[Illustration: _Titus Coan_]
LIFE IN HAWAII
AN AUTOBIOGRAPHIC SKETCH
OF
MISSION LIFE AND LABORS
(1835-1881)
BY
THE REV. TITUS COAN
NEW YORK
ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY
900 BROADWAY, COR. 20th ST.
COPYRIGHT, 1882, BY
ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY.
NEW YORK:
EDWARD O. JENKINS, ROBERT RUTTER,
_Printer and Stereotyper_, _Binder_,
20 North William St. 116 and 118 East 14th Street.
NOTE
The task of reading the proofs of the following sketches has fallen
to one whose recollections include more than a few of the scenes and
events described. It seems to him that this record of mission life and
labors will appeal to all those who have followed the wonderful changes
wrought in Hawaii during a life time, from the period of “the great
awakening” until now. The accounts of visits to the Marquesas Islands
have their own independent interest. Still more, the greatest volcano
in the world is in Mr. Coan’s parish, and other readers will turn to
the chapters on its eruptions for vivid and faithful descriptions of
the most imposing volcanic phenomena on record.
T. M. C.
PREFACE.
A pilgrim of four-score years, standing near the margin of the Border
Land, essays to give a sketch of his life--and why?
Because many personal and Christian friends have long urged it as
a duty to my beloved Master to leave my testimony behind me of His
faithfulness and grace.
To publish my autobiography was far from my thoughts.
It is a difficult, delicate, and dangerous task. One does not choose
to publish his own follies and sins, and surely it is not modest for
one to proclaim his own goodness. I will, therefore, only say in the
words of the great Apostle, “Unto me, who am less than the least of all
saints, is this grace given, that I should preach among the Gentiles
the unsearchable riches of Christ.”
Let me then ask, if in reading this narrative there shall seem to be
the weakness of egotism or of vain boasting, that the fault may lie
at the door of the writer, or be pardoned on account of the great
difficulty of relating one’s own experiences and observations without
often repeating the pronoun _I_.
On the other hand, if it shall appear that during a ministry of almost
half a century a blind man has been led into the light, a lame man has
been helped to walk in the Way of Life, a leprous soul has been washed
in the Fountain opened for sin and uncleanness; if a heathen has found
the true God, and cast away his dead idols, if a fierce cannibal has
been persuaded to cease to eat the flesh of his enemies, and taught to
trust the Son of Man for pardon, or if some who were dead in trespasses
and sins have been raised to life by the quickening power of the
Gospel, then let God have all the glory.
T. C.
CONTENTS.
I.
PAGE
Parentage, Childhood, and Early Years--Militia Service--Asahel
Nettleton--Three Years in Western New York--Sickness--Home
Again--Auburn Seminary 1
II.
Marriage--Embarkation for Hawaii--Santiago, Callao, and
Lima in 1835--Arrival in Honolulu--Passage to Hilo--Our
New Home--First Labors 17
III.
The Field--The People--Hilo District--Crossing the
Torrents--Perils of a Canoe Voyage--Puna District 29
IV.
First Tours in Hilo and Puna--The Work of 1837-38--Spontaneous
Church-Building--The Great Awakening--The Volcanic
Wave--Pastoral Experiences and Methods--The Ingathering 42
V.
Mrs. Coan’s School for Girls--Common Schools--Medical Work--The
Sailors’ Church--Sunday Work--Visits of Foreign
Vessels--The U. S. Exploring Expedition 61
VI.
Mauna Loa--Kilauea--The Eruption of 1840--The River of
Fire--It reaches the Sea at Nanawale--Lava Chimneys--Destruction
of a Village 69
VII.
More Church-Building--Commodore Jones’s Visit--Progress
of Conversions--The Sacraments under new Conditions 82
VIII.
Arrival of Catholic Missionaries--Admiral de
Tromelin--Proselytism--Controversies with the Priests--Arrival
of the Mormons--The Reformed Catholics--Bishop Staley--Lord
George Paulet 93
IX.
Isolation of the Mission Families--Sufferings on the
Inter-Island Voyages--Their Dangers--Parting with our
Children--School Discussions and Festivals--Native
Preachers--Cheerful Givers--Changes and Improvements 110
X.
Hawaiian Kings--The Kamehamehas--Lunalilo--Kalakaua,
the Reigning King--The Foreign Church in Hilo--Organization
of Native Churches under Native Pastors 127
XI.
Compensations--Social Pleasures--Some of our Guests and
Visitors 140
XII.
Seedling Missions--Hawaii sends out Missionaries--Need of a
Missionary Packet--The Three “Morning Stars” 154
XIII.
The Marquesas Islands--Early English and French Missions--The
Hawaiians Send a Mission to Them--My Visit in 1860--The
Marquesan Tabu System 159
XIV.
Second Visit to the Marquesas--The Paumotu Archipelago--Arrival
at Uapou--An Escape by Two Fathoms--Nuuhiva--Hivaoa--Kekela’s
Trials--The Propitiatory Canoe--Savage
Seducers--A Wild Audience 192
XV.
Visit to the United States--Salt Lake--Chicago--Washington
City--Brooklyn--Old Killingworth--Changes in the
Homestead--Passing Away--Return to Hilo--Death of Mrs.
Coan 213
XVI.
Notes on the Stations--Hawaii--Governor Kuakini--Maui--Crater
of Hale-a-ka-la--Molokai--The Leper Settlement--Oahu--Kauai--The
State of the Church 223
XVII.
