Hey mate, suppose you and me kai-kai, you and me full up, we feel good. But that fellow mosquito, ika-ikai all the time," and he pointed to two huge mosquitoes that had fastened onto him, vigorously sucking his blood. Owing to successive droughts, the yams have been destroyed. Only an occasional breadfruit is ripe, and the only ones are eating roots, nuts, and anything that will barely sustain life. A Malakula native told me that they were eating what he should give to the pigs. The rain pours into the old house through the thatch, and the place is dark, damp, and dismal. I quite understand my mother being ill here, and I'm surprised that the damp old place did not kill her." So uninviting a picture shows that the aged missionary evidently did not go to Aniwa on account of its comforts, but solely because his spiritual children were there, and his love for them was such that he regarded discomforts to others intolerable, simply not worth a moment's consideration or a word of comment.

Turn to the other side. "The people of Aniwa," Mr. Fred Patton went on to say, "though they are in rags, the rags are clean, and on Sabbaths they are cleanly and well-dressed. Their Sabbath clothes are kept in their houses with great care. In school, all but the youngest can read. One Sabbath, a little girl stuck at the name of Melchizedek, but they read two chapters in Hebrews without a mistake. One-tenth of the people are absent on foreign service, acting as teachers, etc. Practically, Aniwa has sent out a tenth of its population as foreign missionaries. The people see very little of outsiders, as the island has no proper landing place, but though naturally solid, they are cheerful. They are warm-hearted, and they were sorely grieved that they had no native food to offer me when I landed. In the English class, they were far smarter than the Malakulas. The Aniwan's pay for their own teachers as well as their Bibles and other school books. Considering all this, and especially the mosquitoes, they can stand scrutiny as a Christian island. On the whole, I am rather proud of being born an Aniwan." It was to this little island, with all its discomforts and drawbacks, but with its God-loving people, that the aged missionary's heart ever turned with deepest longing, and his days there were to his spirit as days of Heaven on Earth. He spent just over two months in the group, some days of which were passed at the Mission Station of his son on Malakula, where he baptized 13 new church members. The Aniwan's were delighted beyond measure in the return of their own Missy and loaded him with every kindness of which their hearts and means were capable. All too soon, however, the call of duty and family necessitated his departure, and once more he had to say farewell.

His last letter from Aniwa is dated June 1904. He had just concluded a visit to some of the other mission stations, notably West Tana. The hospital there and other evidences of the steady inroad that was being made on the irreverent heathenism of Tana greatly encouraged him. "It was," he said, "a feast of real joy to see that my long-cherished prayer may yet be fulfilled: the New Hebrides, with its every island, tribe, and native, for Jesus and His glory. We now occupy 25 of its 30 islands, and have 17,000 natives validly serving Jesus as their God and Savior. Of these, 330 are consecrated to the work as teachers and evangelists. I was at Nguna on a Sabbath morning and had the privilege of addressing an audience of 600 Christian natives in a church built by the Reverend Peter Milne, their veteran missionary. What a marvelous work God has enabled him to do on and around Nguna!"

