CHAPTER XII. THE LAST EIGHTEEN MONTHS. 1870-1871.

The prosperous days of every life pass away at last. Suffering and

sorrow, failure and reverse are sure to await all who live out anything

like their term of years, and the missionary is perhaps more liable than

other men to meet with a great disappointment. 'Success but signifies

vicissitude,' and looking at the history of the growth of the Church, it

is impossible not to observe that almost in all cases, immediately upon

any extensive progress, there has followed what seems like a strong

effort of the Evil One at its frustration, either by external

persecution, reaction of heathenism, or, most fatally and frequently

during the last 300 years, from the reckless misdoings of unscrupulous

sailors and colonists. The West Indies, Japan, America, all have the

same shameful tale to tell--what wonder if the same shadow were to be

cast over the Isles of the South?

It is one of the misfortunes, perhaps the temptations of this modern

world, that two of its chief necessaries, sugar and cotton, require a

climate too hot for the labour of men who have intelligence enough to

grow and export them on a large scale, and who are therefore compelled,

as they consider, to employ the forced toil of races able to endure

heat. The Australian colony of Queensland is unfit to produce wheat, but

well able to grow sugar, and the islands of Fiji, which the natives have

implored England to annex, have become the resort of numerous planters

and speculators. There were 300 white inhabitants in the latter at the

time of the visit of the 'Curacoa' in 1865. In 1871 the numbers were

from 5,000 to 6,000. Large sheep farms have been laid out, and sugar

plantations established.

South Sea Islanders are found to have much of the negro toughness and

docility, and, as has been seen, when away from their homes they are

easily amenable, and generally pleasant in manner, and intelligent.

Often too they have a spirit of enterprise, which makes them willing to

leave home, or some feud with a neighbour renders it convenient. Thus

the earlier planters did not find it difficult to procure willing

labourers, chiefly from those southern New Hebrides, Anaiteum, Tanna,

Erromango, &c., which were already accustomed to intercourse with

sandal-wood traders, had resident Scottish or London missionaries, and

might have a fair understanding of what they were undertaking.

The Fiji islanders themselves had been converted by Wesleyan

Missionaries, and these, while the numbers of imported labourers were

small, did not think ill of the system, since it provided the islanders

with their great need, work, and might give them habits of industry.

But in the years 1868 and 1869 the demand began, both in Queensland and

Fiji, to increase beyond what could be supplied by willing labour, and

the premium, £8 a head, on an able-bodied black, was sufficient to tempt

the masters of small craft to obtain the desired article by all possible

means. Neither in the colony nor in Fiji were the planters desirous of

obtaining workers by foul means, but labour they must have, and they

were willing to pay for it. Queensland, anxious to free herself from

any imputation of slave-hunting, has drawn up a set of regulations,

requiring a regular contract to be made with the natives before they are

shipped, for so many years, engaging that they shall receive wages, and

be sent home again at the end of the specified time. No one denies that

when once the labourer has arrived, these rules are carried out; he is

well fed, kindly treated, not over worked, and at the end of three or

five years sent home again with the property he has earned.

A recent traveller has argued that this is all that can be desired, and

that no true friend of the poor islander can object to his being taught

industry and civilisation. Complaints are all 'missionary exaggeration,'

that easy term for disposing of all defence of the dark races, and as

to the difficulty of making a man, whose language is not understood,

understand the terms of a contract--why, we continually sign legal

documents we do not understand! Perhaps not, but we do understand enough

not to find ourselves bound to five years' labour when we thought we

were selling yams, or taking a pleasure trip. And we have some means

of ascertaining the signification of such documents, and of obtaining

redress if we have been deceived.

As to the boasted civilisation, a sugar plantation has not been found

a very advanced school for the American or West Indian negro, and as a

matter of fact, the islander who has fulfilled his term and comes home,

bringing tobacco, clothes, and fire-arms, only becomes a more dangerous

and licentious savage than he was in his simplicity. It is absolutely

impossible, even if the planters wished it, to give any instruction to

these poor fellows, so scattered are the settlements, so various the

languages on each, and to send a man home with guns and gunpowder, and

no touch of Christian teaching, is surely suicidal policy.

Yet, as long as the natives went in any degree willingly, though the

Missionaries might deplore their so doing for the men's own sakes, and

for that of their islands, it was only like a clergyman at home seeing

his lads engage themselves to some occupation more undesirable than they

knew. Therefore, the only thing that has been entreated for by all the

missions of every denomination alike in the South Seas, has been such

sufficient supervision of the labour traffic as may prevent deceit or

violence from being used.

For, in the years 1869 and 1870, if not before, the captains of the

labour ships, finding that a sufficient supply of willing natives could

not be procured, had begun to cajole them on board. When they went

to trade, they were thrust under hatches, and carried off, and if the

Southern New Hebrides became exhausted, and the labour ships entered

on those seas where the 'Southern Cross' was a welcome visitor, these

captains sometimes told the men that 'the Bishop gave no pipes and

tobacco, he was bad, they had better hold with them.' Or else 'the

Bishop could not come himself, but had sent this vessel to fetch them.'

Sometimes even a figure was placed on deck dressed in a black coat, with

a book in his hand, according to the sailors' notion of a missionary,

to induce the natives to come on deck, and there they were clapped under

hatches and carried off.

In 1870, H.M.S. 'Rosario,' Captain Palmer, brought one of these vessels,

the 'Daphne,' into Sydney, where the master was tried for acts of

violence, but a conviction could not be procured, and, as will be seen

in the correspondence, Bishop Patteson did not regret the failure, as he

was anxious that ships of a fair size, with respectable owners, should

not be deterred from the traffic, since the more it became a smuggling,

unrecognised business, the worse and more unscrupulous men would be

employed in it.

But decoying without violence began to fail; the natives were becoming

too cautious, so the canoes were upset, and the men picked up while

struggling in the water. If they tried to resist, they were shot at, and

all endeavours at a rescue were met with the use of firearms.

They were thus swept off in such numbers, that small islands lost almost

all their able-bodied inhabitants, and were in danger of famine for

want of their workers. Also, the Fiji planters, thinking to make the men

happier by bringing their wives, desired that this might be done, but it

was not easy to make out the married couples, nor did the crews trouble

themselves to do so, but took any woman they could lay hands on.

Husbands pursued to save the wives, and were shot down, and a deadly

spirit of hatred and terror against all that was white was aroused.

There is a still lower depth of atrocity, but as far as enquiry of the

Government at Sydney can make out, unconnected with labour traffic, but

with the tortoise-shell trade. Skulls, it will be remembered, were the

ornament of old Iri's house at Bauro, and skulls are still the trophies

in the more savage islands. It seems that some of the traders in

tortoise-shell are in the habit of assisting their clients by conveying

them in their vessels in pursuit of heads. There is no evidence that

they actually do the work of slaughter themselves, though suspicion

is strong, but these are the 'kill-kill' vessels in the patois of the

Pacific, while the kidnappers are the 'snatch-snatch.' Both together,

these causes were working up the islanders to a perilous pitch of

suspicion and exasperation during the years 1870, 1871, and thus were

destroying many of the best hopes of the fruit of the toils of all these

years. But the full extent of the mischief was still unknown in Norfolk

Island, when in the midst of the Bishop's plans for the expedition of

1870 came the illness from which he never wholly recovered.

Already he had often felt and spoken of himself as an elderly man. Most

men of a year or two past forty are at the most vigorous period of their

existence, generally indeed with the really individual and effective

work of their lives before them, having hitherto been only serving their

apprenticeship; but Coleridge Patteson had begun his task while in early

youth, and had been obliged to bear at once responsibility and active

toil in no ordinary degree. Few have had to be at once head of a

college, sole tutor and steward, as well as primary schoolmaster all at

once, or afterwards united these charges with those of Bishop, examining

chaplain and theological professor, with the interludes of voyages which

involved intense anxiety and watchfulness, as well as the hardships

of those unrestful nights in native huts, and the exhaustion of the

tropical climate. No wonder then that he was already as one whose work

was well-nigh done, and to whom rest was near. And though the entrance

into that rest was by a sudden stroke, it was one that mercifully spared

the sufferings of a protracted illness, and even if his friends pause to

claim for it the actual honours (on earth) of martyrdom, yet it was no

doubt such a death as he was most willing to die, full in his Master's

service--such a death as all can be thankful to think of. And for

the like-minded young man who shared his death, only with more of the

bitterness thereof, the spirit in which he went forth may best be seen

in part of a letter written in the January of 1870, just after his

Ordination:--

'The right way must be to have a general idea of what to aim at, and to

make for the goal by what seem, as you go, the best ways, not to go on a

course you fixed to yourself before starting without having seen it. It

is so easy for people to hold theories, and excellent ones too, of the

way to manage or deal with the native races, but the worst is that when

you come to work the theory, the native race will never be found what it

ought to be for properly carrying it out. I am quite sure that nothing

is to be done in a hurry; a good and zealous man in ignorance and haste

might do more harm in one year than could be remedied in ten. I would

not root out a single superstition until I had something better to put

in its place, lest if all the weeds were rooted up, what had before been

fertile should become desert, barren, disbelieving in anything. Is not

the right way to plant the true seed and nourish it that it may take

root, and out-grow and choke the weeds? My objection to Mission reports

has always been that the readers want to hear of "progress," and the

writers are thus tempted to write of it, and may they not, without

knowing it, be at times hasty that they may seem to be progressing?

People expect too much. Those do so who see the results of Mission work,

who are engaged in it; those do so who send them. We have the precious

seed to sow, and must sow it when and where we can, but we must not

always be looking out to reap what we have sown. We shall do that

"in due time" if we "faint not." Because missionary work looks like a

failure, it does not follow that it is.

'Our Saviour, the first of all Christian Missionaries, was thirty years

of His life preparing and being prepared for His work. Three years

He spake as never man spake, and did not His work at that time look

a failure? He made no mistakes either in what He taught or the way of

teaching it, and He succeeded, though not to the eyes of men. Should not

we be contented with success like His? And with how much less ought we

not to be contented! So! The wonder is that by our means any result is

accomplished at all.'

These are remarkable words for a young man of twenty-seven, full of

life, health, and vigour, and go far to prove the early ripening of a

spirit chastened in hopes, even while all was bright.

In the latter part of February, Bishop Patteson, after about six days

of warning, was prostrated by a very severe attack of internal

inflammation, and for three days--from the 20th to the 22nd--was in

considerable danger as well as suffering. Mr. Nobbs's medical knowledge

seems, humanly speaking, to have brought him through, and on the 28th,

when an opportunity occurred of sending letters, he was able to write

a note to his brother and sisters--weak and shattered-looking writing

indeed, but telling all that needed to be told, and finishing with 'in

a few days (D.V.) I may be quite well;' then in a postscript: 'Our most

merciful Father, Redeemer and Sanctifier is merciful indeed. There was a

time when I felt drawing near the dark valley, and I thought of Father,

Mother, of Uncle Frank, and our little ones, Frankie and Dolly,'--a

brother and sister who had died in early infancy.