The Hawaiian Character--Its Amiability--Island
Hospitality--Patience, Docility--Indolence, Lack of Economy,
Fickleness--Want of Independence--Untruthfulness--Decrease of
the Population 252
XVIII.
Kilauea--Changes in the Crater--Attempt to Measure the Heat
of its Lavas--Phenomena in Times of Great Activity--Visitors
in the Domains of Pele 262
XIX.
Eruptions from Mauna Loa--The Eruption of 1843--A Visit to
it--Danger on the Mountain--A Perilous Journey and a Narrow
Escape 270
XX.
Eruptions of Mauna Loa--The Eruption of 1852--The
Fire-Fountain--A Visit to it--Alone on the Mountain--Sights on
Mauna Loa 279
XXI.
The Eruption of 1855--A Climb to the Source--Mountain
Hardships--Visits to Lower Parts of the Lava Stream--Hilo
threatened with Destruction--Liquidity of the Hawaiian
Lavas--Are the Lava-Streams fed from their Sources only? 289
XXII.
The Eruption of 1868 from Kilauea--The March and April
Earthquakes--Land-Slips--Destruction of Life and Property--The
Lava-Stream Bursts from Underground--The Volcanic
Waves of August, 1868, and of May, 1877 313
XXIII.
The Eruption of 1880-1881--Hilo Threatened as Never Before--A
Day of Public Prayer--Visitors to the Lava-Flow--It
Approaches within a Mile of the Shore--Hope Abandoned--After
Nine Months the Action Suddenly Abates--The
Deliverance--The Mechanism of a Great Lava-Flow--An
Idolater Dislodged--Conclusion 327
I.
_Parentage, Childhood, and Early Years--Militia Service--Asahel
Nettleton--Three Years in Western New York--Sickness--Home
Again--Auburn Seminary._
My father was Gaylord Coan, of Killingworth, Middlesex Co.,
Connecticut. He was a thoughtful, quiet, and modest farmer,
industrious, frugal, and temperate, attending to his own business,
living in peace with his neighbors, eschewing evil, honest in dealing,
avoiding debts, abhorring extravagance and profligacy, refusing
proffered offices, strictly observing the Sabbath, a regular attendant
on the services of the sanctuary, a constant reader of the Bible, and
always offering morning and evening prayers with the family. He was
born Aug. 4, 1768, and died Sept. 24, 1857, in his 90th year.
My mother was Tamza Nettleton, sister of Josiah Nettleton and aunt of
Asahel Nettleton, D.D., the distinguished Evangelical preacher. She was
the tender, faithful, and laborious mother of seven children, six sons
and one daughter. Of these I was the youngest.
While still in the vigor of womanhood, she was cut down Jan. 14, 1818,
by typhus fever, aged 58. Her death left the house desolate, and the
loss was deeply mourned by all the children.
After this our father married Miss Platt, of Saybrook, by whom he had
one daughter, who died at the age of eighteen.
I was born on the first day of February, Sunday morning, 1801, in the
town of Killingworth, Conn. My physical constitution was good, my
health was perfect, and my childhood happy.
From the age of four to twelve I was sent to the district school,
where the boys and girls were drilled in Webster’s spelling book, The
American Preceptor, writing, arithmetic (Daball’s), Morse’s geography,
Murray’s grammar, and the Westminster Shorter Catechism. Days and weeks
and years went quietly along, with the usual experiences of joyous
childhood. Spring, summer, autumn, and winter each had their peculiar
charms, their duties and diversions, and I moved along the stream with
only now and then a ripple.
Once, when a boy of about seven years, I had a memorable experience. My
father was to be absent during the day, and in the morning he said to
me, “Titus, go straight to school to-day.” When he left, some boys came
along and persuaded me to play truant. Off we started, and spent the
day in as much pleasure as we could enjoy, with some twinges of guilt
and fear. At 4 +P.M.+, the time for the school to close, I managed to
fall in with the children who were returning home.
[Sidenote: _School Days._]
Evening came--my father returned. We had supper and prayers. My
conscience throbbed a little, and I prepared for bed early. When ready
in my night-robe to leap into bed, my father called me to him. I
trembled, but obeyed. Sitting quietly in his chair, he laid me, face
downward, across his knees, took up a small birch rod and said, “Well,
Titus, you are all ready now for the reward of disobedience--you did
not go to school.” He then gave me a few salutary touches with the
birch, and I stole off to bed. That was one of the best lessons of my
childhood. It made a distinct impression upon me which I could not
forget. It worked through my skin and my flesh, and went into my heart.
I never played truant again.
Yes, I did get one more lesson which cooled my blood and made me
thoughtful. A deep mill-pond lay between my home and the school-house.
In the winter this pond was often frozen over, and my father warned
me not to venture upon the ice on my way to school. One morning when
I was nine years old, a mate of my age went with me to school. As we
came to the pond we agreed to have a little slide. We went on half-way
across the pond, I leading, and Julius following. Coming to the deepest
part of the pond, the ice broke suddenly under me and I went under the
water, but found no bottom. I rose to the surface in the same place
where I went down, and screamed for help. My companion stood aghast and
feared to come near. I threw up my hands and caught hold of the ice,
but it broke before me. Again and again I struggled to find firm hold,
but still the treacherous ice gave way until I nearly despaired of
life. At length, however, I came to firmer ice, and clung to it as with
a death grasp, calling on Julius for help. The timid boy approached
slowly until his hand reached mine; and with his help and God’s mercy
I was delivered from a watery grave. But it was midwinter, and I was
sadly chilled. To avoid freezing we ran all the way, a half mile, to
the school-house, where we found a roaring fire and the master not
there. I stood by the fire, turning round and round, and smoking like
a spare-rib, until the master came, when I took my seat and shivered
until noon. The intermission being one hour, I improved it to dry my
clothes, and went home at evening, charging my schoolmate never to tell
any one of this event. He kept his promise until I came to the Hawaiian
Islands, and then he told the story. This was another lesson which I
report with thanks to the Lord for sparing my life, and as a warning to
all children to “Obey their parents in the Lord that their days may be
long.”