Mr. Fred Payton went with his father to Aniwa. He wrote that the medical missionaries warned his father that he ought not to risk a visit to Aniwa. "My father was assured that with rest and care, he might prolong his life a year or two more." He exclaimed in surprise, "What would he do with the extra year's rest after a strenuous life till past 80?" As a matter of fact, he has had very little sleep at night since landing on Aniwa and has never taken rest during the day, and yet, wonderful to relate, he is far stronger than when he landed. When tired with letter-writing or consulting with natives, he takes what he calls "a little rest." This means chopping trees, building up stone walls that the pigs break down, etc. As a matter of fact, pigs are the only things on Aniwa that have no respect for Dr. Patton, and in return, he has no love for the pigs. The communion on Aniwa was beautiful: clean, neat natives, and every adult on the island but two church members. Of these two exclusives, one is 80 years old and cannot attend school, but has daily worship night and morning in his own house, and the other is a kindly old Christian who only hesitates to join because of his age and because he is shy of public appearance. At his baptism, at the same time, he proves his Christianity in the fact that for 20 years he has cared for the orphans of his village. The natives simply fly to help my father up and down steps and over rough roads, and in nearly every way show their love for him. Every night except Saturdays, we have singing of Sankey's hymns. It is surprising how eagerly they come for singing. We announced that there would be no singing last night, but they turned out from the farthest villages, and when asked if they had heard the announcement of no singing, said, "Oh yes, but we're just walking about." Of course, we had singing. My father has had a happy time on Aniwa and renewed his youth. I caught him lifting 40-pound weight boxes, then he was seen eyeing the roof with a few bits of old tin. He thinks that the old house would do even yet with a new roof and new flooring, and perhaps a new wall or two. I love the old home where I was born, but it has stood 40 years, nearly of hurricane; every room leaks, the foundations are going, and the house will soon have to follow. Like himself, the natives were fully conscious that at the missionary's advanced age, every visit might in all probability turn out to be the last. They gazed upon him with deep reverence and devotion as they bade him farewell, weeping most of all that they might see his face no more.

The return to Australia meant a return to the rush and turmoil of tours here and there, taking meetings with a view to infusing missionary interest in the hearts of those who, absorbed in the ever-present needs of their churches, were apt to forget the islands where the heathen, sunk in darkness, were living out their poor existence without the knowledge of God. His most absorbing passion was to fan the little sparks into a flame of passion for the in-gathering of souls. For this, he left the quiet of the islands and the delightful work of teaching and developing the spiritual life of the natives, and again returned to the towns and cities of civilization. It was evident, however, by the halting step and constant signs of weariness and pain, that his tours in the interest of the beloved New Hebrides were drawing towards a close. Again and again, the committee urged him to take rest, but to him, inactivity was almost worse than death. His constant practice of ceaseless work had become a habit which held him as with a vice, and nothing and no one could induce him to rest. Even when he had intervals between various tours, he spent every moment from the earliest dawn till quite late into the night pouring over his letters and translations. The medical advisors, however, were dared against his going back again alone to Aniwa. Everyone urged that it would be impossible to allow him to stay by himself on that little island with an ocean journey between him and the nearest medical aid. And so he toiled on, in spite of the pain and weariness. All who knew him and met him wondered at the indomitable courage that enabled him thus, at the end of his long and magnificent life, to conquer his bodily infirmities and press on almost with the strenuous eagerness of a young, strong man.

Chapter 88: The Passing of Mrs. Payton. Mrs. Payton's health was gradually failing, but none dreamed that the calm, strong face was veiling a growing intensity of pain. The end came with startling suddenness, and on May 16, 1905, the brave and gifted partner of the missionary.

Life departed to be with Christ. The long agony of pain had been so bravely borne that even her children saw only a mother's smiling face. But there had been partial glimpses of the approaching end, for sometimes, when she thought them asleep, they had heard strong crying and tears as she pleaded with her Savior to take away the agony which was greater than she could bear. Yet, in the morning, the face was brave and calm again. And because they could not speak of that which they had overheard, the memory of it burned the deeper into their souls, and their reverence for their mother became a part of their very being.

Life was infinitely lonelier now for the aged missionary. Close on the heels of the death of his own wife came the news from the New Hebrides of the sudden death of the wife of his second son, the Reverend Fred J. Payton, missionary of Pangkumu, Molecular Island.

About this time, an accident nearly cost the missionary his life. He was being driven from Cope to Donald behind a powerful, timid young horse. The way lay along the side of the railway. The minister who was driving him had just turned to cross the line when the shriek of an engine's whistle warned him that a train was rushing down upon them. Knowing his horse's fear of trains, Mr. Schallberg sprang out of the buggy and ran to its head, seizing the reins with both hands and endeavoring to control the plunging of the terrified animal. But with a wild bound, the horse literally lifted his master off his feet, upsetting the buggy and throwing Dr. Payton heavily onto his head.

