Again we go on shore, armed as yesterday. The men cast uneasy glances
around, and show no inclination to separate from each other. We meet
the chief, who looks taller and fiercer than ever. His black hair is
frizzled out in the most extraordinary manner, and on the top he wears
twisted round it a piece of smoke-coloured native cloth like a turban.
He has rings round his arms and legs, and a small piece of cloth round
his loins, but otherwise this great king, as he believes himself, is
entirely naked. He carries in his hand a richly carved black club--so
heavy, that to strike with it is to kill. He receives us in the same
haughty manner as before, as if he wished to impress us with his
importance. As he strides along, the people fly on either side, or bow
down before him, though he does not in the slightest degree heed them.
He is on his way to witness the launching a large new war-canoe, and
which, now decked with streamers, we see at some distance from the
beach. Conch-shells are sounding, and there is much shouting and
dancing. As we draw near, a band of prisoners, with downcast looks of
horror, are driven along towards the canoe. Men stand ready with long
ropes to drag her to the water. Before she is moved, the captives,
bound hand and foot, are cast down before her; then loud shouts arise--
the men haul at the ropes--the canoe moves, and is dragged over the
bodies of the slaves, crushing them to death. No one pities them. This
night the cannibal chiefs will feast on their bodies. Even now the
ovens in the great square are heating to cook them. It strikes me that
these people take a pride in showing to us the enormities they dare to
commit.
As later in the day we are passing through the town, we see two people,
a man and woman, wrangling. The man grows more and more angry. A young
child is near them; it runs to its mother's arms, but the man seizes it,
and in an instant he has killed the poor little creature, and with a
fierce gesture thrown the yet panting body on the ground. He gazes for
a few seconds moodily at the dead child. The mother does not attempt to
touch it; then he orders her to bring a spade. He digs a hole in the
floor; the still warm body is thrust in; the earth is thrown back; both
stamp it down, and then return to their seats as if nothing had
happened.
We see another day a young man buried alive by his own parents. Taro
says he had grown weary of life, and they did it to please him. We see
very few old people, and we hear that when people get weak and ill from
age, their children either strangle them or bury them alive. Bent tells
me that human sacrifices are often made to their gods, when the priests
and chiefs feast on the victims. We see many people with fingers cut
off, and we hear that they have been devoted as offerings to their
chiefs who have died, or may only have been ill. No crime is more
common than that of killing children, especially girls, indeed, it is
remarkable that these people do not seem at all sensible that they are
committing crimes. At all events they glory in their shame.
I might note down many more things we see and hear during our stay in
this group, but I feel sick at heart as I write and think of all that is
told me; and every day, as I tread these blood-stained shores, the very
air seems polluted, and the shrieks of the wretched victims of their
fellows cruelty, ring in my ears. Wars seem never to cease among them.
One tribe is always attacking another, and those inhabiting islands
within two or three miles of each other cannot live at peace. The
desire to retaliate is the great cause of all their quarrels. If a man
is killed by those of another tribe, his friends are not content till
they have killed some of that tribe; then the people of that tribe do
not rest till they have avenged the death of their relations; and so it
goes on, each murder producing another, till there is not a man among
all their tribes who does not feel that there are numbers ready to take
his life, while he is also on the watch to kill certain people with whom
he is at feud.
Of another thing I hear, which, had I not seen so many horrible things
they do, I could scarcely credit. If the people of a small island
offend a chief, he does not kill them at once, but he takes away all
their canoes, so that they cannot escape. Then, whenever he wants
victims to offer in his temples, or to feast any friendly chief who may
visit him unexpectedly, he sends and brings off one or more families, or
parts of families, from the doomed island. No one knows who will be
next taken, but they live on with the full consciousness of what their
fate will be. They see their relatives and friends taken and carried
off to be baked, and they know that, perhaps, their turn may come next.