But it is not necessary to enlarge on “the scenes of my childhood,”
though diversified, and very many of them “dear to my heart.”
[Sidenote: _Work and Study._]
Nor will I take time to tell all my childhood’s faults; and as for its
virtues, I have nothing of which to boast.
When about thirteen I worked with my father on the farm during the
summer months, and attended school in the winter. The next year I was
a pupil in a select school at the house of my honored and excellent
pastor, the Rev. Asa King. In this school I spent two happy winters,
while my summers were passed on the farm, or in fishing on Long Island
Sound, or for shad in early spring in the Connecticut River.
Not satisfied with my knowledge of English grammar derived from Murray
and unskilled teachers, I had private lessons from a teacher fresh from
a grammar school in the city of New York, and under his instructions
gained a more satisfactory insight into the construction of my mother
tongue than from all my winter’s study in what seemed to me dry Murray.
I also read eagerly such worthy books as I was able to buy or borrow;
few indeed, compared with the overwhelming flood of literature of
the present time. I read history, rhetoric, astronomy, philosophy,
logic, and the standard poets. I joined an Academy in East Guilford,
now Madison, where I studied with delight geometry, trigonometry,
surveying, etc., under the instruction of the Principal, an active
graduate of Yale College.
At the age of eighteen I was called to teach a school in the town
of Saybrook, and from this time onward my winters were occupied in
teaching in Saybrook, Killingworth, and Guilford, until I left New
England for Western New York.
When the time came for me to enter the militia ranks, according to the
laws of the State, I enlisted in a company of light artillery whose
regiment had been commanded by Col. Bray during the war of 1812-15, and
in which one of my brothers had served in the garrison of my native
town during that war.
In this company I was at once chosen sergeant, and in about two years
was promoted, receiving first the commission of 2d Lieut., then that of
1st Lieut.
I had been dazzled, while a boy, with the tales of military and naval
exploits, with the flashing of sabers, the waving of plumes, and with
the beauty of uniforms. It had been my delight to watch the evolutions
of cavalry, artillery, and militia regiments on days of drill and of
general review. I had seen the proud war-ships of Britain driving the
fishing-boats, the sloops, schooners, brigs, barks, ships, all the
floating commerce of Long Island Sound, into our rivers, lagoons, bays,
creeks, and harbors. I had seen the flashes and heard the thunder of
their guns; had been wakened at midnight by the alarm-bells of the
town, and the quick fire of the garrison. I had heard of Canada,
of Buffalo, of the Northern and Southern Lakes, of the Potomac,
of Washington, of New Orleans, and of the peace with its joyful
celebrations, and its thunder-notes of gladness rolling over the land.
[Sidenote: _Asahel Nettleton._]
Afterward, when all this died out, and a more rational, a calmer
and purer peace spread over land and sea, there came a change in my
military feelings and aspirations.
While absent from my native town, a memorable season of religious
interest was awakened among all classes in Killingworth.
The Rev. Asahel Nettleton, whose fame as an evangelical preacher
has spread over the land, was invited to return to the place of his
birth, to preach the Gospel to his kindred and townsmen. He came, and
the “Power of the Highest” came with him. Our pastor, Mr. King, was
heart and soul with him. Sinai thundered the law, and Calvary cried
pardon to the penitent. “The axe was laid at the root of the trees”
and the winnowing fan was seen in the hand of the Eternal. Conversions
multiplied. Profanity was hushed. Revelry ceased. “Young men” became
“sober-minded.” The fiddle and the midnight dance were superseded by
the “Village Hymns,” the “Songs of Zion,” the quiet sanctuary, and the
tender, the loving, and the happy prayer-meeting. All things became
new. I heard the fame of them, but was absent. In childhood, tender
and anxious religious thought had often filled my eyes with tears, and
my heart with throbs. I had prayed under the shadows of rocks and lone
trees, but no man knew my spiritual wants or met them. I regretted my
absence from Killingworth while my kind pastor and own beloved cousin
were thus leading thirsty souls to the Fountain of Life. I returned
just in time to see 110 of my companions and neighbors stand up in the
sanctuary and confess the Lord Jehovah to be their Lord and Saviour,
and pledge themselves to love, follow, and obey Him.
I was thoughtful and sober, but passed on much as usual in the ordinary
affairs of life.
In the spring of 1826, with a friend and my sister, I left my native
home in a private carriage, and went via Middletown, Hartford,
Stockbridge, Albany, and Schenectady to Rochester, taking the Erie
Canal at Schenectady and leaving our friend to go on in the carriage.
I had then four brothers in Western New York; the oldest, the Rev.
George Coan, had received that summer a call from the Presbyterian
church at Riga, in Monroe County, to become its pastor. This call he
accepted, and at the same time I was engaged to teach the large school
near the church. Here I often met excellent pastors of the surrounding
churches, whose preaching, religious conversation, and personal
friendship awakened afresh the pious longings of my soul. Most of
these pastors are now in heaven, and I know of but one who is still
living, and now more than four-score years old. His letters of love
still come to me fresh as the dews of Mount Zion.