But it was not the Divine will that he should be well in a few days. Day

after day he continued feeble; and suffering much, though not so acutely

as in the first attack, Mr. Nobbs continued to attend him, and the

treatment was approved afterwards by the physicians consulted. All the

clergy took their part in nursing, and the Melanesian youths in turn

watched him day and night. He did not leave his room till the beginning

of April, and then was only equal to the exertion of preparing two lads

for Baptism and a few more for Confirmation. On Easter Sunday he was

able to baptize the first mentioned, and confirm the others; and, the

'Southern Cross' having by this time arrived for the regular voyage, he

embarked in her to obtain further advice at Auckland.

Lady Martin, his kind and tender hostess and nurse, thus describes his

arrival:--

'We had heard of his illness from himself and others, and of his being

out of danger in the middle of March. We were therefore much surprised

when the "Southern Cross," which had sailed a fortnight before for

Norfolk Island, came into the harbour on the morning of the 25th of

April, and anchored in our bay with the Bishop's flag flying. We went

down to the beach with anxious hearts to receive the dear invalid, and

were greatly shocked at his appearance. His beard, which he had allowed

to grow since his illness, and his hair were streaked with grey; his

complexion was very dark, and his frame was bowed like an old man's.

'The Captain and Mr. Bice almost carried him up the hill to our house.

He was very thankful to be on shore, and spoke cheerfully about the

improvement he had made on the voyage. It was not very apparent to us

who had not seen him for two years. Even then he was looking worn and

ill, but still was a young active man. He seemed now quite a wreck. For

the first fortnight his faithful attendant Malagona slept in his room,

and was ready at all hours to wait upon his beloved Bishop. Day by day

he used to sit by the fire in an easy chair, too weak to move or to

attend to reading. He got up very early, being tired of bed. His books

and papers were all brought out, but he did little but doze.'

Yet, in his despatch of the 2nd of May, where the manuscript is as firm,

clear, and beautiful as ever, only somewhat less minute, he says that he

had improved wonderfully on the voyage, though he adds that the doctor

told him, 'At an office, they would insure your life at fifty, instead

of forty-three years of age.'

Dr. Goldsboro had, on examination, discovered a chronic ailment, not

likely, with care and treatment, to be dangerous to life, but forbidding

active exertion or horse exercise, and warning him that a sudden jar

or slip or fall on rugged ground would probably bring on acute

inflammation, which might prove fatal after hours of suffering.

After, in the above-mentioned letter, communicating his exact state, he

adds:--'The pain has been at times very severe, and yet I can't tell

you of the very great happiness and actual enjoyment of many of those

sleepless nights; when, perhaps at 2 A.M., I felt the pain subsiding,

and prayer for rest, if it were His will, was changed into thanksgiving

for the relief; then, as the fire flickered, came restful, peaceful,

happy thoughts, mingled with much, I trust, heart-felt sorrow and

remorse. And Psalms seemed to have a new meaning, and prayers to be so

real, and somehow there was a sense of a very near Presence, and I felt

almost sorry when it was 5.30, and I got up, and my kind Melanesian

nurse made me my morning cup of weak tea, so good to the dry, furred

tongue.

'Well, that is all past and gone; and now the hope and prayer is, that

when my time is really come, I may be better prepared to go.

'Sir William and Lady Martin are pretty well; and I am in clover here,

getting real rest, and gaining ground pretty well. I have all confidence

in the prudence of the other missionaries and leave the work thankfully

in their hands, knowing well Whose work it is, and to Whose guidance and

protection we all trust.'

On the 9th, in a letter sent by a different route, he adds:--

'So I think it will come to my doing my work on Norfolk Island just as

usual, with only occasional inconvenience or discomfort. But I think I

shall have to forego some of the more risky and adventurous part of the

work in the islands. This is all right. It is a sign that the time is

come for me to delegate it to others. I don't mean that I shall not take

the voyages, and stop about on the islands (D.V.) as before. But I must

do it all more carefully, and avoid much that of old I never thought

about. Yet I think it will not, as a matter of fact, much interfere with

my work.

'I have, you understand, no pain now, only some discomfort. The fact

that I can't do things, move about, &c., like a sound healthy person

is not a trial. The relief from pain, the _resty_ feeling, is such a

blessing and enjoyment that I don't seem, as yet at all events, to care

about the other.'

So of that restful state Lady Martin says: 'Indeed it was a most happy

time to us, and I think on the whole to him. It was a new state of

things to keep him without any pricks of conscience or restlessness on

his part. He liked to have a quiet half-hour by the fire at night;

and before I left him I used to put his books near him: his Bible, his

Hebrew Psalter, his father's copy of Bishop Andrewes. Sometimes I would

linger for a few minutes to talk about his past illness. He used to

dwell specially on his dear father's nearness to him at that time.

He spoke once or twice with a reverent holy awe and joy of sleepless

nights, when thoughts of God had filled his soul and sustained him.

'His face, always beautiful from the unworldly purity of its expression,

was really as the face of an angel while he spoke of these things and of

the love and kindness he had received. He seemed to have been standing

on the very brink of the river, and it was yet doubtful whether he was

to abide with us. Now, looking back, we can see how mercifully God was

dealing with His servant. A time of quiet and of preparation for death

given to him apart from the hurry of his daily life, then a few months

of active service, and then the crown.

'At the end of a fortnight (?--you must please to rectify dates) the

"Southern Cross" sailed again, with Mr. Bice and Malagona on board;

when, just as we were expecting she would have reached Norfolk Island,

she was driving back into the harbour.'

The following letter to the Bishop of Lichfield gives an account of her

peril:--

'Taurarua: May 11, 1870.

'My dear Bishop,--I have to tell you of another great mercy. The

"Southern Cross" left Auckland on May 3--fair wind and fine weather.

'On May 5 she was within 185 miles of Norfolk Island.

'Then came on a fearful gale from the east and northeast to north-west.

They were hove-to for three days, everything battened down; port boat

and davits carried away by a sea; after a while the starboard boat

dashed to pieces.

'Malagona, my nurse at Norfolk Island, who was brought up for a treat,

was thrown completely across the cabin by one lurch, when she seemed

almost settling down. It was dark. The water in the cabin, which

had come through the dead-light, showed a little phosphoric glimmer.

"Brother," he said to Bice, "are we dying?" "I don't know; it seems like

it. We are in God's hands." "Yes, I know."

'Mr. (Captain) Jacobs was calm and self-possessed. He even behaved

excellently. Once, all on deck were washed into the lee scuppers, and

one man washed overboard; but he held a rope, and with it and the recoil

was borne in again upon the deck. Lowest barometer, 28° 65'! We were

startled yesterday at about 4 P.M. with the news of the reappearance of

the vessel. I think that some £30 and the replacing the boats will pay

damages, but one doesn't think of that.

'We hope to get, at all events, one ready-made boat, so as to cause no

delay. The good people at Norfolk Island will be anxious if the vessel

does not reappear soon.

'Auckland, June 6th--"Southern Cross" could not sail till May 23. If I

am not found by them at Norfolk Island on their return, they are to come

on for me. I hope to make a two months' cruise.

'General health quite well, no pain for weeks past. Dr. Goldsboro' says

I shall be better in a hot climate; but he won't let me out of his hands

yet.

'I really think I shall do very well by-and-by.

'Your very affectionate

'J. C. PATTESON.'

'The repairs took some time (continues Lady Martin). The delay must have

been very trying to the Bishop in his weak state, as it threw out all

the plans for the winter voyage; but he showed no signs of fretfulness

or of a restless desire to go himself to see after matters. The winter

was unusually cold after the vessel sailed again; and I used to wonder

sometimes whether he lay awake listening to the wind that howled in

gusts round the house; he may have, but certainly there was always a

look of unruffled calm and peace on his face when we met in the morning.

'Tis enough that Thou shouldst care Why should I the burden bear?

'Our dear friend mended very slowly. It was more than a month before he

could bear even to be driven up to Bishop's Court to receive the Holy

Communion in the private Chapel, and some time longer before he could

sit through the Sunday services. I cannot be sure whether he went first

on Ascension Day. His own letters may inform you. I only remember how

thankful and happy he was to be able to get there. He had felt the

loss of the frequent Communions in which he could join all through his

illness.'

He was making a real step towards recovery, and by the 10th of June he

was able to go and stay at St. Sepulchre's parsonage with Mr. Dudley,

and attend the gathering at the Bishop of Auckland's Chapel on St.

Barnabas Day; but the calm enjoyment and soothing indifference which

seems so often a privilege of the weakness of recovery was broken by

fuller tidings respecting the labour traffic that imperilled his work. A

schooner had come in from Fate with from fifteen to twenty natives

from that and other islands to work in flax mills; and a little later a

letter arrived from his correspondent in Fiji, showing to what an extent

the immigration thither had come, and how large a proportion of the

young men working in the sugar plantations had been decoyed from home on

false pretences.

This was the point, as far as at the time appeared in New Zealand. If

violence had then begun, no very flagrant instances were known; and the

Bishop was not at all averse to the employment of natives, well knowing

how great an agent in improvement is civilisation. But to have them

carried off without understanding what they were about, and then set to

hard labour, was quite a different thing.

'The difficulty is (he writes) to prove in a court of law what everyone

acknowledges to be the case, viz., that the natives of the islands are

inveigled on board these vessels by divers means, then put under the

hatches and sold, ignorant of their destination or future employment,

and without any promises of being returned home.

'It comes to this, though of course it is denied by the planters and the

Queensland Government, which is concerned in keeping up the trade.

'There will always be some islanders who from a roving nature, or from a

necessity of escaping retaliation for some injury done by them, or from

mere curiosity, will paddle off to a ship and go on board. But they

can't understand the white men: they are tempted below to look at some

presents, or, if the vessel be at anchor, are allowed to sleep on board.

Then, in the one case, the hatches are clapped on; in the other, sail is

made in the night, and so they are taken off to a labour of which they

know nothing, among people of whom they know nothing!

'It is the regulation rather than the suppression of the employment of

native labourers that I advocate. There is no reason why some of these

islanders should not go to a plantation under proper regulations. My

notion is that--

'1. A few vessels should be licensed for the purpose of conveying these

islanders backwards and forwards.

'2. That such vessels should be in charge of fit persons, heavily bound

to observe certain rules, and punishable summarily for violating them.

'3. That the missionaries, wherever they be situated, should be informed

of the names of the vessels thus licensed, of the sailing masters, &c.

'4. That all other vessels engaged in the trade should be treated as

pirates, and confiscated summarily when caught.

'5. That a small man-of-war, commanded by a man fit for such work,

should cruise among the islands from which islanders are being taken.

'6. That special legislative enactments should be passed enabling the

Sydney Court to deal with the matter equitably.

'Something of this kind is the best plan I can suggest.

'It is right and good that the "Galatea" should undertake such work; and

yet we want a little tender to the "Galatea" rather than the big vessel,

as I think my experience of large vessels is that there is too much of

routine; and great delay is occasioned by the difficulty of turning a

great ship round, and you can't work near the shore, and even if chasing

a little vessel which could be caught at once in the open sea, you

may be dodged by her among islands. Yet the sense of the country is

expressed very well by sending "Captain Edinburgh" himself to cruise

between New Caledonia, Fiji, and the Kingsmill Islands, for the

suppression of the illegal deportation of natives. So reads the despatch

which the Governor showed me the other day. He asked me to give such

information as might be useful to the "Galatea."'