The missionary lay there motionless. The driver of the train, seeing the accident, stopped and, with the guard, ran to the place, feeling sure that the missionary was dead. Mr. Schallberg, who had escaped as by a miracle, also came to the scene, and he and the train officials lifted the still body into the train. As they did so, the missionary revived. The train proceeded to Donald, and medical assistance was immediately obtained. Wonderful to relate, it was found that no bones were broken. There were cuts and bruises, but no more, and the missionary believed that God was still sparing his life to work a little longer for his beloved Islanders.

No one dreamed that there would be a meeting that night, but he refused to cancel it when his friend pleaded with him not to think of such a thing. The characteristic reply was, "What have I been spared for, if it is not to use every remaining opportunity to plead for the perishing heathen?" And so he had his way. To the amazement of the congregation, they beheld, being helped up into the pulpit, a white-haired man with his head swathed in bandages. Reaching there, he held on for support and poured out his heart in an earnest and thrilling appeal for the Islanders of the Seas, for whom he lived, and in whose cause his spared life was yet further consecrated to God. The collection showed how deeply the people were touched.

The following day, in spite of the orders and warnings of the medical men, the missionary drove on to Watchim, the next place to which he was planned, and preached there three times on the Sunday. Every loving care and tenderness was lavished upon him by his friends, but from the effects of this last accident, he never fully recovered, still holding on bravely, always praying that he might be permitted of God to work till the last. He buoyed others up with hopefulness, as for instance in his letter to the friends in Britain at this time, in which he said, "I feel greatly recovered, as if God were going to spare me a little longer for his work. No doubt we are all immortal till the Lord's work allotted to each of us is done. What a blessing that our lives are in the loving hands of God."

A later letter reveals the same iron tenacity of purpose. "I can assure you that even at my weakest, I find happiness in working in the hope of bringing some to accept Jesus and his salvation. Happy indeed could I never be resting anywhere. I've always prayed that I might not be a retired missionary, but might be permitted by God to work till the very end."

There was still in his heart the old longing to return to the islands, and ceaselessly he pleaded with the committee in Melbourne to allow him to sail for Anua once more. Early in 1906, his letters refer to his health. "Though I yet suffer a good deal of pain from the accident, I am slowly recovering. I had hoped to be by this time back again on the islands, helping my dear people, but I'm detained here against my will for the present in the work of deepening interest in foreign missions, but it is weary work indeed compared with the delight of being in the islands."

A little later in 1906, with even greater fervency, he pleaded to be allowed to return to the New Hebrides, but the medical advisors definitely and unanimously decided against it, and in spite of all his pleading, his wish was not granted. He wrote home on the subject: "The committee and medical men here have again refused to allow me to return to the islands. I am exceedingly grieved at this, but I fear I must submit. They say I am too old and frail to be allowed to go alone, and yet the evidence of my strength is that I can still address a meeting daily and three on every Sabbath, but I shall still keep agitating until they let me go. It grieves me not to go now, however, as I know how sadly it will disappoint my dear Anyones who expect to see me by the June vessel."

On the 30th of November, he was at Drewer, the first parish of his eldest son. Mr. McDonald writes of that visit: "I had to help him with some effort up the pulpit steps, for his weakness was very noticeable. As he prayed, his voice was very weak and very low. His address, however, was that of one in full mental vigor and profoundly conscious of his special mission. As he went on and sank himself in his theme, mind seemed to master matter, though he was in bad pain at the time. Circumflex, his voice grew in power, in volume, and distinctness, and it seemed as if the years had dropped off him. It was a magnificent witness to the way in which love to Christ and his children can triumph over weakness and pain."

He was driven to Warragul during the afternoon, and we felt that we had seen him for the last time. At Warragul, Dr. Patton became very ill. A doctor was called in and ordered immediate and absolute rest, but after a day's rest, that indomitable will once more conquered bodily weakness, and in defiance of the doctor's orders, he set out in pouring rain for the next parish of Nerim, of which his second son, Fred, had been home missionary in his student days. The journey to Nerim brought on the pain worse than ever, and he was so ill when he arrived that the student in charge tried to dissuade him from attempting to preach, but he felt he had a message to deliver and refused to give in.