[Sidenote: _Fidelia Church._]
During this summer of 1826 I often rode by a school-house in a western
district of Riga, and through the windows I saw a face that beamed on
me like that of an angel. The image was deeply impressed, and is still
ineffaceable.
On inquiry, the young lady proved to be Miss Fidelia Church, of
Churchville. I often saw her sunlit face in the choir on the Sabbath,
for she was a sweet singer, but I did not make her acquaintance for
many months.
During the summer of 1827, after the close of my winter-school, I
opened a select-school in Riga, and Fidelia applied for admittance. In
this I rejoiced greatly, for it gave me a good opportunity to mark the
character of her mind, which proved bright and receptive, and to become
acquainted with her moral and social characteristics.
I was called again to teach the central school during the winter of
1827-8, and though I had not yet united with the visible Church, I was
elected and urged to become superintendent of the Sabbath-school, which
I reluctantly accepted under the firm resolve to spend the remainder
of my days, not in doubting and inactivity, but in doing what I could
to bless my fellow mortals, and to honor God. And in this resolution,
which formed an era in my life, I was greatly helped, comforted, and
established, so that duty done for Christ was a sweet and joyous
pleasure.
On the 2d day of March, 1828, I was received to the fellowship of
the Presbyterian church in Riga, then under the pastoral care of my
brother. Although I had now publicly devoted myself to the service of
the Master, my profession was not yet chosen.
Soon after this union with the church, I visited Medina, a young and
promising village west of Albion, in Orleans County, where one of my
brothers was established in mercantile business. As this brother had
long urged me to connect myself with him in his business, I went to
look into it and to consider his offer. I spent the summer and winter
with him.
Here work for the Master opened before me. The town was new, the
inhabitants were from different parts, and of various professions and
religious opinions. But notwithstanding this, there was much harmony
in the village, so that, if a Methodist, a Baptist, a Presbyterian,
an Episcopalian, or a Congregational minister came along and was
invited to preach, a large portion of the people united harmoniously in
listening to the Gospel; and when there was no clergyman, the layman
professors kept up Sabbath services in reading sermons, and with
exhortation and prayer. I was appointed Sunday-school superintendent,
and this with visiting the sick, attending funerals, and assisting the
brethren in religious services, opened just such a field of labor as I
needed.
[Sidenote: _Choosing a Path._]
As winter approached I was again pressed into school-teaching, spending
outside hours with my brother in the store.
Still I had not chosen my life-work. Four paths lay before me. My
brother wished me to become his partner in the mercantile business. A
good physician in Rochester, and several in other places, advised me to
become a physician, offering to teach me free of charge. Some said I
was made for a school teacher, and many clergymen and Christian laymen
urged me to go into the Gospel ministry.
What should I do? What could I do? The subject pressed heavily upon
my mind and heart. I said that teaching is pleasant in youth, but for
_life_ it would not satisfy me. As for the medical profession, I was
not adapted to it, and I dared not make the trial. But how of the
sacred ministry? I felt utterly unfit and unworthy--my natural talent,
education, piety, were all unequal to the exalted calling. As Moses,
Isaiah, and Jeremiah shrank from the offices of legislator and prophet,
so I from being an ambassador of Christ, yet I was willing to work hard
as a layman, and even longed to go as a servant among the heathen, to
help the honored missionaries. Thus my spirit labored under a burden
which none but God knew, and to find relief, I decided to be an active
and devoted layman; to return to Connecticut, finish up my business
there, and then settle down to a mercantile life in Medina.
In April, 1829, I left Medina for the East, and in Bergen met, by
agreement, an old and faithful friend, the Rev. H. Halsey, who had been
chosen by his Presbytery a representative to the General Assembly of
the Presbyterian Church, which was to meet in Philadelphia the coming
May. With him I agreed to visit Philadelphia, attend the sessions
of the General Assembly, and then go on to Connecticut. We took the
canal-boat at Rochester, and on the next day I had a shake of ague,
followed by a fever. We had no doctor and no medicines, and I kept
quiet, thinking to brave it out.
On the next Saturday we reached Syracuse, my ague shakes becoming
more positive. We left the boat and went to Onondaga Hollow, spending
the Sabbath and Monday with the Principal of an Academy, who was
brother-in-law to Mr. Halsey. Here the ague was heavy and I had little
comfort.
On Tuesday we went on to Albany, and thence by steamer to New York; my
chills and fever growing all the while more and more intense. Here I
gave up going to Philadelphia, parting reluctantly with my companion.
Taking passage up the Sound, I went to Madison, where I had friends. I
was then so prostrated I could go no farther, and was laid at once on
a bed of weakness, from which I did not rise for four months. A good
physician and kind friends ministered to me daily, but the disease held
me fast until I was wasted to a skeleton, so that I could not sit in
an easy-chair without fainting while my bed was being made. This was a
time for reflection.
[Sidenote: _The Decision._]
When the cold winds of autumn came, the disease relaxed, and I was
taken carefully in an easy carriage to my father’s house, only seven
miles distant. Here I was ill until the last of October. I then rose
through the mercy of God, and was offered the school where my cousin
Nettleton and where all my brothers and sisters had been taught their A
B C.