Bent was some time among them, protected by one of their chiefs, to whom
he made himself useful, yet he says that he never felt sure of his life
an hour together; and whenever he saw the chief handling his club, he
could not help fancying that it might come down on his head.
Dreadful as these accounts are, we can speak of little else on board.
"It would be as easy to wash a blackamoor white, as to make these men
Christians," observed Phineas, one evening, as we sit in the cabin.
"What say you, Mr Bent; would you like to make the attempt?"
Bent casts his eyes on the deck, and does not answer. Golding looks at
me. "I'll tell you my opinion," I reply. "If man alone had to
accomplish the work, I would say, it is impossible. But man works not
alone. God's Holy Spirit is on his side. We are all by nature vile; we
have all gone astray. All our natural hearts are of stone. God's grace
can alone soften our stony hearts, can alone bring us back to Himself,
and as He surely is all-powerful, to my mind He can just as easily shed
His grace on the hearts of these black heathen cannibals, and soften
them, and bring them to love and worship Him, as He can work the same
change in any white man; and so I see no reason to doubt that if the
gospel is put before them some will hear it gladly and accept it."
The captain, as I speak, begins to grow angry. Golding bursts into a
fit of laughter.
"You're talking Greek to me," says he. "How could these black savages,
who have never seen a book in their lives, understand the Bible, even if
you gave it them? It's hard enough for civilised white people to
comprehend, eh, Captain Fuller! You find it a tough job? I'm sure I
do."
"As to that, I don't pretend to much learning in that line--like my
second mate here, but I always leave such matters to the parson."
What the captain meant I cannot tell. On looking up, I see Bent's eyes
full of tears, and he says nothing. I do not press the subject now as
it will only provoke hostility, but I resolve to speak privately to Bent
whenever I can. Yes, I am sure, by God's grace, and through the
instrumentality of human ministers and His book, these dark heathens may
become enlightened worshippers of Him.
We hear that there is a port at the great island of Vanua Levu, where
sandal-wood is to be procured, and we accordingly forthwith sail there.
Truly it is dangerous work navigating these seas among coral banks in
every direction, some just above water, others three, four, and fifteen
feet below it. It is only when the sun is shining and the sea blue that
we can distinguish the coral, which gives a green tinge to it, under
water. One of us is always stationed aloft to pilot the ship. We have
hitherto escaped. I pray we may, for if we were to wreck the good ship,
these savages would spare the lives of none of us.
Once more we drop our anchor, and canoes come off to us. We make known
that we have come for sandal-wood, and have axes, and knives, and nails,
to give in exchange. The natives seem so ready to trade that Golding is
quite enamoured of them, but the captain wisely will allow no one to go
on shore. We keep a careful watch as before. The natives, however,
seem very peaceable. They tell Taro that they wish to trade with us,
and be our friends, and tempt us to come back again. The first mate,
Tony Hinks, and others, declare that the captain's regulations are too
strict, and that they ought to be allowed to go on shore.
Two days pass by, and we are almost ready once more to sail. I am below
talking with Bent and the doctor. Most of the men are forward at their
dinner, the captain, and the first mate, and the watch only being on
deck. There is a loud sound like a blow given on the deck, then a shout
and a piercing shriek. Something is the matter. We seize cutlasses and
pistols, and any weapons we can lay hands on, and spring on deck.