With the Governor, Sir George Bowen, an old Oxford friend, Bishop

Patteson spent several days, and submitted to him a memorial to

Government, on the subject, both at home and in Queensland, stating the

regulations, as above expressed.

The 'Rosario,' Captain Palmer, had actually captured the 'Daphne,' a

vessel engaged in capturing natives, and brought her into Sydney, where

the master was tried; but though there was no doubt of the outrage, it

was not possible to obtain a conviction; and a Fiji planter whom the

Bishop met in Auckland told him that the seizure of the 'Daphne' would

merely lead to the exclusion of the better class of men from the trade,

and that it would not stop the demand for native labourers. It would

always pay to 'run' cargoes of natives into the many islets of Fiji; and

they would be smuggled into the plantations. And there the government

was almost necessarily by the whip. 'I can't talk to them,' said the

planter; 'I can only point to what they are to do; and if they are lazy,

I whip them.'

It was no wonder that Mr. Dudley thought the Bishop depressed; and,

moreover, he over-exerted himself, walking a mile and a half one day,

and preaching in the little Church of St. Sepulchre's. He longed to

return to St. Barnabas, but was in no state to rough it in a common

little sailing vessel, so he waited on. 'I am very lazy,' he says: 'I

can't do much work. Sir William and I read Hebrew, and discuss many

questions in which his opinion is most valuable. I have business letters

to write, e.g., about the deportation of islanders and about a clergyman

whom the Melbourne people are helping to go to Fiji.... This is perhaps

a good trial for me, to be sitting lazily here and thinking of others at

work!'

This was written about the middle of July, when the convalescent had

regained much more strength, and could walk into town, or stand to read

and write according to his favourite custom, as well as thoroughly enjoy

conversations with his hosts at Taurarua.

'I never saw (observes Lady Martin) a larger charity united to a more

living faith. He knew in Whom he believed; and this unclouded confidence

seemed to enable him to be gentle and discriminating in his judgments on

those whose minds are clouded with doubt.

'It was pleasant to see how at this time his mind went back to the

interests which he had laid aside for years. He liked to hear bits of

Handel, and other old masters, and would go back to recollections of

foreign travels and of his enthusiasm for music and art as freshly and

brightly as he had done in the first days of our acquaintance. But this

was only in the "gloaming" or late in the evening when he was resting in

his easy chair.

'At the end of July we were expecting a young relation and his bride to

spend a week with us before returning to England, and we gave the Bishop

the option of going to Bishop's Court for the time, where he was always

warmly welcomed. Some years before, he would certainly have slipped away

from the chatter and bustle; but now he decided to remain with us, and

throw himself into the small interests around, in a way which touched

and delighted the young couple greatly. He put away his natural

shrinking from society and his student ways, and was willing to enjoy

everything as it came. We had a curious instance at this time of the

real difficulty the Bishop felt about writing sermons. He had not

attempted to preach, save at Mr. Dudley's Church; but a week or two

before he left us, Archdeacon Maunsell came to beg of him to preach at

St. Mary's, where he had often taken service formerly. He promised to

do so without any apparent hesitation, and said afterwards to us that he

could not refuse such a request. So on Wednesday he began to prepare a

sermon. He was sitting each morning in the room where I was at work, and

he talked to me from time to time of the thoughts that were in his mind.

The subject was all that was implied in the words, "I have called thee

by thy name," the personal knowledge, interest, &c.; and I was rejoicing

in the treat in store, when, to my dismay, I saw sheet after sheet,

which had been written in his neat, clear hand as though the thoughts

flowed on without effort, flung into the fire. "I can't write," was

said again and again, and the work put by for another day. At last, on

Saturday morning, he walked up to the parsonage to make his excuses.

Happily Dr. Maunsell would not let him off, so on Sunday the Bishop,

without any notes or sermon, spoke to us out of the fulness of his heart

about the Mission work, of its encouragements and its difficulties. He

described, in a way that none can ever forget who heard the plaintive

tones of his voice and saw his worn face that day, what it was to be

alone on an island for weeks, surrounded by noisy heathen, and the

comfort and strength gained then by the thought that we who have the

full privileges of Christian worship and communion were remembering such

in our prayers.

'Our young friends sailed on Sunday, August 7; and we expected the

Bishop to sail the next day, but the winds were foul and boisterous, and

we had him with us till Friday morning, the 12th. Those last days were

very happy ones. His thoughts went back to Melanesia and to his work;

and every evening we drew him to tell of adventures and perils, and to

describe the islands to us in a way he had scarcely ever done before. I

think it was partly to please our Maori maiden, who sat by his side on a

footstool in the twilight, plying him with questions with so much lively

natural interest that he warmed up in return. Generally, he shrank

into himself, and became reserved at once if pressed to tell of his

own doings. He spoke one evening quite openly about his dislike to ship

life. We were laughing at some remembrance of the Bishop of Lichfield's

satisfaction when once afloat; and he burst into an expression of

wonder, how anyone could go to sea for pleasure. I asked him what he

disliked in particular, and he answered, Everything. That he always felt

dizzy, headachy, and unable to read with comfort; the food was greasy,

and there was a general sense of dirt and discomfort. As the time drew

nigh for sailing, he talked a good deal about the rapidly growing evil

of the labour trade. He grew very depressed one day, and spoke quite

despondingly of the future prospects of the Mission. He told us of one

island, Vanua Lava, I think, where, a few years ago, 300 men used to

assemble on the beach to welcome him. Now, only thirty or forty were

left. He saw that if the trade went on at the same rate as it had been

doing for the last year or two, many islands would be depopulated, and

everywhere he must expect to meet with suspicion or open ill will.'

'The next morning the cloud had rolled away, and he was ready to go

forth in faith to do the work appointed him, leaving the result in God's

hands. We accompanied him to the boat on Friday morning. Bishop and Mrs.

Cowie came down, and one or two of the clergy, and his two English boys

who were to go with him.

'It was a lovely morning. We rejoiced to see how much he had improved

in his health during his stay. He had been very good and tractable about

taking nourishment, and certainly looked and was all the better for

generous diet. He had almost grown stout, and walked upright and

briskly. Sir William parted with him on the beach, where we have had

so many partings; and I meant to do so too, but a friend had brought

another boat, and invited me to come, so I gladly went off to the

"Southern Cross," which was lying about half-a-mile off. The Cowies were

very anxious to see the vessel, and the Bishop showed them all about. I

was anxious to go down to his cabin, and arrange in safe nooks comforts

for his use on the voyage. In half an hour the vessel was ready to sail.

One last grasp of the hand, one loving smile, and we parted--never to

meet again on earth.'

So far this kind and much-loved friend! And to this I cannot but add an

extract from the letter she wrote to his sisters immediately after the

parting, since it adds another touch to the character now ripened:--

'I think you are a little mistaken in your notion that your brother

would feel no interest in your home doings. He has quite passed out of

that early stage when the mind can dwell on nothing but its own sphere

of work. He takes a lively interest in all that is going on at home,

specially in Church matters, and came back quite refreshed from Bishop's

Court with all that Bishop Cowie had told him.

'What he would really dread in England would be the being lionised, and

being compelled to speak and preach here, there, and everywhere. And yet

he would have no power to say nay. But the cold would shrivel him up,

and society--dinners, table talk--would bore him, and he would pine for

his warmth and his books. Not a bit the less does he dearly love you

all.'

The brother and sisters knew it, and forebore to harass him with

remonstrances, but resigned themselves to the knowledge that nothing

would bring him home save absolute disqualification for his mission.

His own last letter from Taurarua dwells upon the enjoyment of his

conversations with Sir William Martin and Bishop Cowie; and then goes

into details of a vision of obtaining young English boys to whom a good

education would be a boon, bringing them up at St. Barnabas, and then,

if they turned out fit for the Mission there, they would be prepared--if

not, they would have had the benefit of the schooling.

Meantime the 'Southern Cross,' with three of the clergy, had made the

voyage according to minute directions from the Bishop. Mr. Atkin made

his yearly visit to Bauro. He says:--

'I hardly expected that when we came back we should have found the peace

still unbroken between Wango and Hane, but it is. Though not very good

friends, they are still at peace. In the chief's house I was presented

with a piece of pork, about two pounds, and a dish of tauma (their

favourite), a pudding made of yams, nuts, and cocoa-nut milk, and cooked

by steaming. Fortunately, good manners allowed me to take it away.

Before we left the village, it took two women to carry our provisions. A

little boy came back with us, to stay with Taki. The two boys who ought

to have come last year are very anxious to do so still.

'July 12th.--We anchored the boat on the beach at Tawatana, and I went

into the oka (public house) to see the tauma prepared for the feast.

There were thirty-eight dishes. The largest, about four feet long, stood

nearly three feet high. I tried to lift one from the ground, but could

not; it must have been five hundredweight; the smallest daras held

eighty or a hundred pounds. I calculated that there was at least two

tons. When freshly made it is very good, but at these feasts it is

always old and sour, and dripping with cocoa-nut oil. The daras, or

wooden bowls, into which it is put, are almost always carved and inlaid

with mother-of-pearl shell.

'There was a great crowd at the landing-place at Saa (Malanta) to meet

us. Nobody knew Wate at first, but he was soon recognised. The boat was

pulled up into a little river, and everything stealable taken out. We

then went up to the village, passing some women crying on the way; here,

as at Uleawa, crying seems to be the sign of joy, or welcome. Wate's

father's new house is the best I have seen in any of these islands. It

has two rooms; the drawing-room is about forty-five feet long by thirty

wide, with a roof projecting about six feet outside the wall at the end

and four feet at the eaves; the bed-room is about eighteen feet wide,

so that the whole roof covers about seventy feet by forty. Wate's father

lives like a chief of the olden time, with large property, but nothing

of his own; all that he has or gets goes as soon as he gets it to his

retainers.

'August 3rd.--Went to Heuru. The bwea began about ten o'clock. A bwea

means a stage, but the word is used as we speak of "the stage." There

is a stage in this case about three feet square, twenty feet from the

ground, walled in to three feet height on three sides, with a ladder of

two stout poles. On the bwea sit or stand two or three men, on either

side having a bag; visitors run up the ladder, put their money or

porpoise teeth into the bags if small, give it to the men if large;

and, if their present is worth it, make a speech a little way down the

ladder. A party from a village generally send up a spokesman, and when

he has done go up in a body and give their money. Taki was orator for

Waiio, and I led the party with my present of beads, which if red or

white pass as money. The object of a bwea is to get money, but it may

only be held on proper occasions. The occasion of this was the adoption

of a Mara lad by the chief man at Heuru; to get money to pay the lad's

friends he held a bwea that all his friends might help him. As he was

a connection of Taki's, and Waiio is the richest of the settlements,

he got great spoils from thence.... At Tawatana the young men put on

petticoats of cocoa-nut leaves, and danced their graceful "mao." I had

only seen it before at Norfolk Island; it is very pretty, but must be

very difficult to learn; they say that not many know it. At Nora they

danced another most dirty dance: all the performers were daubed from

head to foot with mud, and wore masks covered with mud and ashes; the

aim of the dance, as far as I could see, was to ridicule all sorts

of infirmities and imbecilities, tottering, limping, staggering, and

reeling, but in time and order. One man had a basket of dripping mud

on his head which was streaming down his face and back all the time. A

great point is that the actors should not be recognised. Mr. Brooke was

likewise dropped at Florida. After this the rest of the party had gone

on to Mota, where George Sarawia was found working away well at

his school, plenty of attendants, and the whole place clean,

well-ventilated, and well-regulated.