During all that winter there was a cheering revival in the town and in
my school, and many of my pupils were hopefully born again. This was
the best year of my life up to that time. It was the turning point,
the day of decision. It was the voice of God to me. I could no longer
doubt. I had purposed and the Lord had disappointed. I had chosen, but
He had other work for me. I said, Lead me, Saviour. Tell me where to go
and what to do, and I will _go_ and _do_.
On my return to Western New York I had a free consultation with many
ministerial friends, and all advised me to pursue a short course of
preparatory study, and enter Auburn Theological Seminary.
I had formed a pleasant acquaintance with the Rev. Lewis Cheeseman,
while he was pastor of a church in Albion. He then seemed like a young
Apollos, fervid, eloquent, and impressive. He had now settled in Byron
and was preaching with great power and success. He invited me to study
and labor with him, as an interesting work of grace was in progress,
not only in Byron, but in Rochester and many other towns of that region.
Accordingly I spent the summer of 1830 in his family, studying and
laboring in the revival; sometimes meeting the Rev. Charles Finney.
In the autumn an earnest invitation came to me from the Rev. David Page
and the church in Knoxville, to come and labor there. I accepted the
invitation, and spent the winter and spring in that place, continuing
my classical studies, and assisting the pastor, and conducting
evening meetings in surrounding villages. The religious interest was
widespread, the meetings were full and solemn, consciences were tender,
and many were turned to the Lord.
On the first day of June, 1831, I entered the middle class of Auburn
Theological Seminary.
The faculty then consisted of the Rev. Doctors Richards, Perrine, and
Mills, all noble men and fine scholars.
[Sidenote: _Prison Work._]
Here the months and seasons flowed pleasantly along, and I was very
happy in my studies, in the society of the students and in the
instructions of the professors. Every Sabbath morning I went with
other students to teach the convicts in the Auburn State Prison,
numbering seven or eight hundred, and for a year or more I had the
office of Superintendent of the prison Sunday-school. This work was
very interesting, as I had personal access to every class and to every
individual. Many confessed to deeds and purposes of great depravity,
and some professed a radical change of heart. About 200 professed
conversion. A few of these I afterward met in Rochester and Albany,
of gentlemanly bearing, and in citizen’s dress. I did not recognize
the men whom I had known in the convict’s garb, until they gave me
their names. I was rejoiced to find them members of Sunday-schools and
churches, in good business, and happily settled in life.
On the 17th of April, 1833, I was licensed to preach the Gospel by the
Presbytery of Cayuga County, at a meeting in Auburn.
I was then invited to preach during the summer vacation in one of the
churches in Rochester, while the pastor was absent as a delegate to the
General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church in Philadelphia.
At the close of the vacation, as I was about to return to Auburn, the
elders of the church in which I had labored put the following paper
into my hands:
+Rochester+, _July 8, 1833_.
Rev. +Titus Coan+:
_Dear Sir_:--In behalf of the First Free Presbyterian Church and
Congregation of Rochester, we present you this testimonial of our
entire satisfaction of your ministerial labors among us during the
absence of our beloved pastor, Rev. Luke Lyons, who was called from
us to attend the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church in
Philadelphia.
You may rest assured that we shall remember you in our prayers, and
may the Lord abundantly reward you for your labors of love among us,
guide you by His counsel, and make you eminently useful in promoting
the Redeemer’s Kingdom in whatever situation you may be placed.
We are, dear sir, your friends and brethren in Christ our Lord.
(Signed), +A. W. Riley+,
+Elisha Ely+,
+Nathan Lyman+,
+Manly G. Woodbury+.
It was but a few days after my entrance upon my last term at the
Seminary, when a letter from the Rev. Rufus Anderson, Secretary of the
A. B. C. F. M., called me to Boston to be ordained, and to sail on a
mission of exploration to Patagonia, on which expedition I embarked on
the 16th of August, 1833. An account of this trip may be found in my
“Adventures in Patagonia.”
II.
_Marriage--Embarkation for Hawaii--Santiago, Callao, and Lima in
1835--Arrival in Honolulu--Passage to Hilo--Our New Home--First
Labors._
On returning from Patagonia I landed in New London, Conn., May 7, 1834.
During all the long months of my absence in the South, not a word
had come to me from friends, nor had any tidings from me reached the
land of my birth. There had been many fond recollections and tender
heart-longings, and quires of paper had been filled, but no breath of
heaven, no bird of the air had wafted these yearnings, these burning
thoughts from North to South, and from South to North. Over the
Atlantic or the vast continent no answer had come to anxious inquiries,
no echo to calls of love.
But the perils of the sea and of the howling wilderness of savages were
now past, and I was in the land of liberty, of light, and of Christian
love.
I went to Boston and reported; to Killingworth, to surprise with joy my
aged and mourning father; and to Middlebury in Vermont to find the one
whom I had chosen, and who had waited patiently and without change of
object or of purpose, for seven long years to welcome this glad day.
She was then teaching with the dear mother Cooke, in the Middlebury
Female Seminary.
She went with me to her father’s house in Churchville, where on the
3d of Nov., 1834, we were married in the church on Monthly Concert
evening. On Nov. 4th we left for Boston, visiting friends in New York
and Connecticut by the way.
On the 23d of November we received our instructions as missionaries to
the Sandwich Islands, in Park Street church, together with Miss Lydia
Brown, Miss Elizabeth Hitchcock, Mr. Henry Dimond and wife, and Mr. and
Mrs. Edwin O. Hall.
