_PEN-PORTRAITS OF ANIWANS._
The Gospel in Living Capitals.—“A Shower of Spears.”—The Tannese
Refugees.—Pilgrimage and Death of Namakei.—The Character of
Naswai.—Christianity and Cocoa-Nuts.—Nerwa the Agnostic.—Nerwa’s
Beautiful Farewell.—The Story of Ruwawa.—Waiwai and his
Wives.—Nelwang and Kalangi.—Mungaw and Litsi Soré.—The Maddening of
Mungaw.—The Queen of Aniwa a Missionary.—The Surrender of Nasi to
Jesus.—Day-Light Prayer Meeting on Aniwa.—Candidates for Baptism.—The
Appeal and Testimony of Lamu.
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. Many a reader, not making due allowance
for these special circumstances, would therefore be tempted to think
our estimate of their enthusiasm for the Gospel was overdone; but
thoughtful men will easily perceive that Natives, touched with the
mighty impulses of Calvary, and undistracted by social pleasures or
politics, or literature, or business claims, would almost by a moral
necessity pour all the currents of their being into Religion, and
probably show an apostolic devotion and self-sacrifice too seldom seen,
alas, amid the thousand clamouring appeals of Civilization.
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 every one 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 to-day.”
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, and turned 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 caught, after having thrown what the old Chief called “a shower of
spears,” desisted from mere surprise. 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 over-awed. 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
won for Christ, where similar acts of heroism on the part of Converts
cannot be recited by every Missionary to the honour of our poor Natives
and to the glory of their Saviour.
Larger and harder tests were sometimes laid upon their new faith.
Once the war on Tanna drove about one hundred 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 Tanna. In all this,
the Chief of the Tanna party, my old friend Nowar, 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.
In claiming Aniwa for Christ, and winning it as a 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 Namakei, the old Chief of Aniwa. Slowly, but very
steadily, the light of the Gospel 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 chapters, 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 Namakei the Younger, an honour
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, and 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.
The death of Namakei 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 Aneityum, 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 little books 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 Missi. The people wailed out, 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 Aneityum.
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,—
“Missi, 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,—
“Missi, 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,—
“O Missi, 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.”
So saying, he seized my arm, we staggered near to the tree, and he lay
down under its cool shade. He whispered again,—
“I am going! O Missi, let me hear your words rising 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,—
“O my Missi, my dear Missi, 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 Aneityum, 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 Namakei became a
new Creature. “Behold, I make all things new.”
We were in positive distress about returning to Aniwa without the
Chief, and we greatly feared the consequences. To show our perfect
sympathy with them, we prepared a special and considerable present for
Litsi his daughter, for his brother, and for other near friends—a sort
of object lesson, that we had in every way been kind to old Namakei,
as we now wished to be to them. When our boat approached the landing,
nearly the whole population had assembled to meet us; and Litsi and his
brother were far out on the reef to salute us. Litsi’s keen eye had
missed old Namakei’s form; and far as words could carry I heard her
voice crying,—
“Missi, where is my father?”
I made as if I did not hear; the boat was drawing slowly near, and
again she cried aloud, “Missi, where is my father? Is Namakei dead!”
I replied,—“Yes. He died on Aneityum. He is now with Jesus in Glory.”
Then arose a wild, wailing cry, led by Litsi and taken up by all
around. It rose and fell like a chant or dirge, as one after another
wailed out praise and sorrow over the name of Namakei. We moved slowly
into the boat harbour. Litsi, the daughter, and Kalangi his brother,
shook hands, weeping sadly, and welcomed us back, assuring us that we
had nothing to fear. Amidst many sobs and wailings, Litsi told us that
they all dreaded he would never return, and explained to this effect:—
“We knew that he was dying, but we durst not tell you. When you agreed
to let him go, he went round and took farewell of all his friends, and
told them he was going to sleep at last on Aneityum, and that at the
Great Day he would rise to meet Jesus with the glorious company of the
Aneityumese Christians. He urged us all to obey you and be true to
Jesus. Truly, Missi, we will remember my dear father’s parting word,
and follow in his steps, and help you in the work of the Lord!”
The other Chief, Naswai, now accompanied us to the Mission House, and
all the people followed, wailing loudly for Namakei. On the following
Sabbath, I told the story of his conversion, life for Jesus, and death
on Aneityum; and God overruled this event, contrary to our fears, for
greatly increasing the interest of many in the Church and in the claims
of Jesus upon themselves.
Naswai, the friend and companion of Namakei, 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 Katua
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.