A watch sent out as a present to Sarawia was a delight which he could

quite appreciate, and he had sent back very sensible right-minded

letters. Of Bishop Patteson's voyage the history is pieced together from

two letters, one to the sisters, the other to the Bishop of Lichfield.

Neither was begun till September, after which they make a tolerably full

diary.

'More than five weeks have passed since I left New Zealand, more than

three since I left Norfolk Island. Mr. Codrington and I reached Mota on

the morning of the eighth day after leaving Norfolk Island. I spent but

half an hour on shore with George Sarawia and his people; sailed across

to Aroa and Matlavo, where I landed eight or ten of our scholars; and

came on at once to the Solomon Islands. On Sunday morning (September 4)

what joy to find Mr. Atkin well and hearty!

'Mr. Brooke, who took up his abode at the village of Mboli, had with him

Dudley Lankana and Richard Maru, but they were a good deal absorbed by

their relations, and not so useful to him as had been hoped, though they

kept out of heathen habits, and remained constant to their intention of

returning.

'"Brooke," says the Bishop, "knows and speaks the one language of

Anudha very well, for there is but one language, with a few dialectical

varieties of course."

'A nice little house was built for him at Mboli, which I have always

thought to be a very healthy place.

'The coral grit and sand runs a long way in shore under cocoa-nut

groves, but there is no very dense undergrowth. The wind when easterly

blows freely along and is drawn rather upon the shore there. Two miles

to windward of Mboli is the good harbour of Sara, where the vessel

anchored with us.

'Brooke's house was raised on poles, five feet from the ground; the

floor made of neat smooth bamboos, basket-worked. He had his table and

two benches, one easy cane chair, cork bed, boxes, harmonium, and plenty

of food.

'Close to his house is the magnificent kiala, or boat house, about

180 feet long, 42 high, and about as many feet broad, a really grand,

imposing place. Here Brooke, in surplice, with his little band, had his

Sunday services, singing hymns, and chanting Psalms, in parts, in the

presence of from 150 to 300, once nearly 400 people, to whom he spoke of

course, usually twice, making two sermonets.

'The island is unlike any other; much more open, much less bush, but it

is not coral crag that crops out, but almost bare reddish rock, with but

little soil on it, and the population, which is large, finds it hard to

procure food.

'Three brothers, Takua, Savai, and Dikea, are the principal men. Local

chiefs exercise some small authority in each village. Anudha, or Aunta,

is properly the name of a small island, for there is no one great

mainland, but many islands separated by very narrow salt-water creeks

and rivers, along which a skiff may be sculled.

'Brooke has been over every part of it. His only difficulties arose from

jealousy on the part of Takua and Savai, who, living at Mboli, were

very wroth at his not being their tame Pakeha, at his asserting his

independence, his motive in coming to teach all, and make known to all

alike a common message. Especially they were indignant at his making

up small parties of boys from different parts of the island, as they

of course wanted to monopolise him, and through him the trade. He has

evidently been firm and friendly too, keeping his temper, yet speaking

out very plainly. The result, as far as bringing boys goes, is that

we have now thirteen on board, including Dudley and Richard, from six

different parts of the island. But so vexed was Takua, that he would not

fulfil his promise of sending his two little girls.

'The fortnight spent in the Solomon Islands has been very fine;

winds very light, and very little rain. We have at length got Stephen

Taroniara's child, a little girl of about seven years old, Paraitaku,

from the old grandmother and aunts. So, thank God, she will be brought

up as a Christian child. She is a dear little thing.

'This work of Mr. Atkin and Mr. Brooke in the easterly and more

north-westerly parts of the Solomon Islands respectively, is the nearest

approach that has yet been made to regular missionary operations there.

Our short visits in the "Southern Cross," or my short three to ten days'

visits on shore are all useful as preparing the way for something more.

But it is the quiet, lengthened staying for some months among these

islanders that gives opportunities for knowing them and their ways. They

do everything with endless talk and discussion about it; and it is only

by living with, and moving about constantly among them, that any hold

can be gained over them. I think that the Mission is now in a more

hopeful state than ever before in these islands.

'Our parties of scholars are large. They trust quite little fellows

with us, and for any length of time. True, these little fellows cannot

exercise any influence for years to come; but if we take young men or

lads of sixteen or eighteen years old, it needs as many years to qualify

them (with heathen habits to be unlearned, and with the quickness of

apprehension of new teaching already gone) for being useful among their

people as would suffice for the arrival of these young children at

mature age.'

Three Tikopian giants had made a visit at Mota in the course of this

year, attracted by the fame of the hospitality and fertility of the

place. George Sarawia had got on well with them, and tried to keep them

to meet the Bishop, but one of them fell sick, and the others took him

away. This was hailed as a possible opening to those two curious

isles, Oanuta and Tikopia, in so far as the 'Southern Cross' work was

concerned. The Bishop continues, to his former Primate:--

'On the whole, things seem to be going on favourably. The Banks

Islanders are very shy now of the vessels sent to carry off men to Fiji

or Queensland. They will find their way into the Solomon Islands soon.

One, indeed, a cutter, has taken about twenty men from Ulava. They were

all kept under hatches. We warn the people wherever we go.

'The pressing question now is how to supply our young men and women,

married Christian couples, with proper occupations to prevent their

acquiescing in an indolent, useless, selfish life.

'When their "education is finished," they have no profession, no need

to work to obtain a livelihood for themselves, wives, and children. They

can't all be clergymen, nor all even teachers in such a sense as to make

it a calling and occupation.

'Some wants they have--houses fit for persons who like reading and

writing, a table, a bench, a window becomes necessary. Coral lime houses

would be good for them. They make and wear light clothing, they wash and

cook on new principles, &c.; but these wants are soon supplied. Only

a practical sense of the duty of helping others to know what they have

been taught will keep them from idleness and its consequences. And how

few of us, with no other safeguard against idleness, would be other than

idle!

'Some, I think, may be helped by being associated with us, and with

their friends of the Solomon Isles, New Hebrides, in spending some

months on shore, where they would soon acquire a fair knowledge of the

language, and might be of great use to less advanced friends. This would

be a real work for them. Just as Mission work is the safeguard of

the settled Church, so it must be the safeguard of these young native

Churches.

'No doubt the Missionary spirit infused into the Samoan and Karotongan

Churches kept them living and fruitful. I am trying to think upon these

points.

'If the contrast be too violent between the Mission station with its

daily occupations and the island life, it becomes very difficult for the

natives to perpetuate the habits of the one amidst the circumstances of

the other.

'The habits acquired at Norfolk Island ought to be capable of being

easily transferred to the conditions of the Melanesian isles.

'They ought, I think, to wear (in the hot summer and on week days) light

loose clothing, which could be worn at home; or clothing of the same

shape and fit (though perhaps of warm materials) might be worn.

'The circumstances of the two places must be different, but we must

minimise the difference as much as possible.

'I often think of the steady-going English family, with regular family

prayers, and attendance twice at Church on Sunday, and the same people

spending two months on the Continent. No opportunity is made for family

prayers before the table d'hôte breakfast; and at least one part of the

Sunday is spent in the Roman Catholic Cathedral, or in a different way

from the home use. And if this be so with good respectable folk among

ourselves, what must be the effect of altered circumstances on our

Melanesians?

'It is not easy to keep up the devotional life on shore at home, or in

the islands, or on board ship with the same regularity. And where

the convert must be more dependent than we ought to be on external

opportunities, the difficulty is increased. So if the alteration be as

little as possible, we gain something, we make it easier to our scholars

to perpetuate uninterruptedly the Norfolk Island life.

'To live with them and try to show them how, on their island, to keep up

the religious life unchanged amidst the changed outward circumstances is

a good way, but then we can't live among them very long, and our example

is so often faulty.

'Curiously do these practical difficulties make us realise that there

may really be some benefit in artificial wants; and that probably the

most favourable situation for the development of the human character is

a climate where the necessaries of life are just sufficiently difficult

of production to require steady industry, and yet that nature should not

be so rigorous as to make living so hard a matter as to occupy the whole

attention, and dwarf the mental faculties.'

How remarkable, is the date of the following thoughts, almost like a

foreboding:--

'September 19th, 10 A.M. (to the sisters).--We are drawing near Santa

Cruz, about 100 miles off. How my mind is filled with hopes, not

unmingled with anxiety. It is more than eleven years since we sought to

make an opening here, and as yet we have no scholar. Last year, I went

ashore at a large village called Taive, about seven miles from the scene

of our disaster. Many canoes came to us from that spot, and we stood in

quite close in the vessel, so that people swam off to us.

'They are all fighting among the various villages and neighbouring

islets of the Reef Archipelago, twenty miles north of the main island.

It is very difficult what to do or how to try to make a beginning.

God will open a door in His own good time. Yet to see and seize on the

opportunity when given is difficult. How these things make one feel more

than ever the need of Divine guidance, the gift of the Spirit of

Wisdom and Counsel and ghostly strength. To human eyes it seems almost

hopeless. Yet other islanders were in a state almost as hopeless

apparently. Only there is a something about Santa Cruz which is probably

very unreal and imaginary, which seems to present unusual difficulties.

In a few days, I may, by God's goodness, be writing to you again about

our visit to the group. And if the time be come, may God grant us some

opening, and grace to use it aright!

'At Piteni, Matama, Nupani, Analogo, I can talk somewhat to the people,

who are Polynesians, and speak a dialect connected with the Maori of New

Zealand. I think that the people of Indeni (the native name for Santa

Cruz) are also more than half Polynesians; but I don't know a single

sentence of their language properly. I can say nothing about it. They

destroy and distort their organs of pronunciation by excessive use of

the betel-nut and pepper leaf and lime, so that no word is articulately

pronounced. It is very hard to catch the sounds they make amidst the

hubbub on deck or the crowds on shore; yet I think that if we had two

or three lads quietly with us at Norfolk Island, we should soon make out

something.

'Don't think I am depressed by this. I only feel troubled by the sense

that I frequently lose opportunities from indolence and other faults. I

am quite aware that we can do very little to bring about an introduction

to these islanders; and I fully believe that in some quite unexpected

way, or at all events in some way brought about independently of our

efforts, a work will be begun here some day, in the day when God sees it

to be fit and right.

(To the Bishop of Lichfield.)

'September 27th.--Leaving Santa Cruz we came to this group from Ulava

with light fair winds; left Ulava on Saturday at 6 P.M., and sighted the

island, making the west side of Graciosa Bay on the next Wednesday; sea

quite smooth; thermometer reached 92 degrees.

'Sunday.--Very calm, but a light breeze took us into Nukapu. A canoe

came off, I made them understand that it was our day of rest, and that

I would visit them atainu (to-morrow), a curious word. I gave a few

presents, and we slowly sailed on.

'Monday, 6 A.M.--Off Piteni, canoe off, went ashore, low tide, got into

a canoe, and so reached the beach, people well behaved, much talk of

taking lads, quite well understood. The speech is (you remember) very

Maori indeed. There were some nice lads, but no one came away. Four

canoes from Taumaho were here, and two Piteni men came back from Taumaho

while I was on shore.