Upwards of a dozen savages are collected there with heavy clubs in their
hands uplifted, and our men are righting desperately with them, but
almost overpowered. The first mate lies dead on the deck near the
companion, and further forward are Tony Hinks and a seaman with their
heads beaten in. The supercargo is defending himself with a capstan-bar
against several savages, while the captain stands in one of the quarter
boats, which has been lowered partly down, pointing a telescope at the
savages, who look at it as if they think it some sort of firearm. Most
of the cannibals turn upon us, and advance furiously with their heavy
clubs. We have, I deem, but little chance of contending with numbers so
overpowering. I hand a cutlass and a pistol to the captain, who springs
out of the boat on deck. Bent stands wonderfully cool, and levelling
his pistols kills two of our assailants almost at the same moment. The
rest hesitate; they have not thought of putting on the hatches, and to
our great relief we see the crew springing up from the forepeak armed
with axes, knives, and harpoons. With loud shouts and threats of
vengeance they rush at the savages, some of whom they cut down, others
they hurl overboard; we from aft join in the onslaught, till the savages
take fright, and in another instant our decks are clear. The guns are
always kept loaded--the captain orders them to be depressed and fired at
the canoes, towards which our late assailants are swimming. Many are
struck, and several of the canoes are knocked to pieces. The greater
number of the people swim to the shore with the greatest ease, diving
when they see the guns fired, or the levelling of the muskets. We make
sail and stand out of the harbour to the west, intending to bury our
chief mate and boatswain in deep water, out of sight of these cannibal
regions.
Truly it makes me sad to think of these two men thus suddenly cut off,
utterly unprepared to go into the presence of a holy God. They trusted
not to Him who alone could washed them clean. They were good seamen,
but they were nothing else. The captain comes on deck, as their bodies
lie near the gangway, lashed in their hammocks, with that of the other
man killed, and covered up with flags. We read a portion of the burial
service, and commit them to the deep, till "the sea shall give up her
dead."
The next island we make, sailing north, is Tutuila, one of the
Navigators', or Samoan group. The harbour we enter is Pango Pango. It
is the most curious we have seen. It runs deep into the land, and on
either side are high precipices, some a thousand feet high, with two or
three breaks, by which the waters of the harbour are approached from the
shore. The people come off to us with great confidence in their large
dug-out canoes. They are a brown race, like those of Tahiti. They are
evidently a better disposed people than those we have just left. We
have no fear about going on shore, and meet with civil treatment. Yet
they are great thieves and beggars--the greatest chiefs asking for
anything to which they take a fancy. They are also debased idolaters;
and Taro says they worship fish, and eels, and all sorts of creeping
things. They are also savage and cruel, and constantly fighting among
each other. As to their morals, they are undoubtedly superior to the
people of Tahiti, yet, from the style of their dances, we cannot argue
much in their favour.
There is much wild and beautiful scenery in the islands of this group,
and as far as we are able to judge, the climate is good. We keep as
usual on our guard, and from what we hear, not without reason, for
numerous articles of dress, and carpenters tools, and iron work, and
chests, and parts of a vessel, have been seen among the people, which
leaves no doubt that some unfortunate ship's company have been wrecked
on their shores or put off by them. Indeed, it is worthy of remark
that, with the exception of Tahiti, there is not a single group at which
we have touched where we have not had evidence that ships had been
attacked or wrecked, and a part, if not the whole, of the ship's company
cut off. In some, only boats' crews have been destroyed, as was the
fate of Captain Cook and his companions, but at several of the islands
several ships' crews have been captured, and the greater number of the
people killed and eaten. Indeed, such is the barbarous heathen and
debased condition of the countless inhabitants of this island-world of
the Pacific, that the navigation of these seas is indeed an undertaking
of great peril. No man can tell when he is safe, or at what moment the
treacherous islanders may not turn round and destroy him, just as they
did Captain Cook, and just as they have treated many other unfortunate
Englishmen since his time. Truly, it may be said, that these islands
lie in darkness and in the shadow of death. There is but one means by
which they can be changed--the sending to them the gospel. Yet my
brother seamen and the traders laugh at such a notion, and people at
home, who ought to know better, call it fanatical nonsense. I do not
wish to set my opinion up against that of others, but there are certain
points where a man can feel that he is right and others wrong, and this
is one of them. The gospel has power to change the evil heart. Nothing
else can do it. That never fails if accepted. God has said it. Why
should we doubt?