Naswai, after he became a Christian, had a touch of scorn in his
manner, and was particularly stern against every form of lying or
deceit. I used sometimes to let jobs to Naswai, such as fencing or
thatching, at a fixed price. He would come with a staff of men, say
thirty or forty, see the work thoroughly done, and then divide the
price generously in equal portions amongst the workers, seldom keeping
anything either in food or wages for himself. On one occasion, the
people of a distant village were working for me. Naswai assisted and
directed them. On paying them, one of the company said,—
“Missi, you have not paid Naswai. He worked as hard as any of us.”
Naswai turned upon him with the dignity of a prince, and said,—
“I did not work for pay! Would you make Missi pay more than he
promised? Your conduct is bad. I will be no party to your bad ways.”
And, with an indignant wave of his hand, he stalked away in great
disdain.
Naswai was younger and more intelligent than Namakei, 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 Naswai’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 preaching was
wonderfully happy in its 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
Katua very shortly pre-deceased 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 in going to be with his
Saviour.
I must here recall one memorable example of Naswai’s power and skill as
a preacher. On one occasion the _Dayspring_ brought a large deputation
from Fotuna 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 Aniwans addressed the
Fotunese; and amongst others, Naswai spoke to the following effect:—
“Men of Fotuna, 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 quarrelled, 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 Fotuna,
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, alas, that you cannot explain it,
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
Fotuna, 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 Missi 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 Missi’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, “Missi, have you the large yam we
presented to you? Would you not think it well to send it back with
these men of Fotuna, to let their people see the 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,—“When you go back to Fotuna, and
they ask you, ‘What is Christianity?’ you will be like an inland Chief
of Erromanga, 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, ‘Cocoa-nuts and yams.’ ‘And
this?’ ‘Cocoa-nuts and bananas.’ ‘And this?’ ‘Cocoa-nuts and taro.’
‘And this?’ ‘Cocoa-nuts and chestnuts,’ etc., etc. The Chief was
immensely astonished at the host of dishes that could be prepared from
the cocoa-nuts. 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 cocoa-nuts, he took out the
kernels, all charred and spoiled, and distributed them amongst his
people. They tasted the cocoa-nut, they began to chew it, and then
spat it out, crying, ‘Our own food is far better than that!’ The Chief
was confused and only got laughed at for all his trouble. Was the
fault in the cocoa-nuts? 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 Fotuna they exhibited Jehovah’s yam, given in answer
to prayer and labour; they told what Christianity had done for Aniwa;
but did not fail to qualify all their accounts with the story of the
Erromangan Chief and the cocoa-nuts, with its very practical lesson.
The two Chiefs of next importance on Aniwa were Nerwa and Ruwawa. Nerwa
was a keen debater; all his 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:—
“It’s all lies you come here to teach us, and you call it Worship! You
say your Jehovah God dwells in Heaven. Who ever 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 cocoa-nut 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 cocoa-nut 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 soon thereafter the Lord sent us a
little orphan girl from Nerwa’s village. She was very clever, and could
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 Missi the man and Missi 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,—
“Nerwa’s opposition dies fast. The story of the Orphans did it. He has
allowed me to attend the Church, and to get the Christian’s 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 at last got
so interested that he came himself, and sat within earshot, and drank
in the joyful sound. In a short time he drew so near that he could
hear our 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 neighbouring
Chief and his people, and constituted himself at once an energetic and
very pronounced helper to the Missionary.
On the death of Naswai, Nerwa at 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, and heard him cry,—
“Oh, to have this treasure in my own words of Aniwa!”
When 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 Ruwawa, 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 and 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 any one to leave his bedside without
having a verse of one or other of his favourite hymns, “Happy Land,”
and “Nearer, my God, to Thee.” On my last visit to Nerwa, his strength
had gone very low, but he drew me near his face, and whispered,—
“Missi, my Missi, 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; pray 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 am 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 Missi, and help him all you can. I am dying happy
and going to be with Jesus, and it was Missi 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, verse about, and then I will pray for you all, and the Missi 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 near-bye 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, “the silver cord
was loosed, and the golden bowl was broken.”
Soon after his burial, the best and ablest man in the village, the
husband now of the orphan girl already referred to, came and offered
himself to take the Chiefs place as Teacher in the village School;
and in that post he was ably assisted by his wife, our “little maid,”
the first who carried the news of the Gospel life to her tribe, and
inclined their ears to listen to the message of Jesus.
His great friend, Ruwawa 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 Ruwawa, leaning back and breathing heavily. After the Church
Services, I visited him, and found half the people of that side of the
Island sitting round him, in silence, in the open air. Ruwawa beckoned
me, and I sat down before him. Though suffering sorely, his eye and
face had the look of ecstasy.