'At Nukapu at 2.30 P.M. High water, went in easily over the reef by a

short cut, not by our old winding narrow passage. I was greatly pleased

by the people asking me on board, "Where is Bisambe?" "Here I am." "No,

no, the Bisambe tuai (of old). Your mutua (father). Is he below? Why

doesn't he come up with some hatchets?"

'So you see they remember you. A tall middle-aged man, Moto, said that

he was with us in the boat in 1859, and he and I remembered the one-eyed

man who piloted us.

'I went here also into the houses. Here is a quaint place; many things,

not altogether idols, but uncanny, and feared by the people. Women

danced in my honour, people gave small presents, &c., but no volunteers.

I could talk with them with sufficient ease; and took my time, lying at

my ease on a good mat with cane pillow, Anaiteum fashion. I told them

that they had seen on board many little fellows from many islands; that

they need not fear to let their children go; that I could not spend time

and property in coming year by year and giving presents when they were

unwilling to listen to what I said, but they only made unreal promises,

put boys in the boat merely to take them out again, and so we went away

atrakoi.'

There is a little weariness of spirits--not of spirit--in the

contemporaneous words to the home party:--

'I don't know what to write about this voyage. You have heard all about

tropical vegetation, Santa Cruz canoes, houses, customs, &c. If indeed I

could draw these fellows, among whom I was lying on a mat on Monday; if

you could see the fuzzy heads, stained white and red, the great shell

ornaments on the arms, the round plate of shell as big as a small dinner

plate hanging over the chest, the large holes in the lobes of the ears

rilled with perhaps fifteen or twenty rings of tortoise-shell hung on to

one another; the woven scarves and girdles stained yellow with turmeric

and stamped with a black pattern: then it would make a curious sight for

you; and your worthy brother, much at his ease, lying flat on his back

on two or three mats, talking to the people about his great wish to take

away some of the jolly little fellows to whom he was giving fish-hooks,

would no doubt be very "interesting." But really all this has become so

commonplace, that I can't write about it with any freshness. The volcano

in this group, Tenakulu, is now active, and was a fine sight at night,

though the eruption is not continuous as it was in 1859.

'October 9th--Near Ambrym [to the Bishop]. Some people from Aruas, the

large western bay of Vanua Lava, had been taken by force to Queensland

or Fiji. The natives simply speak of "a ship of Sydney."

'Wednesday.--Aroa and Matlavo. 'Henry Tagalana and Joanna and their baby

Elizabeth, William Pasvorang and Lydia, and six others, all baptized,

and four communicants among them, had spent five weeks on shore; a very

nice set. Six of them lived together at Aroa, had regular morning and

evening prayers, sang their hymns, and did what they could, talking to

their people. Codrington went over in a canoe, and spent four days with

them, much pleased. We brought three scholars for George from thence.

'Thursday, Mota.--Codrington says the time is come, in his opinion, for

some steps to be taken to further the movement in Mota. Grown-up people

much changed, improved, some almost to be regarded as catechumens.

'We left Mota, bringing all that were to come; indeed, we scarcely know

what it is nowadays to lose a boy or man--a great blessing. There had

been another visit of eleven canoes of Tikopians; friendly, though

unable to converse, and promising to return again in two months.

'October 11th.--A topsail schooner in sight, between Ambrym and

Paama--one of those kidnapping vessels. I have any amount of (to me)

conclusive evidence of downright kidnapping. But I don't think I could

prove any case in a Sydney Court. They have no names painted on some of

their vessels, and the natives can't catch nor pronounce the names of

the white men on board. They describe their appearance accurately, and

we have more than suspicions about some of these fellows.

'The planters in Queensland and Fiji, who create the demand for

labourers, say that they don't like the kidnapping any more than I do.

They pay occasionally from £6 to £12 for an "imported labourer," and

they don't want to have him put into their hands in a sullen irritable

state of mind.'

Touching at Nengone, the Bishop saw Mr. Creagh, who had recently visited

New Caledonia, whither Basset, the poor chief who had been banished

to Tahiti for refusing to receive a French priest, had been allowed to

return, on the Emperor Napoleon forbidding interference with Protestant

missionaries or their converts.

Wadrokala and his wife and child were brought away, making up a number

of 65 black passengers, besides the 60 scholars already at Norfolk

Island. The weather throughout the voyage had been unusually still, with

frequent calms, the sea with hardly any swell. And this had been

very happy for the Bishop; but he was less well than when he had left

Taurarua, and was unequal to attending the General Synod in New Zealand,

far more so to another campaign in Australia, though he cherished the

design of going to see after the condition of the labourers in Fiji.

He finishes his long letter to his former Primate:--

It is perhaps cowardly to say that I am thankful that I am not a

clergyman in England. I am not the man even in a small parish to stand

up and fight against so many many-headed monsters. I should give in, and

shirk the contest. The more I pray that you may have strength to endure

it. I don't think I was ever pugnacious in the way of controversy; and I

am very very thankful to be out of it.'

Indeed, the tone of the references to Church matters at home had become

increasingly cautious; and one long letter to Mrs. Martyn he actually

tore up, lest it should do harm. His feeling more and more was to wish

for patience and forbearance, and to deprecate violent words or hasty

actions--looking from his hermit life upon all the present distress more

as a phase of Church history that would develop into some form of good,

and perhaps hardly sensible of the urgency of the struggle and defence.

For peace and shelter from the strife of tongues was surely one of the

compensating blessings conferred on him. But, as all his companions

agree, he was never the same man again after his illness. There was a

lower level of spirits and of energy, a sensitiveness to annoyances, and

an indisposition to active exertion, which distressed him.

His day began as early as ever, and was mapped out as before, for

classes of all kinds, Hebrew and reading; but he seldom left his

room, except for Chapel and meals, being unable to take much out-door

exercise. He did not see so much of his elder scholars as before,

chiefly because the very large number of newer pupils made it necessary

to employ them more constantly; but he never failed to give each of them

some instruction for a short time every day, though with more

effort, for indeed almost everything had become a burthen to him. Mr.

Codrington's photograph taken at this time shows how much changed and

aged he had become. The quiet in which he now lived resulted in much

letter-writing, taking up correspondences that had slumbered in more

busy times, as his mind flew back to old friends: though, indeed, the

letters given in the preceding Memoir must not be taken by any means to

represent the numbers he wrote. When he speaks of sending thirty-five by

one mail, perhaps only one or two have come into my hands; and of those

only such portions are of course taken as illustrate his life, work,

character, and opinions without trenching on the reserve due to

survivors. Thus multitudes of affectionate letters, participating in

the joys and sorrows of his brother, his cousins and friends, can

necessarily find no place here; though the idea of his character is

hardly complete without direct evidence of the unbroken or more truly

increasing sympathy he had with those whom he had not met for sixteen

years, and his love for his brother's wife and children whom he had

never seen.

Soon after his return to Norfolk Island came a packet with a three

months' accumulation of home despatches. He read and replied in his old

conversational way, with occasionally a revelation of his deep inner

self:--

'I have been thinking, dear old Fan, about your words, "there would be

a good deal to give and take if you came home for a time;" less perhaps

now than before I was somewhat tamed by my illness. I see more of the

meaning of that petition, "from all blindness of heart, from pride,

vainglory, and hypocrisy; and from all uncharitableness."

'Alas! you don't know what a misspent life I looked back upon, never

losing hold, God be praised, of the sure belief in His promises

of pardon and acceptance in Christ. I certainly saw that a want

of sympathy, an indifference to the feelings of others, want of

consideration, selfishness, in short, lay at the bottom of very much

that I mourned over.

'There is one thing, that I don't mention as an excuse for a fault which

really does exist, but simply as a fact, viz., that being always, even

now, pressed for time, I write very abruptly, and so seem to be much

more positive and dogmatic than I hope, and really think, is the case.

I don't remember ever writing you a letter in which I was able to write

but as I would have talked out the matter under discussion in all its

bearings. This arises partly from impatience, my pen won't go fast

enough; but as I state shortly my opinion, without going through the

reasons which lead me to adopt it, no doubt much that I say seems to be

without reason, and some of it no doubt is.'

I need make no excuse for giving as much as possible of the

correspondence of these last few months, when--though the manner of his

actual departure was violent, there was already the shadow, as it were,

of death upon him.

To Sir J. T. Coleridge the letter was:--

'December 9, 1870.

'My dearest Uncle,--How long it is since I wrote to you!... And yet it

is true that I think more often of you than of anyone, except Jem, Joan

and Fan. In fact, your name meets me so often in one way or another--in

papers from England, and much more in books continually in use, that

I could not fail to think of you if I had not the true, deep love that

brings up the old familiar face and voice so often before my eyes....

'I wish I could talk with you, or rather hear you answer my many

questions on so many points. I get quite bewildered sometimes. It is

hard to read the signs of our times; so hard to see where charity

ends and compromise begins, where the old opinion is to be stoutly

maintained, and where the new mode of thought is to be accepted. I

suppose there always was some little difference among divines as to

"fundamentals," and no ready-made solution exists of each difficult

question as it emerges.

'There is reason for that being so, because it is part of our duty and

trial to exercise our own power of discretion and judgment. But so

much now seems to be left to individuals, and so little is accepted on

authority. In Church matters I have for years thought Synods to be

the one remedy. If men meet and talk over a difficulty, there is a

probability of men's understanding each other's motives, and thus

preserving charity. If one-twentieth part of a diocese insists upon

certain observances which nineteen-twentieths repudiate, it seems clear

that the very small minority is put out of court. Yet how often the

small minority contains more salt than the large majority!

'I know indeed I am speaking honestly, that I am not worthy to

understand dear Mr. Keble on many points. "The secret of our Lord"

is with such men, and we fail to understand him, nous autres I mean,

outside the sanctuary. Yet there is, I must confess it to you, my dear

uncle, a something about his book on Eucharistic Adoration which has the

character to me of foreign rather than of English divinity. I don't

want to be exclusive, far from it. I don't want to be Anglican versus

Primitive; but yet somehow, to me, there is a something which belongs

more to French or Italian than to English character about some parts of

the book. It is no doubt because I can't see what to his eye was plain.'

[An account of the voyage follows as before given.] 'The islanders

are beginning to find out the true character of the many small

vessels cruising among them, taking away people to the plantations in

Queensland, Fiji, &c. So now force is substituted for deceit. Natives

are enticed on board under promises (by signs of course, for nowhere can

they talk to them) of presents, tempted down below into the hold to get

tomahawks, beads, biscuit, &c., then the hatches are clapped on, and

they are stolen away. I have to try and write a statement about it,

which is the last thing I can do properly.'

[Then the history of the weddings and baptisms.] 'There is another

pleasant feature to be noticed. The older scholars, almost all of whom

are Banks Islanders, talk and arrange among themselves plans for helping

natives of the islands. Thus Edward Wogale, of Mota, volunteers to go

to Anudha, 300 or 400 miles off, to stay there with his friend Charles

Sapinamba of that island, to aid him in working among his people. Edward

is older and knows more than Charles. They talk in Mota, but Edward will

soon have to speak the tongue of Anudha when living there. B---- and his

wife offer to go to Santa Maria, Robert Pantatun and his wife to go to

Matlavo, John Nonono to go to Savo, and Andrew Lalena also. This is

very comforting to me. It is bona fide giving up country and home. It is

indicative of a real desire to make known the Gospel to other lands.