On the same occasion a company of twelve missionaries, destined to
Southeastern Africa, received their instructions. The house was packed
and the occasion was one of great interest.
On the 5th of December, 1834, we embarked on board the merchant
ship _Hellespont_, Capt. John Henry, and bade farewell to Boston,
to hundreds of dear and precious friends, to our dear country, not
expecting ever to see them again. On the 6th we awoke and looked in
vain for land. City, hills, mountains, had sunk in the ocean, and
nothing outside of the dancing _Hellespont_ was seen but the ethereal
vault and the boundless blue sea.
We plunged into the Gulf Stream and were handled roughly by current
and wind and foaming wave. The wild winds howled, the clouds thickened
and darkened, and the tempest raged.
[Sidenote: _Fellow Missionaries._]
Our good ship labored, plunged, rose, trembled, plunged and rose again
amidst the foaming billows, shaking off the feathery spray like a
sea-lion, and rushing along her watery way with grandeur. In the night
her shining pathway was all aglow with countless, sparkling brilliants.
Our voyage soon became pleasant. The weather was favorable, the captain
attentive and kind, the officers faithful, and the crew obedient and
respectful. Our seasickness vanished, our skies brightened, and we were
a happy family, daily becoming better acquainted with each other. Miss
Brown was a maiden lady from New Hampshire, of true devotion to the
work of the Lord. She was appointed to the Islands to teach the women
of Hawaii domestic duties, such as carding, spinning, weaving, etc., in
connection with a civilizing Christianity. Miss Hitchcock was also a
maiden lady, well educated and pious. One of her brothers was already
an active missionary on the Islands, and she was going out to assist
in teaching. She afterward married Mr. Edmund H. Rogers, a missionary
printer.
Mr. Dimond came as a book-binder. His good wife was Miss Ann Anner,
of New York City. Both of them are now living. Mr. E. O. Hall was a
printer from Rochester, N. Y. He also found his wife in New York City,
a Miss Williams, a devoted lady. Mrs. Hall died a few years ago.
This united circle held morning and evening devotions, and our days
were spent in reading, writing, and social intercourse. On Sabbaths
when the weather was favorable we had preaching, at which service the
captain, officers, and crew were present.
But I need not detain the reader with a third voyage in the Atlantic.
Enough to say that we passed pleasantly along to the South, sinking the
Northern constellations one by one, and raising the Southern, seeing no
Equatorial line, no Neptune, and no land until the hills of Terra del
Fuego lifted their snowy heads upon us above the clouds. I had longed
to see the wild coast of Patagonia and the Falkland Islands, where
only a year before I had roamed with the savage tribes, or found more
comforts among the whalers and sealers of those southern islets. But we
passed between the Continent and the Islands, descrying neither.
My heart mourned for this land of Patagonia, a land on which the
shadows of death had always rested, and where no day had yet dawned.
We passed through the Strait of Le Maire, and with all sails set, in a
balmy and bright summer day sailed very near the dreaded Cape Horn.
[Sidenote: _The Voyage--Santiago._]
Only a day after we had set our studding sails and spread all our
canvas, a stormy wind took us far toward the Southern Cross and the
ice mountains of the Antarctic. But in a few days, more favoring gales
hurried us Northward again, and on the 8th of March the joyful sound of
“land ho!” thrilled all on board, and the lofty Cordillera chain stood
out in grandeur before us. It was Chili, and the city of Valparaiso was
in sight. We came into the roadstead, dropped anchor, furled sails,
congratulated one another, and blessed the Lord for a safe passage thus
far.
As the _Hellespont_ was to remain in port about twenty days, Mr. Dimond
and I engaged a carriage and driver, and made a trip to Santiago, the
capital of Chili, about 100 miles inland and near the foot-hills of the
Andes. Our ride was very exhilarating. This city is one of the most
beautiful in South America, well watered from the mountain snows, and
well shaded with trees. On our way we passed over high hills and broad
plains. The roads over these hills were wide and cut in zigzag lines,
with ample terraces or resting-places at the angles. On ascending one
of these lofty hills at early dawn, we descried the heads of two men,
recently severed, each nailed to a high post at different places,
and grinning ghastly upon us. Our driver told us that these men were
highway robbers and murderers; that they had, on going up this hill,
perpetrated the vilest of crimes, killed a husband and his wife, with
two children, stolen their baggage, clothes, and horse, and thrown the
dead bodies into a deep ravine below; and for these horrid crimes
their heads had been made beacons of warning to all who passed along
this road.
We left Valparaiso on the 27th of March, and anchored in the harbor
of Callao, Peru, on the 6th of April, 1835. Here we spent twenty-one
days, giving us opportunity of going on shore as often as we desired,
of visiting Lima, of attending the gorgeous ceremonies of Passion Week,
of looking into the grand Cathedral and their splendid churches, and
of noticing the monuments of art, and the scars of revolution in that
renowned, but often suffering, desecrated, and vandalized city.
With the courteous Bishop of Lima, we went through the Cathedral, he
bowing and crossing himself as he passed by the various pictures and
statues, telling us of the guardian care of the different saints over
the city.