“Missi,” 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 Saviour all about it.”
I explained to the people, that we would tell our Heavenly Father how
anxious we all were to see Ruwawa 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 Bochim. When I left him, Ruwawa
exclaimed,—
“Farewell, Missi; 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,—“Missi, our hearts
are very sore! If Ruwawa 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 Ruwawa 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 thus 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 Saviour’s face. When he sat
down, there was a long hush, broken here and there by a smothered sob;
and Ruwawa’s words produced an impression that is remembered to this
day.
In 1888, when I visited the Islands, Ruwawa was still devoting himself
heart and soul to the work of the Lord on Aniwa. Assisted by Koris,
a Teacher from Aneityum, and visited occasionally by our ever-dear
and faithful friends, Mr. and Mrs. Watt, from Tanna, the good Ruwawa
carries 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!”
I am now reminded of the story of Waiwai, both because it was
interesting for his own personality, and also as illustrating our
difficulties about the delicate question of many wives. He was a man
of great wisdom, and had in his early days displayed unwonted energy.
His assistance in finding exact and idiomatic equivalents for me, while
translating the Scriptures, was of the highest value.
He had been once at the head of a numerous people, but was now
literally a Chief without a tribe. His son and heir was smitten down
with sunstroke, while helping us to get the coral limestone, and
shortly thereafter died. His only daughter was married to a young
Chief. And at last, of all his seven wives only two remained alive.
He became a regular attender at Church, and when our first
Communicants’ Class was formed, Waiwai and his two wives were enrolled.
At Communion time, he was dreadfully disappointed when informed that
he could neither be baptized nor admitted to the Lord’s Table till he
had given up one of his wives, as God allowed no Christian to have more
than one wife at a time. They were advised to attend regularly, and
learn more and more of Christianity, till God opened up their way in
regard to this matter; that it might be done from conscience, under a
sense of duty to Christ, and if at all possible by peaceable and mutual
agreement.
Waiwai professed to be willing, but found it terribly hard to give
up either of his wives. They had houses far apart from each other,
for they quarrelled badly, as is usual in such cases. But both were
excellent workers, both were very attentive to the wants of Waiwai,
and he managed to keep on affectionate terms with both. After all the
other men on the Island had, under the influence of Christianity, given
up all their wives save one, Waiwai began to feel rather ashamed of
being the conspicuous exception, or thought it prudent to pretend to be
ashamed; and so he publicly scolded them both, ordering one or other to
go and leave him, that he might be enabled to join the Church and be a
Christian like the rest. But I learned privately that he did not wish
either to go, and that he would shoot the one that dared to leave him.
I remonstrated with him on his hypocrisy, warning him that God knew
his heart. At last he said, that since neither of them would depart,
he would leave them both and go to Tanna for a year, ordering one or
other of them to get married during his absence. He did go, but on his
return found both still awaiting him at their respective stations. He
pretended to scold them very vigorously _in public_; but his duplicity
was too open, and I again very solemnly rebuked him for double dealing,
showing him that not even men were deceived by him, much less the
all-seeing God. He frankly admitted his hypocrisy. He loved both; he
did not want to part with either; and both were excellent workers!
In process of time the younger of the two women bore him a beautiful
baby boy, about which he was immensely uplifted; and a short while
thereafter the elder woman died. At her grave the inveterate talking
instinct of these Islanders asserted itself, and Waiwai made a speech
to the assembled people in the following strain:—
“O ye people of Aniwa, I was not willing to give up either of my wives
for Jesus; but God has taken one from me and laid her there in the
grave; and now I am called to be baptized, and to follow Jesus.”
The two now regularly attended Church, and learned diligently at
the Communicants’ Class. Both seemed to be very sincere, and Waiwai
particularly showed a very gentle Christian spirit, and seemed to brood
much upon the loss of family and people and tribe that had befallen
him. His had been indeed a crushing discipline, and it was not yet
complete. For, shortly before the Communion at which they were to
be received into fellowship, his remaining wife became suddenly ill
and died also. At her grave the old man wept very bitterly, and made
another speech, but this time in tones of more intense reality than
before, as if the iron had entered his very soul:—
“Listen, all ye men of Aniwa, and take warning by Waiwai. I am now
old, and ready to drop into the grave alone. My wives kept me back
from Jesus, but now they are all taken, and I am left without one to
care for me or this little child. I tried to deceive the Missi, but I
could not deceive God. When I was left with only one wife, I said that
I would now be baptized and live as a Christian. But God has taken
her also. I pretended to serve the Lord, when I was only serving and
pleasing myself. God has now broken my heart all to pieces. I must
learn no longer to please myself, but to please my Lord. Oh, take
warning by me, all ye men of Aniwa! Lies cannot cheat the great Jehovah
God.”