So long as they will do this, so long I think we may have the blessed

assurance that God's Holy Spirit is indeed working in their hearts. Dear

fellows! It makes me very thankful.

'My clerical staff is increased by a Mr. Jackson, long a friend and

supporter of the Mission....

'Atkin is a steady-going fellow, most conscientious, with a good

head-piece of his own, diligent and thoughtful rather than quick. He

and Bice read Hebrew daily with me, and they will have soon a very fair

knowledge of it. Joe Atkin knows his Greek Testament very fairly indeed:

Ellicott, Trench, Alford, Wordsworth and others are in use among us.

'I wish you could see some of these little fellows. It is, I suppose,

natural that an old bachelor should have pleasure in young things about

him, ready-made substitutes for children of his own. I do like them.

With English children, save and except Pena, I never was at my ease,

partly I think from a worse than foolish self-consciousness about so

ugly a fellow not being acceptable to children. Anyhow, I don't feel

shy with Melanesians; and I do like the little things about me, even

the babies come to me away from almost anyone, chiefly, perhaps, because

they are acquainted at a very early age with a corner of my room where

dwells a tin of biscuits.

'To this day I shut up and draw into my shell when any white specimen

of humanity looms in sight. How seldom do one's natural tastes coincide

with one's work. And I may be deceiving myself all along. It is true

that I have a very small acquaintance with men; not so very small an

acquaintance with men passed from this world who live in their books;

and some living authors I read--our English Commentators are almost all

alive.

'I think that I read too exclusively one class of books. I am not drawn

out of this particular kind of reading, which is alone really pleasant

and delightful to me, by meeting with persons who discuss other matters.

So I read divinity almost if not quite exclusively. I make dutiful

efforts to read a bit of history or poetry, but it won't do. My

relaxation is in reading some old favourite, Jackson, Hooker, Jeremy

Taylor, &c. Not that I know much about them, for my real studying time

is occupied in translating and teaching. And so I read these books,

and others some German, occasionally (but seldom) French: Reuss, for

example, and Guizot. And on the whole I read a fair amount of Hebrew;

though even now it is only the narrative books that I read, so to say,

rapidly and with ease.

'I wish some of our good Hebrew scholars were sound Poly- and Melanesian

scholars also. I believe it to be quite true that the mode of thought of

a South Sea islander resembles very closely that of a Semitic man. And

their state of mental knowledge or ignorance, too. It is certainly a

mistake to make the Hebrew language do the work of one of our elaborated

European languages, the products of thoughts and education and literary

knowledge which the Hebrew knew nothing of. A Hebrew grammar constructed

on the principle of a Greek or a Latin grammar is simply a huge

anachronism.

'How did the people of the time of Moses, or David, or Jeremiah think?

is the first question. How did they express their thoughts? is the

second. The grammar is but the mode adapted in speech for notifying and

communicating thoughts. That the Jew did not think, consequently did

not speak, like a European is self-evident. Where are we to find people,

children in thought, keenly alive to the outer world, impressible,

emotional, but devoid of the power of abstract thought, to whom long

involved processes of thought and long involved sentences of speech are

unknown? Consequently, the contrivances for stringing together dependent

clauses don't exist. Then some wiseacre of an 18th or 19th century

German writes a grammar on the assumption that a paulo-post-futurum is

necessarily to be provided for the unfortunate Israelite who thought and

talked child's language. Now, we Melanesians habitually think and

speak such languages. I assure you the Hebrew narrative viewed from the

Melanesian point of thought is wonderfully graphic and lifelike. The

English version is dull and lifeless in comparison. No modern Hebrew

scholar agrees with any other as to the mode of construing Hebrew.

Anyone makes anything out of those unfortunately misused tenses.

Delitzsch, Ewald, Gesenius, Perowne, Thrupp, Kay too, give no rule by

which the scholar is to know from the grammar whether the time is past,

present, or future, i.e., whether such and such a verse is a narrative

of a past fact or the prophecy of a future one. It is much a matter of

exegesis; but exegesis not based on grammar is worth very little.

'Really the time is not inherent in the tense at all. But that is a

strong assertion, which I think I could prove, give me time and a power

of writing clearly. Sir William Martin is trying to prove it.

'All languages of the South Seas are constructed on the same principle.

We say, "When I get there, it will be right." But all South Sea

Islanders, "I am there, and it is right." The time is given by something

in the context which indicates that the speaker's mind is in past,

present, or future time. "In the beginning God made" rightly, so, but

not because the tense gives the past sense, for the same tense very

often can't have anything to do with a past sense, but in the beginning

indicates a past time.

'The doctrine of the Vaw conversive is simply a figment of so-called

grammarians; language is not an artificial product, but a natural mode

of expressing ideas.

'And if they assume that Hebrew has a perfect and imperfect, or past and

future (for the grammars use all kinds of names), why on earth

should people who have, on their showing, a past tense, use a clumsy

contrivance of turning a future tense into a past, and vice versa?

'If people had remembered that language is not a trick invented and

contrived by scholars at their desks, but a natural gift, simple at

first, and elaborated by degrees, they could not have made such a mess.

'The truth is, I think, that such a contrivance was devised to make

Hebrew do what European scholars decided it must do, these very men

being ignorant of languages in a simple uncivilised form.

'But, my dear Uncle, what a prose! Only, as I think a good deal about

it, you will excuse it, I know.

'Well, it is time for the weddings! The Chapel looks so pretty, and

(you can't believe it) so do the girls, Emma, Eliza, and Minnie, to be

married to Edwin, Mulewasawasa, Thomas. The native name is a baptismal

one, nevertheless, and a good fellow he is, my head nurse in my illness.

'I can't write about politics. Then comes the astounding news of this

fearful war. What am I to say 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? Is such conduct a repudiation of

Christianity or not? Are nations less responsible than individuals? What

possible justification is there for this war? It is fearful, fearful on

every ground. Oh, this mighty belauded nineteenth-century civilisation!

'Yet society has improved in some ways. Even war is not without its

accompaniment of religion. And it brings out kindly sympathy and

stimulates works of charity. But what a fearful responsibility lies

upon the cause of the war. It is hard to acquit Louis Napoleon of being

really the cause.

'There would be great pleasure in seeing all the younger ones, not equal

of course to that of seeing you all; but as I get older in my ways and

habits, I think that my mind goes back more to the young ones. True, I

have a large family about me, 145 Melanesians here now. Yet there is

the want of community of thought on some subjects, and the difficulty

of perfectly easy communication with them. No Melanesian tongue is like

English to me.

'I wrote a first sheet, but filled it up with mere stupid thoughts about

questions of the day, not worth sending. And this long letter, badly

written, too, will weary your eyes.

'I must end. My kindest love to Aunt, Mary, and all. Always, my dearest

Uncle,

'Your loving and grateful Nephew,

'J. C. PATTESON.'

Two letters of December 12 follow; the first to Bishop Abraham.

Mrs. Palmer's picture of the brides, at the last of the weddings the

Bishop so enjoyed, may be acceptable. It went to Mrs. Abraham by the

same opportunity:--

'Three were married a short time before Christmas; they, with five

others, were baptized on Advent Sunday. They had been here about

thirteen months, and had got on very well during that time, improved in

every way. I think some of them are loveable girls, and it is pleasant

to see them so happy and at home here.

'They were a queer-looking set when they first came, or I suppose I

thought them so.

'I got some of the older girls to give them a good wash all over in warm

water, and then gave them the new clothes. They looked at me in such a

curious way. They had heard of me, "Palmer's wife," from the others, but

had not seen an Englishwoman before. A few days after they came, I ran

into their room with my hair down, and they exclaimed with wonder "We

ura ras" ("very good"), almost shouting, and then I told them to

feel it, and some kissed it with gentle reverence, as though it were

something very extraordinary.

'They are very kind and obliging in doing anything I want. They have

to be looked after a good bit, but are very obedient. I did not imagine

they would give so little trouble. They are great chatterboxes, and very

noisy, but all in an innocent way. They seldom quarrel among themselves.

I don't think their feelings are so strong as those of the Maoris,

either of love or hate.

'I wish you could have been present at the baptism. They looked so

solemn, and spoke out very distinctly. They wore white calico jackets,

and the Font was prettily decorated. The whole service was impressive,

and not less so our good Bishop's voice and manner. They looked very

nice, and it was amusing to see how they took it. Only one could I get

to look in the glass; and she said the flowers were too large: the other

two only submitted to being beautified.'

I return to the Bishop's correspondence:--

'Norfolk Island: Fourth Sunday in Advent, 1870.

'My dearest Joan,--I am choosing--a strange moment to write in. It is

8.30 A.M., and in an hour I am going to the New Church, built by the

Pitcairners, to ordain Mr. C. Bice, Priest. I was up as usual early this

morning, and I am not well, and feeling queer, and having already

read and had Morning Chapel Service, I take now this means of quieting

myself. You see it is nearly three miles to the "town;" the service will

be nearly three hours; I don't quite know how I shall get through it.

I thought of having the service here; but our little Chapel won't hold

even our Melanesian party (80 out of 145) who attend public prayers, and

of course the islanders want to see, and it is good for them to see an

ordination.

'This is my first expedition to the town since I came from the islands,

I shall have a horse in case I am very tired, but I would rather walk

all the way if I can.

'Just now I am headachy, and seedy too; but I think it is all coming

right again. I hope to have a bright happy Christmas.

'After this day's Ordination we shall number one Bishop, six Priests,

and one Deacon. There are three or four Melanesians who ought soon to be

ordained; and if it is possible for me to spend two or three months this

next winter at Mota, I must read with George, and perhaps ordain him

Priest. It troubles me much that during all these summer months there

can be no administration of the Holy Communion, though there are six

communicants, besides George, now living for good at Mota. There will be

four or five next year taking up their abode at the neighbouring island

of Aroa.

'Dear Joan! At such times as these, when one is engaged in a specially

solemn work, there is much heart-searching, and I can't tell you how my

conscience accuses me of such systematic selfishness during many long

years. I do see it now, though only in part. I mean, I see how I was all

along making self the centre, and neglecting all kinds of duties, social

and others, in consequence.

'I think that self-consciousness, a terrible malady, is one's misfortune

as well as one's fault. But the want of any earnest effort at correcting

a fault is worse perhaps than the fault itself. And I feel such great,

such very great need for amendment here. This great fault brings its

punishment in part even now. I mean, there is a want of brightness,

cheerfulness, elasticity of mind about the conscious man or woman. He

is prone to have gloomy, narrow, sullen thoughts, to brood over fancied

troubles and difficulties; because, making everything refer to and

depend on self, he naturally can get none of that comfort which they

enjoy whose minds naturally turn upwards for help and light.

'In this way I do suffer a good deal. My chariot-wheels often drag very

heavily. I am not often in what you may call good spirits. And yet I

am aware that I am writing now under the influence of a specially

depressing disorder, and that I may misinterpret my real state of mind.

No one ought to be happier, as far as advantages of employment in a good

service, and kindness of friends, &c., can contribute to make one happy.

And, on the whole, I know my life is a happy one. I am sure that I have

a far larger share of happiness than falls to the lot of most people.