We hear that the people of this place are carrying on war with those of
another island. Some of the chiefs come and invite Captain Fuller to
help them, but he replies, that if they wish to fight, they must fight
among themselves. I would rather he had tried to dissuade them not to
fight at all. We make sail out of the harbour, and are becalmed not far
off a fortress on the summit of a high cliff which is to be attacked.
It is crowded with the whole population of the island. With our glasses
we can see clearly what is taking place. Soon the canoes from Pango
Pango, and of other tribes, their allies, appear. The people land, and
begin to scale the rock. Numbers are hurled down and killed, but others
climb up. Higher and higher they get. They seem determined to conquer.
I tremble for the fate of the hapless defenders if they succeed. We
can hear their shouts and cries. Some of the assailants have gone round
on the land side. We observe the multitude inside rushing here and
there. Those scaling the rock on our side have reached the summit;
several fall, but now the rest break through the stockade, and rush with
their clubs and spears against the shrieking crowd. The rest of the
invaders have succeeded in gaining an entrance on the opposite side.
The work of death goes on. All are indiscriminately slaughtered--men,
women, and children. The warriors hold together, and fight
despairingly. One by one they fall before the victors' clubs. A breeze
springs up, and we stand clear of the reefs and once more out to sea.
In the last glimpse we obtain of the fort the fighting is still going
on, and thus it continues till the scene fades in the distance.
"Such is the warfare carried on among these savages," observes Bent.
"Those who are victorious to-day will be attacked by other tribes before
long, and in like manner cut to pieces. In a few years not one of these
numberless tribes will remain. War kills many; but in war, crops are
destroyed, and famine ensues, and kills many more; and disease, with no
sparing hand, destroys numberless others also. A few years hence, those
navigating these seas will find none alive to welcome them."
The carpenters declare the ship in such good condition that the captain
and supercargo resolve to explore the Loyalty and New Hebrides, and
other groups in that direction, before seeking our final port. These
islands are especially rich in sandal-wood, with which it is resolved we
shall fill up. The first land we make is Mare--one of the Loyalty
Islands--a low coral island, about seventy miles in circumference. The
inhabitants are almost black, and a more brutalised savage race we have
not yet seen. There are four tribes constantly at war with each other--
the victors always eating their captives.
Hence we steer north, and bring up in a fine harbour in the island of
Fate, or Sandwich Island. It is a large, mountainous, and fertile
island, with great beauty of scenery. The inhabitants are tall,
fine-looking people, but most debased savages and terrible cannibals.
Here sandal-wood is to be had in abundance, and very fine, so that
Golding is highly delighted, and declares that it is the finest country
he has yet been in. More than once, however, our suspicions are aroused
with regard to the natives, who are, we think, meditating an attack on
us on board, or when we go on shore to bring off the wood. While here I
will write down a brief account of some of these numberless islands in
the Western Pacific, among which we are cruising.
The largest is New Guinea, to the north of Australia, the inhabitants of
which resemble the negroes of Africa, but are more barbarous. Next, to
the south-east of it, is New Caledonia, also a very large island, with
barbarous inhabitants. To the south-east is the Isle of Pines, and to
the north-east is the Loyalty group, of which Mare is one, and Livu, and
Uea. North-east again, we come to the considerable islands of Aneiteum,
Tana, Eromanga, and Fate. North again, we fall in with the Shepherds'
Islands and the New Hebrides, of which Malicolo and Espiritu Santo are
the largest; and then there are the Northern New Hebrides and the Santa
Cruz group, and the Solomon Islands, and New Britain, and New Ireland,
between where we now are and New Guinea. Then there are the Caroline
group--the isles as thick as the stars in the milky way; and the Ladrone
Islands, and Gilbert Islands, and many others, too many indeed to write
down. I do not say, however, that the countless inhabitants of these
islands do not differ from each other in appearance, and manners, and
customs. Some are almost jet black, and others only of a dark brown,
but in one thing they are similar--they are all equally fierce heathen
savages, and mostly cannibals.