Poor broken-hearted Waiwai had sorrow upon sorrow to the full. We
had agreed to baptize him and admit him to the Lord’s Table. But a
terrible form of cramp, sometimes met with on the Islands, overtook
him, shrinking up both his legs, and curving his feet up behind him. He
suffered great agony, and could neither walk nor sit without pain. In
spite of all efforts to relieve him, this condition became chronic; and
he died at last from the effects thereof during our absence on furlough.
His married daughter took charge of him and of the little boy; and so
long as I was on Aniwa during his illness, I visited and instructed
and ministered to him in every possible way. He prayed much, and asked
God’s blessing on all his meals; but all that I could say failed to
lead him into the sunshine of the Divine Love. And the poor soul often
revealed the shadow by which his heart was clouded by such cries as
these,—“I lied to Jehovah! It is He that punishes me! I lied to Jesus!”
Readers may perhaps think that this case of the two wives and our
treatment of it was too hard upon Waiwai; and those will be the most
ready to condemn us, who have never been on the spot, and who cannot
see all the facts as they lie under the eyes of the Missionary. How
could we ever have led Natives to see the difference betwixt admitting
a man to the Church who had two wives, and not permitting a member of
the Church to take two wives after his admission? Their moral sense is
blunted enough without our knocking their heads against a conundrum in
ethics! In our Church membership we have to draw the line as sharply
as God’s law will allow betwixt what is Heathen and what is Christian,
instead of minimising the difference.
Again, we found that the Heathen practices were apparently more
destructive to women than to men; so that in one Island, with a
population of only two hundred, I found that there were thirty adult
men over and above the number of women. As a rule, for every man that
has two or more wives, the same number of men have no wives and can
get none; and polygamy is therefore the prolific cause of hatreds and
murders innumerable.
Besides all this, to look at things in a purely practical light, as the
so-called “practical men” are our scornful censors in these affairs,
it is really no hardship for one woman, or any number of women, to
be given up when the man becomes a Christian and elects to have one
wife only; for every one so discarded is at once eagerly contended for
by the men who had no hope of ever being married, and her chances of
comfort and happiness are infinitely improved. We had one Chief who
gave up eleven wives on his being baptized. They were without a single
exception happily settled in other homes. And he became an earnest and
devoted Christian.
While they remain Heathen, and have many wives to manage, the condition
of most of the women is worse than slavery. On remonstrating with
a Chief, who was savagely beating one of his wives, he indignantly
assured me,—
“We must beat them, or they would never obey us. When they quarrel, and
become bad to manage, we have to kill one, and feast on her. Then all
the other wives of the whole tribe are quiet and obedient for a long
time to come.”
I knew one Chief, who had many wives, always jealous of each other and
violently quarrelling amongst themselves. When he was off at war, along
with his men, the favourite wife, a tall and powerful woman, armed
herself with an axe, and murdered all the others. On his return he made
peace with her, and, either in terror or for other motives, promised to
forego and protect her against all attempts at revenge. One has to live
amongst the Papuans, or the Malays, in order to understand how much
Woman is indebted to Christ!
The old Chiefs only brother was called Kalangi. Twice in Heathen days
he tried to shoot me. On the second occasion he heard me rebuking his
daughter for letting a child destroy a beautiful Island plant in front
of our house. He levelled his musket at me, but his daughter, whom we
were training at the Mission House, ran in front of it, and cried,—“O
father, don’t shoot Missi! He loves me. He gives us food and clothing.
He teaches us about Jehovah and Jesus!”
Then she pled with me to retire into the house, saying,—“He will not
shoot you for fear of shooting me. I will soothe him down. Leave him to
me, and flee for safety.”
Thus she probably saved my life. Time after time he heard from this
little daughter all that we taught her, and all she could remember
of our preaching. By-and-bye he showed a strong personal interest in
the things he heard about Jesus, and questioned deeply, and learned
diligently. When he became a Christian, he constituted himself, along
with Nelwang, my body-guard, and often marched near me, or within safe
distance of me, armed with tomahawk and musket, when I journeyed from
village to village in the pre-Christian days. Once, on approaching one
of our most distant villages, Nelwang sprang to my side, and warned me
of a man in the bush watching an opportunity to shoot me. I shouted to
the fellow,—
“What are you going to shoot there? This is the Lord’s own Day!”
He answered, “Only a bird.”
I replied, “Never mind it to-day. You can shoot it to-morrow. We are
going to your Village. Come on before us, and show us the way!”