A great congregation assembled, and they were deeply touched to see the aged missionary in such pain and weakness, and yet so determined not to be conquered by it. He was helped with difficulty into the pulpit, and again, as he warmed to his subject, he seemed to shed his weakness, and something of his old vigor returned. In the afternoon, he was driven six miles to Nerim South. By the time he arrived there, he was in such a distressed condition that they urged him not to preach, but the vision of the perishing heathen would not let him rest, and so, for the last time, the brave veteran was almost lifted into the pulpit from sheer weakness and pain. He supported himself at first, but once more, as he began to plead for the heathen, the consuming passion of his life completely mastered his bodily weakness, and for over three-quarters of an hour, he held the people spellbound by his graphic descriptions and searching appeal. It was his last message, delivered in the church where two of his sons had ministered in former days, and the whole circumstances made a profound and indelible impression upon the congregation.

Chapter 89. The Home Call.

The day after the missionary returned from Nerim, he had recovered somewhat and took an unusually active part in the discussions of a missionary committee. His son left him on a Wednesday evening without any apprehension of immediate danger. By the same day's mail, Dr. Payton posted what proved to be the last letter he ever wrote to his beloved friend, A. K. Language. It is here given as showing his indomitable spirit to the end:

"I had a long letter written to you, but I cannot find it. I write this to say I feel considerably better after three weeks incessant work and often traveling from 15 to 20 miles by buggies and not getting to bed till between 1 and 2 a.m. and up and away again next morning for other meetings. I broke down, as when last in Canada, for one day only. I felt so pained and weak that I could not rise, but had to send for a doctor. After careful examination, he told me he could do nothing for me but advise and order me to give up work and rest. This I was forced to do for one day, but the next day I had a long drive to the train, then a trip of some three or four hours by train, followed by a seven miles drive. Next day I experienced very much pain internally, but I addressed two large congregations, one a great crowded one. I have been since keeping better, but not strong or free from pain by night or day. In great haste, your loving, John G. Payton."

At the foot of the letter was the significant P.S.: "The post is about to close."

Three days later, the missionary became so ill that the doctor was called in and ordered him at once to bed. This time, he was too weak to disobey. The pain was overwhelming. On the 27th of December, there came a terrible cable from Scotland announcing the sudden death of the missionary's youngest brother and lifelong helper, the Reverend Dr. James Payton of Glasgow. Few brothers loved one another so intensely and with such absolute devotion to each other's interests, and to few brothers has it been given to bear so noble and self-sacrificing a part in the extension of the kingdom of their beloved Lord.

Very gradually and gently, his son Frank broke to his father the dread news. The first shock of the message absolutely stunned him. He could not believe that God had really called away his younger brother in the very zenith of his power and usefulness. Apart altogether from the other great tasks which he had so splendidly organized, he felt that the New Hebrides Mission could not spare such an able and self-sacrificing worker. Then came other thoughts which brought rest to his troubled heart. "Dear Language is still alive, and the Lord will raise up other workers," and so he cast it all upon Christ, and a great peace filled his soul. He felt that soon he too would join his brother in the presence of his Lord. His one great sorrow now was for the lonely, broken-hearted widow of his brother James, with her hallowed memories of 36 years of married life.

From this time, all the roots which bound his great heart to earth were visibly loosened. The love, first of his Lord, then of his sainted wife, and now of his departed brother, drew him irresistibly upward. It was only when he thought of his Islanders that he longed for strength to be up and doing once more. As the specialist examined him, the missionary asked a question that better than anything showed the bent of his mind: "Do you think I will be well enough to go to the New Hebrides in January, doctor?" Dr. Maudsley looked up with a startled smile and said, "I think we had better get you up first before we talk about the New Hebrides."