Only I do feel very much the lack, almost the utter lack of just that

grace which was so characteristic of our dear Father, that simplicity

and real humility and truthfulness of character!

'Well, one doesn't often say these things to another person! But it is

a relief to say them. I know the remedy quite well. It is a very

simple case for the doctor to deal with; but it costs the patient just

everything short of life, when you have to dig right down and cut out by

the roots an evil of a whole life standing. I assure you that it is hard

work, because these feelings of ours are such intangible, untractable

things! It is hard to lay hold of, and mould and direct them.

'But I pray God that I may not willingly yield to these gloomy unloving

feelings. As often as I look out of myself upon Him, His love and

goodness, then I catch a bright gleam. I think that you will not suspect

me of being in a morbid state of mind. You will say, "Poor old fellow!

he was seedy and depressed when he wrote all that." And that's true, but

not the whole truth. I have much need of your prayers, indeed, for grace

and strength to correct faults of which I am conscious, to say nothing

of unknown sin.

'The Ordination is over, a quiet solemn service. The new Church, which I

had not seen, is very creditable to the people, who built it themselves.

It is wooden, about thirty-six or thirty-eight feet high, will hold 500

people well.

'Mr. Nobbs preached a very good sermon. I got on very well. Singing very

good. Five Priests assisting in this little place!

'Christmas Eve.--What a meaning one of my favourite hymns (xxxviii. in

"Book of Praise") has, when one thinks of this awful war, how hard to

realize the suffering and misery; the rage and exasperation; the pride

and exaltation! How hard to be thankful enough for the blessings of

peace in this little spot!

'Our Chapel is beautifully decorated. A star at the east end over

the word Emmanuel, all in golden everlasting flame, with lilies and

oleanders in front of young Norfolk Island pines and evergreens.

'Seven new Communicants to-morrow morning. And all things, God be

praised, happy and peaceful about us. All Christmas blessings and joys

to you, dear ones!

'Christmas Day, 3 P.M.--Such a happy day! Such a solemn, quiet service

at 7 A.M., followed by a short joyous 11 A.M. service. Christmas Hymn,

one with words set to the tune for "Hark! the herald Angels sing."

'You know we never have the Litany on Sundays, because everybody is in

Chapel twice a day, and we of course have it on Wednesday and Friday,

and every native Communion Sunday, i.e., every alternate Sunday; we have

no Communion Service at 11 A.M. as our Communicants have been in Chapel

at the 7 o'clock service; so to-day, the Lessons being short, the

service, including my short service, was over by 11.20.

'Now we have a week's holiday, that is, no school; though I think it

is hard work, inasmuch as the preparing plans for school lessons,

rearranging classes, sketching out the work, is tiring to me.

'Then I have such heaps of letters, which do worry me. But, on the other

hand, I get much quiet time for some reading, and I enjoy that more than

anything. Ten of our party were in Chapel at 11 A.M. with us for the

first time. You know that we don't allow everyone to come, but only

those that we believe to be aware of the meaning of Prayer, and who can

read, and are in a fair way to be Catechumens. All these ten will, I

hope, be baptized this summer.

'We are obliged, seriously, to think of a proper Chapel. The present one

is 45 ft. by 19 ft. and too small. It is only a temporary oblong room;

very nice, because we have the crimson hangings, handsome sandal-wood

lectern, and some good carving. But we have to cram about eighty

persons into it, and on occasions (Baptisms and Confirmations, or at

an Ordination) when others come, we have no room. Mr. Codrington

understands these things well, and not only as an amateur archaeologist;

he knows the principle of building well in stone and wood. Especially

useful in this knowledge here, where we work up our own material to

a great extent. Our notion--his notion rather--is to have stone

foundations and solid stone buttresses to carry a light roof. Then the

rest will be wood. It ought to be about sixty feet by thirty, exclusive

of chancel and apse. When we get all the measurements carefully made,

we shall send exact accounts of the shape and size of the windows, and

suggest subjects for stained glass by Hardman, or whoever might now be

the best man. I hope that it won't cost very much, £perhaps 500.

December 21st.--We have not had a fine Christmas week, heavy rain and

hot winds. But the rain has done much good. The Norfolk Islanders have

much influenza, but we are at present quite free from it.

'Yesterday I spent two hours in training and putting to rights my

stephanotis, which now climbs over half my verandah. I have such

Japanese lilies making ready to put forth their splendours. Two or three

azaleas grow well. Rhododendrons won't grow well. My little pines grow

well, and are about seven feet high. It is very pleasant to see the

growth of these things when I return from the voyage. The "pottering

about" the little gardens, the park-like paddocks, with our sheep and

cattle and horses, gives me some exercise every day. I go about quietly,

and very often by myself, with a book. After thinking of all kinds

of things and persons, I think that my increased and increasing

unwillingness to write is one proof of my not being so strong or

vigorous. I can't tell you what an effort it is to me to write a

business letter; and I almost dread a long effusion from anyone,

because, though I like reading it, I have the thought of the labour of

answering it in my mind.

'Then again, I who used to be so very talkative, am taciturn now.

Occasionally, I victimize some unfortunate with a flow of language about

some point of divinity, or if I get a hearer on South Sea languages, I

can bore him with much satisfaction to myself. But I am so stupid about

small talk. I cannot make it. When I have to try with some Norfolk

Islander, e.g. it does weary me so! Mind, I don't despise it. But

instead of being a relaxation, it is of all things the hardest work to

me. I am very dull in that way, you know. And sometimes I think people

must take me to be sullen, for I never know how to keep the talk going.

Then if I do talk, I get upon some point that no one cares for, and bore

everybody. So here, too, I fall back on my own set of friends, who are

most tolerant of my idiosyncrasies, and on my Melanesians who don't

notice them.

'Your loving Brother,

'J. C. P.'

In spite of this distaste for writing, a good many letters were sent

forth during the early months of 1871, most of them the final ones to

each correspondent. The next, to Miss Mackenzie, is a reply to one

in which, by Bishop Wilkinson's desire, she had sought for counsel

regarding the Zulu Mission, especially on questions that she knew by

experience to be most difficult, i.e., of inculcating Christian modesty,

and likewise on the qualifications of a native ministry:--

'Norfolk Island: Jan. 26, 1871.

'My dear Miss Mackenzie,--In addition to a very long and interesting

letter of yours, I have a letter from my sister, who has just seen you

at Havant, so I must lose no more time in writing.

'First, let me say that I am as sure as I can be of anything that I

have not registered, that I wrote to thank you for the prints long ago.

Indeed, all these many gifts of yours are specially valuable as having

been once the property of your brother, of whom it seems presumptuous

for me to speak, and as having actually been used in Mission work in so

distant a part of the world.

'I need not say that "Thomas a Kempis," his sextant, and his pedometer,

are among my few real valuables. For the use of the prints, I can't say

much on my own knowledge. My classes are for the most part made up of

lads and young men, teachers, or preparing for Confirmation or Holy

Communion; one class, always of younger ones, being prepared for

Baptism; and sometimes youths, newcomers, when we have to take in hand a

new language. Those prints are not of much use, therefore, to my special

classes. Most of them have passed beyond the stage of being taught by

pictures, though they like to look at them. But Mrs. Palmer has been

using them constantly with the girls' classes, and so with the less

advanced classes throughout the school.

'One difficulty will to the end be, that by the time we can talk freely

to our scholars, and they can understand their own language employed

as a vehicle for religious teaching, they are not sufficiently supplied

with books. True, we have translations of such parts of the Bible as

quite enable us to teach all that a Christian need know and do; but I

often wish for plenty of good useful little books on other subjects,

and I don't see my way to this. Our own press is always at work printing

translations, &c. It is not easy to write the proper kind of book in

these languages, and how are they to be printed? We haven't time to

print them here, and who is to correct the press elsewhere? The great

fact in your letter is the account of Bishop Wilkinson's Consecration. I

am heartily glad to hear of it, and I will send, if I can, now, if not,

soon, an enclosure to him for you to forward. I doubt if I can help him

by any means as to qualifications of candidates for Holy Orders, &c. Our

work is quite in a tentative state, and I am sometimes troubled to see

that this Mission is supposed to be in a more advanced state than is

really the case.

'For example, the report of a man going ashore dressed as a Bishop with

a Bible in his hand to entice the natives away, assumes islands to be

in a state where the conventional man in white tie and black-tail coat

preaches to the natives. My costume, when I go ashore, is an old Crimean

shirt, a very ancient wide-awake. Not a syllable has in all probability

ever been written, except in our small note-books, of the language of

the island. My attention is turned to keeping the crowd in good-humour

by a few simple presents of fish-hooks, beads, &c. Only at Mota is there

a resident Christian; and even there, people who don't know what Mota

was, and what a Melanesian island, for the most part, alas! still is,

would see nothing to indicate a change for the better, except that the

people are unarmed, and would be friendly and confiding in their manner

to a stranger.

'I hardly know how to bring my Melanesian experience to bear upon

Zululand. The immorality, infanticide, superstition, &c., seem to be as

great in a Melanesian island as in any part of the heathen world. And

with our many languages, it is not possible for us to-know the "slang"

of the various islands.

'We must be cheery about it all. Just see what the old writers, e.g.

Chrysostom, say about Christian (nominally) morals and manners at

wedding feasts, and generally. Impurity is the sin, par excellence, of

all unchristian people. Look at St. Paul's words to the Corinthians and

others. And we must not expect, though we must aim at, and hope, and

pray for much that we don't see yet.

'What opportunity will Bishop Wilkinson have for testing the practical

teaching power and steady conduct of his converts?

'Many of our Melanesians have their classes here, and we can form an

opinion of their available knowledge, how far they can reproduce what

they know, &c. We can see, too, whether they exercise any influence over

the younger ones.

'Twelve (this season) are counted as sixth form, or monitors, or

whatever you please to call them. [Then ensues an account of the

rotation of industrial work, &c.]

'The other day I was examining an Ysabel lad, not formally in school,

but he happened to be in my room, as they are always hanging about (as

you know). He knew much more than I expected: "Who taught you all this?

I am very well pleased."

'"Wogale," was the answer.

'Edward Wogale is George Sarawai's own brother, volunteering now to go

to Anudha (Florida), near Ysabel Island. If I see that a young man

(by his written notes, little essays so to say, analysis of lessons)

understands what he has been taught; and if I see (by the proficiency

of his pupils) that he can reproduce and communicate this teaching to

others, then one part of the question of his fitness is answered. If

he has been here for years, always well conducted, and if when at home

occasionally he has always behaved well and resisted temptation; and

perhaps I should add, if he is respectably married, or about to be

married, to a decent Christian girl, then we may hope that the matter of

moral fitness may be hopefully settled. Assuming this, and thank God, I

believe I may assume that it is the case with several here now, as soon

as a Deacon is required in any place that he is willing to work in, I

should not hesitate to ordain him; but I can't specify exactly what

his qualifications ought to be, because I can't undertake to settle the

difficult question of what constitutes absolutely essential teaching

for a Christian, i.e., the doctrine of fundamentals. Practically one

can settle it; and that quite as well as in England, where there is, and

must be any amount of inequality in the attainments and earnestness of

the candidates, and where no examination can secure the fitness or even

the mental capacity of the minister.