We left Callao on the 27th of April, saw the mountains of Hawaii on
the 5th of June, and on the 6th landed in Honolulu. The Hawaiian
mission was then in session, and on the arrival of the _Hellespont_,
the mission appointed a committee of three to meet us on board, while
the meeting was adjourned, and a large part of the members with wives
and children came down to the wharf to welcome us, and to escort us
to the house of the Rev. Hiram Bingham. The welcome was warm and
warmly reciprocated, and the meeting was joyful. It seemed to us
_apostolical_. We regarded these veteran toilers with a feeling of
veneration. Some looked vigorous and strong, others seemed pallid and
wayworn. Here were the fathers and mothers in Israel, and here the
brothers and sisters, with flocks of precious children. We rejoiced
that we were permitted to be numbered with this honored and happy
family. We all united in a hymn of praise and thanksgiving to God, and
then knelt in prayer.
[Sidenote: _A Month in Honolulu._]
The new reinforcement united in the daily meetings of the mission
until the closing of its sessions, when we went forth to our appointed
stations; my wife and I to Hilo, Hawaii, with Mr. and Mrs. Lyman.
We embarked at Honolulu, in the schooner _Velocity_, falsely so-called,
on the 6th of July. The schooner was small, a slow sailer, dirty,
crowded with more than one hundred passengers, mostly natives, and
badly managed. The captain was an Irishman given to hard drinking.
We sailed from Honolulu on Monday. The sea was rough and nearly all of
the passengers were very seasick. Our first port was Lahaina, eighty
miles from Honolulu, where we were to land Mr. and Mrs. Richards,
Dr. and Mrs. Chapin, Mr. and Mrs. Spaulding, and other families. On
Wednesday morning the captain announced that the land just ahead
was Maui, and that we should all land in about an hour at Lahaina,
where we might rest a day, bathe, eat grapes and watermelons, and be
refreshed for the rest of the voyage, about 150 miles further.
But the poor captain’s eyes were dazed, and he had lost his reckoning.
We had gone about in the night and we were back at Honolulu! This fact
came upon us with a shock of agony. After such seasickness as some
of us had never before endured, the dreadful thought came over us,
“Shall we ever reach our homes on this vessel and with this master?”
Many of us had tasted neither food nor water from Monday to Wednesday,
and all had lain crowded on a dirty deck, exposed to wind, rain, and
wave, and how could we live to reach our destination? But there was
no alternative. We said _go_, and the dull _Velocity_ went about and
headed again for Lahaina, where we landed passengers, and on the
21st we saw the emerald beauty of Hilo, and disembarked with joy and
thanksgiving. Hundreds of laughing natives thronged the beach, seized
our hands, gave us the hearty “_Aloha_” and followed us up to the house
of our good friends, Mr. and Mrs. Lyman, who were with us to comfort
and inform us all the way.
[Sidenote: _Hilo and Hilo Bay._]
The bay of Hilo is a beautiful, spacious, and safe harbor. The outline
of its beach is a crescent like the moon in her first quarter. The
beach is composed of fine, volcanic sand, mixed with a little coral
and earth. On its eastern and western sides, and in its center, it is
divided by three streams of pure water; it has a deep channel about
half a mile wide, near the western shore, sufficiently deep to admit
the largest ship that floats. Seaward it is protected by a lava reef
one mile from the shore. This reef was formed by a lateral stream of
lava, sent out at right angles from a broad river of molten rocks that
formed our eastern coast. This reef is a grand barrier against the
swell of the ocean. Lord Byron, who visited Hilo, when he brought home
the corpses of King Liholiho and his queen, gave the name of “Byron’s
Bay” to this harbor, but that name is nearly obsolete.
The beach was once beautifully adorned with the cocoa palm, whose lofty
plumes waved and rustled and glittered in the fresh sea-breeze. Beyond
our quiet bay the broad, blue ocean foams or sleeps, with a surface
sometimes shining like molten silver, tumbling in white foam, or gently
throbbing as with the pulsations of life.
Inland, from the shore to the bases of the mountains, the whole
landscape is “arrayed in living green,” presenting a picture of
inimitable beauty, so varied in tint, so grooved with water channels,
and so sparkling with limpid streams and white foaming cascades, as to
charm the eye, and cause the beholder to exclaim, “This _is_ a scene of
surpassing loveliness.”
Behind all this in the background, tower the lofty, snow-mantled
mountains, Kea and Loa, out of one of which rush volcanic fires. At
the first sight we were charmed with the beauty and the grandeur of the
scene, and we exclaimed, “Surely the lines are fallen to us in pleasant
places, and we have a goodly heritage.”
We were satisfied, yes more, we were _delighted_, with our location,
and to this day we bless the Lord that He inclined the minds of the
mission to assign us to this field of labor. In this, as in all the
past, we see the guiding hand of Him who has promised to “direct the
steps” of all who “commit their way to Him.”
Hilo had then but one framed house. It was a low, two-story building in
the style of a New England farm-house, built and occupied by the Rev.
Joseph Goodrich, a good and faithful missionary of the A. B. C. F. M.
Mr. Lyman’s home, into which we were received, was a small, stone
house, with walls laid up with mud, and a thatched roof. Each family
had but one room about fifteen feet square.
Mr. Goodrich, with his family, left Hilo in November for the United
States, not to return, and we were advised to occupy his house, which
with later additions and improvements has been our habitation ever
since.
Mr. Lyman soon built a comfortable house near us, and the old
stone-and-mud hut was devoted to a school-room.