A few days later, his medical son, Dr. J. Scott Payton, arrived from New South Wales. At the end of 10 days, Dr. Payton's medical son was reluctantly compelled to return. He was sorely missed in the sickroom, and it was a heartbreaking sorrow to him that he could not remain to the end. The two sons, Frank and John, were now the only members of the family who could be with their father, and they shared the nursing between them with the devoted help of the friends in whose house he was lying.

It soon became apparent that the missionary was rapidly sinking. At times he suffered intensely, but his mind was clear and active almost to the last. Occasionally he became delirious, and all his wanderings were connected with the islands and the mission. At such times, he was greatly troubled about the French and longed to get up and go to the help of his beloved natives, but as a rule, he was quite conscious, and it was characteristic of him that as long as he could possibly bear the pain, he refused the morphia, lest it should cloud his mind. Even when he was weakest, his heart never doubted for a moment, and whenever anyone came to see him, he rejoiced to tell them how unclouded was the peace within, and how intensely real and comforting he found the promises of God's word. He often used to say, "With me, there is not a shadow or a cloud; all is perfect peace and joy in believing."

It was a holy privilege to be present when some aged minister, bowed under an almost equal weight of years, came to talk and pray with him. If anyone spoke of past achievements as a theme of comfort, it only pained him, but when some old, white-haired saint spoke to him of the sinner's refuge, the look of pain melted into an indescribable glow of tenderness and love as he murmured, "Precious Jesus." It was in the crucified Savior that his heart rested in such unutterable peace. Many ministers and friends came from far and near to see him, and their visits cheered him. He was always vexed when anyone was allowed to go away without a brief look into the sickroom. When he was reminded that his pain and weakness were too great to allow him to see visitors, he would say, "Oh, but it was so kind of them to come, and I would just like to shake hands; it will not do me any harm."

On the morning of the 25th of January, the missionary thought he was dying. He asked his son Frank to come nearer and then poured out his heart in fervent prayer for all his children and their children, pleading that all might be gathered home to the glory, not one wanting. It was a patriarchal benediction, more precious than the wealth of the whole world.

On Sunday evening, the patient became unconscious, and it was soon apparent that the end was drawing near. The watchers beside the bed bore him up in silent prayer. The final struggle was distressing, and it was hard to see one suffer for whom they would gladly have borne any pain. Just after one o'clock on Monday, the 28th of January, 1907, John G. Patton passed away in a moment, as if by the invisible hand of the great Father himself. The hues of pain were smoothed out, and a look of heavenly peace suffused the pale features. He had seen his Precious Jesus, and the afterglow of that glorious vision was reflected in his face. The watchers felt that they were on holy ground, and a great tenderness and awe filled their souls as they stood at the brink and beheld.

The next afternoon, a few personal friends gathered in the house for a private service before the remains were removed to the Kew Presbyterian Church, where the public service was to be held. The funeral procession then wended its way from Canterbury to Kew, a walk of five minutes from the church, and the cemetery was reached. Here, but a few weeks ago, Dr. Rainey had been laid to rest. The service at the grave was most impressive. Dr. Cairns announced that he had received a telegram from the Prime Minister of the Commonwealth, deeply regretting his inability to be present and expressing his profound admiration for Dr. Payton.

So, on the sunny slope of the Borondara Cemetery, with the bright blue Australian sky overhead, there was laid to rest the body of the most venerable and beloved missionary of the Southern Hemisphere. It was not the time for mourning; he had done his work and done it well. His Master had called him to his rest. There he lies till the great day when, perfected, his Lord will present him in triumph with his beloved children from the sunny isles of the sea, and he will say, "Here am I, and the children thou gavest me." Farewell, holy and beautiful life, reflection of the lowly Savior, child of the Covenant, brave and faithful servant of God. Farewell, you have finished.

Listening to the story of John G. Payton, 30 years among South Sea cannibals. This audiobook was produced by scrollreader.com. Visit our website to listen to more missionary biographies.

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