We have now a full cargo, and Golding rejoicingly calculates that he
will make several hundreds per cent, on the original outlay. He does
not, methinks, reckon the lives of those who have been lost in the
adventure. Having laid in a supply of yams, taro, bread-fruit,
cocoa-nuts, and other roots, fruits, and vegetables, we raise our anchor
for the last time we hope till our voyage is over. The captain and
Golding can talk of nothing but their plans for the future--how they
will return and load the ship with sandal-wood and other valuables.
Whether the captain is thinking more of his speculations than of our
reckoning I know not. He has insisted that we are clear of all danger,
and we are running on at night under all sail before a fresh breeze,
when the cry of "breakers ahead" makes me spring from my berth. Before
the ship can be rounded to she strikes heavily. Again and again she
strikes, and I can hear the coral grinding through the bottom; the masts
go by the board, and the ship lies a helpless wreck on the reef. The
wind has fallen, and, being sheltered by another part of the reef, we
have no fear of her yet going to pieces. We wait anxiously for day, not
knowing whether we may not be near one of those cannibal islands from
whose inhabitants we may expect little mercy.
Another day has passed. We find a sand-bank some eighty yards across,
close inside the reef. On this, having saved one small boat, we are
landing our stores, and provisions, and arms.
We set to work to build a small vessel. The men labour diligently,
though they grumble. We, the officers, keep watch over the spirit
casks. Our great want is water. We dig deep, but the little we find is
brackish.
The schooner is finished, and Captain Fuller proposes steering for Port
Jackson, where there is a convict settlement.
The schooner is launched, but when we search for a passage to take her
over the reef, none is to be found. In vain we make the attempt.
Everywhere we are baffled. Some of our people almost go mad with
despair. I propose building a large flat-bottomed punt from the deck of
the ship, which can pass over the reef. All agree.
Our punt is almost completed. We see three objects in the distance,
which prove to be canoes. We are discovered, for they approach. They
are filled with black savages, who keep at a little distance, shouting
and flourishing their spears. We make signs of friendship, but they
still come on. We stand to our arms, and as they begin to hurl their
spears at us, we are compelled to fire; several fall. With loud howls
they paddle off to a distance, watching us. We have little doubt that
they will return.
The punt is completed and provisioned. We get her over the reef, and
try again to get the schooner across. In vain. We abandon her on the
reef. It is time to be away, for we see a fleet of canoes approaching
from the north. We hoist sail. The sea is smooth, and we glide rapidly
over it, but on come the canoes still faster. They may overwhelm us
with their numbers. Much of our powder has got wet. The men do not
know it though. Happily the savages catch sight of the schooner and our
tent left on the sand-bank. Their eagerness to secure the plunder from
the wreck overcomes every other consideration, and they dash over the
reef, and allow us to proceed unmolested.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
We have been many days at sea; frequent calms and little progress made.
The men are becoming discontented, and several are sick. We have
avoided nearing any land. Several islands have been seen, but were we
to touch the shore, our prospect of escape would be small indeed. Far
better, we agree, to trust to the fickle ocean. No, strange as it may
seem, there is not among all these rich and lovely islands one on which
we dare set foot.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Several of our men have died; the rest are in a state of
insubordination. We are on a short allowance of water, and we fear that
our provisions will not hold out. Our frail punt has been so damaged by
a gale that we can never cease baling.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Port Jackson.] When almost despairing that one of our company would
escape to tell the tale of our disasters, a ship hove in sight, took us
on board, and brought us hither. Thus ends our voyage, and all the
bright anticipations of wealth enjoyed so long by Golding and our old
captain--not a log of sandal-wood, not a string of pearls preserved. ...
Bent has told me his history. He feels his heart warmed with gratitude
to the Almighty, who by His grace has preserved him from death of body
and soul, and his whole mind is bent on going home with me forthwith,
and returning to carry the gospel of salvation to the perishing heathen
of the wide-spreading islands we have visited. Surely he could not
devote his strength and life to a more glorious purpose.