Seeing how I was protected, he lowered his musket, and marched on
before us. Kalangi addressed the people, after I had spoken and prayed.
In course of time they became warm friends of the Worship; and that
very man and his wife, who once sought my life, sat with me at the
Lord’s Table on Aniwa. And the little girl, above referred to, is now
the wife of one of the Elders there, and the mother of three Christian
children,—both she and her husband being devoted workers in the Church
of God.
Litsi, the only daughter of Namakei, had, both in her own career and
in her connection with poor, dear Mungaw, 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 you told us that the great Queen Victoria did!”
Her first husband, however won, 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. Mungaw, 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 some revenge or another. 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.”
Others now 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. Mungaw 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 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 Mungaw’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 in St. Kilda. 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 Mungaw 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, he 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. There
he stood for a whole day, offering his penny for a ticket by every
train, and was always refused. At last a sailor took pity on him, got
him some food, and led him to the St. Kilda Station. Again he proffered
his penny, only to meet with refusal after refusal, till he broke down,
and cried aloud in such English as desperation gave him,—
“If me savvy road, me go. Me no savvy road, and stop here me die. My
Missi Paton live at Kilda. Me want go Kilda. Me no more 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 above 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 Mungaw 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. Mungaw 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 am driven.”
One day, in the Imrai, he leapt up with a loud-yelling war-cry, rushed
off to his own house, set fire to it, and danced around till everything
he possessed was burned to ashes. Nasi, a bad Tannese Chief living on
Aniwa, had a quarrel with Mungaw about a cask found at the shore, and
threatened to shoot him. Others encouraged him to do so, as Mungaw
was growing every day more and more destructive and violent. When a
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 favoured
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,—
“Litsi, I am melting! My head burns. Let us go out and get cooled in
the open air.”
She warned him not to go, as she heard voices whispering under the
verandah. He answered a little wildly,—
“I am not afraid to die. Life is a curse and burden. The white men
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 Mungaw 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 Mungaw?
After a while the good Queen Litsi 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,—“Litsi, 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.
“Now then,” 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 Mungaw?”
The idea took possession of her soul. She was never wearied talking
and praying over it. When at length a Missionary was got for Nasi’s
people, Litsi and her new husband placed themselves at the head of a
band of six or eight Aniwan Christians, and planted themselves there to
open up the way and assist as Native Teachers the Missionary and his
wife. There she and they have laboured 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 the Mission field. Many years have now passed; and
when lately I visited that part of Tanna, Litsi ran to me, clasped my
hand, kissed it with many sobs, and cried,—
“O 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! O 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 wealthy as Queen on Aniwa.
But the Heathen here are beginning to listen. The Missi sees them
coming nearer to Jesus. And oh, what a reward when we shall hear them
sing and pray to our dear Saviour! The hope of that makes me strong for
anything.”
My heart often says within itself—When, _when_ will men’s eyes at
home be opened? When will the rich and the learned and the noble and
even the princes of the Earth renounce their shallow frivolities,
and go to live amongst the poor, the ignorant, the outcast, and the
lost, and write their eternal fame on the souls by them blessed and
brought to the Saviour? Those who have tasted this highest joy, “the
joy of the Lord,” will never again ask,—_Is Life worth living?_ Life,
any life, would be well spent, under any conceivable conditions, in
bringing one human soul to know and love and serve God and His Son, and
thereby securing for yourself at least one temple where your name and
memory would be held for ever and for ever in affectionate praise,—a
regenerated Heart in Heaven. That fame will prove _immortal_, when all
the poems and monuments and pyramids of Earth have gone into dust.
Nasi, the Tannaman, was a bad and dangerous character, though some
readers may condone his putting an end to Mungaw 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, O 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 Missi. 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 Missi 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 affections 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 took the ugly paint patches 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 St. John. He eagerly listened to every one 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 Tanna 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!”
On my 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 reads to the people! When I arrived on a visit to
the Island, after my last tour in Great Britain in the interests of
our Mission, 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, Missi; I now worship and serve the only Lord
and Saviour Jesus Christ. Bless God, I am a Christian at last!”
My soul went out with the 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!”
My first Sabbath on Aniwa, after the late 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,—“Missi, 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 returned to my room, and felt quite 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 careful
examination, I set apart nine boys and girls, about twelve or thirteen
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 Missi, 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 ten adults at this time admitted, one was specially
noteworthy. She was about twenty-five, 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,—
“_Akai era?_” (= Who is there?)
A voice softly answered,—“Missi, it is Lamu. Oh, do speak with me!”
This was the rejected candidate, and I at once opened the door.
“Oh, Missi,” 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 Saviour 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,—
“Missi, 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 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!