John Coleridge Patteson was born in April, 1827. He was blessed with
an upright and good father, and a loving and gentle mother; and thus
his early training was calculated to make him the earnest Christian
man he afterwards became.
Here is an extract from a letter written from school at the age of
nine, which shows that he had faults and failings to overcome just
like all other boys:--
"My dear papa, I am very sorry for having told so many falsehoods,
which Uncle Frank has told mama of. I am very sorry for having done so
many bad things--I mean falsehoods--and I heartily beg your pardon;
and Uncle Frank says that he thinks if I stay, in a month's time Mr.
Cornish will be able to trust me again.... He told me that if I ever
told another falsehood he should that instant march me into the school
and ask Mr. Cornish to strip and birch me ... but I will not catch the
birching."
And he did not. He was so frank, so ready to see his own faults, that
he was always a favourite. Uncle Frank remarked of him at this same
time: "He wins one's heart in a moment".
Perhaps one ought to call him a Queen's missionary, for her Majesty
saved him from a serious accident in a rather remarkable manner.
In 1838 when the Queen was driving in her carriage the crowd was so
dense that Patteson, then at school at Eton, became entangled in the
wheel of the carriage and would have been thrown underneath and run
over had it not been for the young Queen's quick perception. Seeing
the danger she gave her hand to the boy, who readily seized it, and
was thus able to get on his feet again and avoid the threatened peril.
He was a boy who, when he had done wrong, always blamed himself--not
any one else. Thus, when he was twelve, having spent a good deal of
his time one term at Eton enjoying cricket and boating, he found his
tutor was not at all satisfied with his progress. "I am ashamed to
say," he remarked in writing home, "that I can offer not the slightest
excuse: my conduct on this occasion has been very bad. I expect a
severe reproof from you, and pray do not send me any money. But from
this time I am determined I will not lose a moment."
In 1841 came the first indication of what his future career might be.
Bishop Selwyn of New Zealand was preaching, and the boy says of the
sermon: "It was beautiful when he talked of his going out to found a
church, and then to die neglected and forgotten".
How deep had been the influence on his mind of his mother's example
may be gathered from the letter he wrote at the time of her death in
1842, when he was fifteen years old: "It is a very dreadful loss for
us all, but we have been taught by that dear mother who has now been
taken from us that it is not fit to grieve for those who die in the
Lord, 'for they rest from their labours'.... She said once, 'I wonder
I wish to leave you, my dearest John, and the children and this sweet
place, but yet I do wish it'; so lovely was her faith."
In 1854 Bishop Selwyn returned to England. During the time that had
elapsed since his previous visit, Patteson had been ordained. The
bishop stayed with his father a few days, and during that time the
feelings which the boy of fourteen had experienced were revived in
the man of twenty-seven; and with his father's consent John Coleridge
Patteson entered upon his life work, sailing with Bishop Selwyn for
the South Seas in March, 1855.
There he laboured with such energy and success that in 1861 he was
consecrated bishop. Many thousands of miles were traversed by him in
the mission ship _The Southern Cross_, visiting the numerous islands
of the Pacific known as Polynesia or Melanesia.
Of the dangers that abounded he knew ample to try his courage. On
arriving at Erromanga (the scene of Williams' martyrdom) on one
occasion he found that Mr. Gordon, the missionary, and his wife had
recently both been treacherously slain by the natives. At another
island, as he returned to the boat, he saw one of the natives draw a
bow with the apparent intention of shooting him, and then unbend it at
the entreaty of his comrades. "But," remarks the bishop in recording
this, "we must try to effect more frequent landings."
And thus full of faith he laboured on, telling the people of these
scattered islands, which besprinkle the southern ocean like stars in
the milky way, of the love of Christ.
He was still ready to condemn himself just as he did in his early
days. From Norfolk Island, in 1870, he wrote to his sister when he was
holding an ordination: "At such times as these, when one is specially
engaged in solemn work, there is much heart searching; and I cannot
tell you how my conscience accuses me of such systematic selfishness
during many long years--I mean I see how I was all along making self
the centre, and neglecting all kinds of duties--social and others--in
consequence".