[Sidenote: _Work and Study._]
By the advice of the Lymans, who had been two years in Hilo, and whose
experience and wise counsel were of great use to us, we at once began
teaching a school of about a hundred almost naked boys and girls, being
ourselves pupils of a good man named Barnabas, who patiently drilled us
daily in the language of his people. By reading, trying to talk, teach
and write, we crept along, without grammar or dictionary, the mist
lifting slowly before us, until at the end of three months from our
arrival, I went into the pulpit with Mr. Lyman, and preached my first
sermon in the native language. Soon after, I made a tour with him into
Puna, one wing of our field, and then through the district of Hilo, in
an opposite direction. These tours introduced me to the people for whom
I was to labor, and with whom I had a burning desire to communicate
freely, and helped me greatly in acquiring the language.
The General Meeting at Honolulu in June had advised Mr. Lyman and
myself to establish a boarding-school for boys, leaving to us the
question as to which of us should be the principal of the school, and
which the traveling missionary.
He chose the school as his chief work, and I the pastoral and preaching
department. Our labors, however, were not separated for a long time,
he preaching always when I was absent on tours, and often when I was
at home; we always worked in harmony. After a year or two, the school
being enlarged and important, Mr. Lyman requested the mission to accept
his resignation of the joint pastorate of the church and to appoint me
as the sole pastor. This was done harmoniously, and we have labored
side by side until the present day, mutually assisting, and rejoicing
in the success of all departments of the service.
Under the efficient care of Mr. and Mrs. Lyman the school has been a
great success. Its department of manual labor is an important feature
in the institution. It has given a very valuable physical training to
the boys, imparting to them skill and health, and making the school
nearly self-supporting. The young men are well dressed, neat and manly
in their appearance, and give evidence of an elevation above the
common masses around them. In all, the Seminary has graduated about
one thousand pupils. Many of them are among the most useful members of
society, and some of them have become legislators, judges, teachers,
Christian ministers, foreign missionaries, etc.
Mr. Lyman, feeling obliged through declining health to resign his
office as Principal, the Rev. W. B. Oleson was appointed in September,
1878, as his successor.
III.
_The Field--The People--Hilo District--Crossing the
Torrents--Perils of a Canoe Voyage--Puna District._
The field in which I was called to labor is a belt of land extending by
the coast-line 100 miles on the north-east, east, and south-east shore
of Hawaii, including the districts of Hilo and Puna, and a part of Kau.
The inhabited belt is one to three miles wide, and in a few places
there were hamlets and scattering villages five to ten miles inland.
Beyond this narrow shore belt there is a zone of forest trees with a
tropical jungle from ten to twenty-five miles wide, almost impenetrable
by man or beast. Still higher is another zone of open country girdling
the bases of the mountains, with a rough surface of hill, dale, ravine,
scoriaceous lava fields, rocky ridges, and plains and hills of pasture
land. Here wild goats, wild cattle, with hogs and wild geese feed.
Still higher up tower Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa, nearly 14,000 feet above
the sea, the former being a pile of extinct craters, often crowned
with snow, and the latter a mountain of fire, where for unknown ages
earthquakes that rock the group and convulse the ocean have been born,
and where volcanoes burst out with awful roar, and rush in fiery rivers
down the mountain sides, across the open plains, through the blazing
forest jungle and into the sea. All but the narrow shore belt is left
to untamed bird and beast, and to the wild winds and raging fires of
the mountains, except when bird-catchers, canoe-makers, cattle-hunters,
or volcano visitors are drawn thither by their several interests from
the shore.
The population of this shore belt was probably at that time about
15,000 to 16,000, almost exclusively natives. Very few foreigners had
then come here to live. Several missionaries had resided in Hilo for
short periods, but none had settled here permanently except Mr. and
Mrs. Lyman. Occasional tours had been made through Hilo and Puna, and
the Gospel had been preached in most of the villages. Schools had also
been established through the districts and a goodly number could read
and write. Some pupils were in the elements of arithmetic, and many
committed lessons in the Scriptures to memory.
Forms of idolatry were kept out of sight, but superstition and
ignorance, hypocrisy and most of the lower vices prevailed. The people
were all slaves to their chiefs, and no man but a chief owned a foot
of land, a tree, a pig, a fowl, his wife, children, or himself.
All belonged to his chief and could be taken at will, if anger or
covetousness or lust called for them. I have seen families by the score
turned out of their dwellings, all their effects seized, and they sent
off wailing, to seek shelter and food where they could. “On the side of
the oppressor there was power, but the poor man had no comforter.”
[Sidenote: _Hilo District._]
+Hilo+, the northern wing of this field, is a district including about
thirty miles of its shore line. It is covered with a deep rich soil,
clothed with perennial green of every shade, watered with the rain of
heaven, and grooved by about eighty water channels that run on an angle
of some three degrees, leaping over hundreds of precipices of varied
heights, from three or four feet to 500, and plunging into the sea over
a cliff rising in height, from the sand beach of the town, to 700 or
800 feet along the northern coast-line.
For many years after our arrival there were no roads, no bridges, and
no horses in Hilo, and all my tours were made on foot. These were three
or four annually through Hilo, and as many in Puna; the time occupied
in making them was usually ten to twenty days for each trip.
In passing through the district of Hilo, the weather was sometimes fine
and the rivers low, so that there was little difficulty in traveling.
The path was a simple trail, winding in a serpentine line, going down
and up precipices, some of which could only be descended and ascended
by grasping the shrubs and grasses, and with no little weariness and
difficulty and some danger.
But the streams were the most formidable obstacles. In great rains,
which often occurred on my tours, when the winds rolled in the heavy
clouds from the sea, and massed them in dark banks on the side of the
mountain, the waters would fall in torrents at the head of the streams
and along their channels, and the rush and the roar as the floods came
down were like the thunder of an army charging upon the foe.