He was much grieved by the accounts which reached him of the terrible
war which was being fought between France and Germany in 1870. "What
can I say," he writes, "to my Melanesians about it? Do these nations
believe in the gospel of peace and goodwill? Is the sermon on the
mount a reality or not?"
Yet he had troubles closer at home than this even. The trading ships
were coming in numbers to the islands, and carrying off the natives
either by guile or by force to Fiji and other places where labourers
were wanted.
Notwithstanding the anxieties which beset him on this account, the
good bishop continued to work as hard as ever, and very happy he was
about his people.
On Christmas Eve, 1870, he writes: "Seven new communicants to-morrow
morning. And all things, God be praised, happy and peaceful about us."
He wrote of the large "family" of 145 Melanesian natives he had around
him; at another time he spoke of his sleeping on a table with some
twelve or more fellows about him; and people coming and going all day
long both in and out of school hours!
In August, 1871, he baptised 248 persons, twenty-five of them adults,
all in a little more than a month, and he rejoiced in the thought that
a blessed change was going on in the hearts of these people.
He had never experienced such cheering success before, and, though his
friends were endeavouring to persuade him to take rest and change for
his health's sake, he determined to labour on while there was so much
need for his exertion and such blessed results followed.
The desire to believe on the part of some of his people was very
touching. One of them said to him: "I don't know how to pray properly,
but I and my wife say, 'God make our hearts light--take away the
darkness. We believe that You love us because You sent Jesus to become
a man and die for us; but we can't understand it all. Make us fit to
be baptised.'"
Some, of course, were not so enlightened as that. After the kidnapping
traders had been harrying the islands, one of the chiefs said that, if
the bishop would only bring a man-of-war and get him vengeance on his
adversaries, he would be exalted like his Father above.
There was indeed serious cause for the anger of the natives. One of
them related how he had been out to a vessel with his companions,
and a white man had come down into the canoe and presently upset it,
seizing him by the belt. Happily this broke, and he swam under the
side of the canoe and finally got on shore, but the other three were
killed--their heads were cut off and taken on board, and their bodies
thrown to the sharks. The assailants were men-stealers, who killed
ruthlessly that they might present heads to the chiefs.
Five natives from the same island were also killed or carried off,
and thus when the bishop visited them they were in a state of sullen
wrath.
On the 20th of September, 1871, Bishop Patteson came to Nukapu. The
island is difficult of approach at low water, and the little ship,
_The Southern Cross_, could not get close in. So the bishop went off
to the shore in a boat and got into one of the canoes, leaving his
four pupils to await his return. They saw him land, and he was then
lost to sight.
About half an hour later the natives in the canoes, without the least
warning, began shooting their arrows at the poor fellows in the boat,
and ere it could be taken out of bowshot one of them was pierced with
six arrows, and two of the others were also wounded.
They were full of fears about the bishop, and, notwithstanding the
danger, determined to seek for him. They had no arms except one pistol
which the mate possessed.
As they made their way towards shore a canoe drifted out, and lying in
it, wrapped in a native mat, was the body of Bishop Patteson.
A sweet calm smile was on his face, a palm leaf was fastened upon his
breast, and upon the body were five wounds--the exact number of the
natives who had been kidnapped or killed.
So the good bishop died for the misdeeds of others. The natives but
followed their traditions in exacting blood for blood, and their poor
dark minds could not distinguish between the good and the bad white
men.
Two of those who were with the bishop in the boat, and had received
arrow wounds, died within a week, after much suffering.
One of them, Mr. Atkins, writing of the occurrence on the day of the
martyrdom, says:--
"It would be selfish to wish him back. He has gone to his rest, dying,
as he lived, in the Master's service. It seems a shocking way to
die; but I can say from experience it is far more to hear of than to
suffer. There is no sign of fear or pain on his face, just the look
that he used to have when asleep, patient and a little wearied. What
his mission will do without him, God only knows who has taken him
away."
Three days after, in celebrating the Holy Communion, Mr. Atkins
stumbled in his speech, and then he and his companions knew the poison
in his system was working. "Stephen and I," he said, "are going to
follow the bishop. Don't grieve about it ... It is very good because
God would have it so, because He only looks after us, and He
understands about us, and now He wills to take us too and _it is
well_."
"K.G. AND COSTER."