'I say to myself, "Here is an island or a part of an island from which

we have had a good many scholars. Some married ones are going back to

live permanently. They are Christians, and some are Communicants. They

wish to do what they can to get the young ones about them for regular

school and to talk to the older people. They all have and can use their

Prayer-books. The people are friendly. Is there one among them of whom I

can (humanly speaking) feel sure that, by God's blessing, he will lead a

good life among them, and that he can and will teach them faithfully the

elements of Christian truth and practice? If we all agree that there is

such a one, why not ordain him?"

'But I want to see people recognising the office of Deacon as something

very distinct indeed from that of the Priest. It is a very different

matter indeed, when we come to talk about candidates for Priest's

orders.

'Again, look at the missionary clergy of old times. No doubt in

mediaeval times so much stress was laid upon the mere perfunctory

performance of the ministerial act, as apart from careful teaching of

the meaning and purport of the act, that the mediaeval missionary is so

far not a very safe model for us to imitate.

'But I suppose that multitudes of men did good work who could no more

comprehend nor write out the result of lessons that Edward, Henry,

Edmund, Robert and twenty others here are writing out, than our English

peasant can comprehend a learned theological treatise.

'And we must consider the qualifications of one's native clergy in

relation to the work that they have to do. They have not to teach

theology to educated Christians, but to make known the elements of

Gospel truth to ignorant heathen people. If they can state clearly and

forcibly the very primary leading fundamental truths of the Gospel, and

live as simple-minded humble Christians, that is enough indeed.

'Perhaps this is as likely to make the Bishop understand my notions on

the subject as any more detailed account of the course of instruction. I

really have not time to copy out some ten or twelve pages of some older

lad's note-book. I think you would be satisfied with their work. I don't

mean, of course, the mere writing, which is almost always excellent, but

there is a ready apprehension of the meaning of any point clearly put

before them, which is very satisfactory. I am now thinking of the

twenty or thirty best among our 145 scholars. This is a confused, almost

unintelligible scrawl; but I am busy, and not very fresh for work.

'Yours very truly,

'J. C. PATTESON.'

A letter to Bishop Abraham was in hand at the same time, full of replies

to the information in one newly received from this much valued friend.

After deploring an attack of illness from which Mrs. Abraham had been

suffering, comes the remark--

'You know what one always feels, that one can't be unhappy about good

people, whatever happens to them. I do so enjoy your talk about Church

works in England. It makes the modern phraseology intelligible. I know

now what is meant by "missions" and "missioners" and "retreats."

'I was thinking lately of George Herbert at Hereford, as I read the four

sermons which Vaughan lately preached there, one on the Atonement, which

I liked very much indeed. The Cathedral has been beautifully restored,

has it not? Then, I think of you in York Minster on November 20, with

that good text from Psalm xcvi. I read your letter on Tuesday; on which

day our morning Psalms in Chapel are always chanted, xcv., xcvi., xcvii.

The application seems very natural, but to work out those applications

is difficult. The more I read sermons, and I read a good many, the more

I wonder how men can write them!

'Mind, I will gladly pay Charley ten shillings a sermon, if he will copy

it out for me. It will do the boy good. Dear old Tutor used to fag me

to write copies of the Bishop's long New Zealand letters, as I wrote a

decent hand then. Don't I remember a long one from Anaiteum, and how I

wondered where on earth or sea Anaiteum could be!

'I want to hear men talk on these matters (the Eucharistic question) who

represent the view that is least familiar to me. And then I feel, when

it comes to a point of Greek criticism, sad regret and almost remorse at

my old idleness and foolish waste of time when I might have made myself

a decent scholar. I cram up passages, instead of applying a scholarly

habit of mind to the examination of them. And now too, it is harder than

ever to correct bad habits of inattention, inaccuracy, &c. I am almost

too weary oftentimes to do my work anyhow, much less can I make an

effort to improve my way of doing it. But I must be content, thankful to

get on somehow or other, and to be able to teach the fellows something.

'It is quite curious to see how often one is baffled in one's attempts

to put oneself en rapport with the Melanesian mind. If one can manage

it, they really show one that they know a good deal, not merely by

heart, or as matter of memory, that is worth little; but they show that

they can think. But often they seem utterly stupid and lost, and one is

perplexed to know what their difficulty can possibly be. One thing is

clear, that they have little faculty of generalization. As you know,

they seldom have a name for their island, but only names for each tiny

headland, and bay, and village. The name for the island you must learn

from the inhabitants of another island who view the one whose name you

are seeking as one because, being distant, it must appear to them in

its oneness, not in its many various parts. Just so, they find it very

difficult to classify any ideas under general heads. Ask for details,

and you get a whole list of them. Ask for general principles, and only a

few can answer.

'For example, it is not easy to make them see how all temptations to sin

were overcome in the three representative assaults made upon Him in the

wilderness; how love is the fulfilling of the Law; or how the violation

of one Commandment is the violation (of the principle) of all.

'Then they have much difficulty (from shyness partly, and a want of

teaching when young) in expressing themselves. They really know much

that only skilful questioning, much more skilful than mine, can get out

of them. It wants--all teaching does--a man with lots of animal spirits,

health, pluck, vigour, &c. Every year I find it more difficult.'

To another of the New Zealand friends who had returned to England there

was a letter on Jan. 31:--

'My dear Mr. Lloyd,--I must send you a line, though I have little to

say. And I should be very sorry if we did not correspond with some

attempt at regularity.

'What can one think of long without the mind running off to France? What

a wonderful story it is! Only Old Testament language can describe

it, only a Prophet can moralise upon it. It is too dreadful in its

suddenness and extent. One fears that vice and luxury and ungodliness

have destroyed whatever of chivalry and patriotism there once was in

the French character. To think that this is the country of St. Louis

and Bayard! The Empire seems almost systematically to have completed

the demoralisation of the people. There is nothing left to appeal to,

nothing on which to rally. It is an awful thing to see such judgments

passing before our very eyes. So fearful a humiliation may do something

yet for the French people, but I dread even worse news. It nearly came

the other day to a repetition of the old Danton and Robespierre days.

'Here we are going on happily.... I would give something to spend a

quiet Sunday with you in your old Church. How pleasant to have an old

Church.

'Always yours affectionately,

'J. C. PATTESON.'

My own last letter came at the same time:--

'Norfolk Island: February 16th, 1871.

'My dear Cousin,--I must not leave your letter of last October without

an instalment of an answer, though this is only a chance opportunity of

sending letters by a whaler, and I have only ten minutes.

'Your account of the Southampton Congress is a regular picture. I thinly

I can see the Bishops of Winton, Sarum, and Oxon; and all that you say

by way of comment on what is going off in the Church at home interests

me exceedingly. You can't think what a treat your letters are.

'You see Mr. Codrington is the only one of my age, and (so to say)

education here, and so to commune with one who thinks much on these

matters, which of course have the deepest interest for me, is very

pleasant and useful. On this account I do so value the Bishop of

Salisbury's letters, and it is so very kind of him to write to me in the

midst of the overwhelming occupations of an English diocese.

'I don't think you have mentioned Dr. Vaughan. I read his books with

much interest. He doesn't belong to the Keble theology; but he seems to

me to be a thoughtful, useful, and eminently practical writer. He

seems to know what men are thinking of, and to grapple with their

difficulties. I am pleased with a little book, by Canon Norris, "Key

to the New Testament": the work of a man who has read a good deal, and

thought much.

'He condenses into a 2s. 6d. book the work of years.

'You are all alive now, trying to work up your parochial schools to

"efficiency" mark--rather you were doing so, for I think there was

only time allowed up to December 31, 1870. I hope that the efforts were

successful. At such times one wishes to see great noble gifts, men of

great riches giving their £10,000 to a common fund. Then I remember that

the claims and calls are so numerous in England, that very wealthy men

can hardly give in that way.

'Certainly I am spared the temptation myself of seeing the luxury and

extravagance which must tempt one to feel hard and bitter, I should

fear. We go on quietly and happily. You know our school is large. Thank

God, we are all well, save dear old Fisher, who met with a sad boating

accident last week. A coil of the boat raft caught his ankle as the

strain was suddenly tightened by a rather heavy sea, and literally

tore the front part of his foot completely off, besides dislocating and

fracturing the ankle-bone. He bears the pain well, and he is doing very

well; but there may be latent tetanus, and I shall not feel easy for ten

days more yet.

'His smile was pleasant, and his grasp of the hand was an indication of

his faith and trust, as he answered my remark, "You know Fisher, He does

nothing without a reason: you remember our talk about the sparrows and

the hairs of our heads."

'"I know," was all he said; but the look was a whole volume....

'Your Charlotte is Fisher's wife, you know, and a worthy good creature

she is. Poor old Fisher, the first time I saw tears on his cheeks was

when his wife met him being carried up, and I took her to him.

'The mail goes. Your affectionate Cousin,

'J. C. PATTESON.'

It may as well be here mentioned that Fisher Pantatun escaped tetanus,

lived to have his limb amputated by a medical man, who has since come to

reside at Norfolk Island, and that he has been further provided with a

wooden leg, to the extreme wonder and admiration of his countrymen at

Mota, where he has since joined the Christian community.

The home letter, finished the last, had been begun before the first, on

Feb. 11, 'My birthday,' as the Bishop writes, adding:--'How as time goes

on we think more and more of him and miss him. Especially now in these

times, with so many difficult questions distressing and perplexing men,

his wise calm judgment would have been such a strength and support. You

know I have all his letters since I left England, and he never missed

a mail. And now it is nearly ten years since he passed away from this

world. What would he say to us all? What would he think of all that has

taken place in the interval? Thank God, he would certainly rejoice in

seeing all his children loving each other more and more as they grow

older and learn from experience the blessedness and infrequency of such

a thoroughly united, happy set of brothers and sisters. Why, you have

never missed a single mail in all these sixteen years; and I know, in

spite of occasional differences of opinion, that there is really more

than ever of mutual love, and much more of mutual esteem than ever.

There is no blessing like this. And it is a special and unusual

blessing. And surely, next to God, we owe it to our dear parents, and

perhaps especially to him who was the one to live on as we grew up into

men and women. What should I have done out here without a perfect trust

in you three, and without your letters and loving remembrances in boxes,

&c.? I fancy that I should have broken down altogether, or else have

hardened (more than I have become) to the soft and restful influences of

the home life. I see some people really alone in these countries, really

expatriated. Now I never feel that; partly because I have your letters,

partly because I have the knowledge that, if ever I did have to go to

England, I should find all the old family love, only intensified and

deepened. I can tell you that the consciousness of all this is a great

help, and carries one along famously. And then the hope of meeting

by-and-by and for ever!'

'True to the kindred points of heaven and home.' Surely such loyalty of

heart, making a living influence of parents so long in their graves, has

been seldom, at least, put on record, though maybe it often and often

has existed.

Again, on March 8:--'Such a fit came over me yesterday of old memories.

I was reading a bit of Wordsworth (the poet).

I remembered dear dear Uncle Frank telling me how Wordsworth came over

to Ottery, and called on him, and how he felt so honoured; and so I felt

on thinking of him, and the old (pet) names, and most of all, of course,

of Father and Mother, I seemed to see them all with unusual clearness.

Then I read one of the two little notes I had from Mr. Keble, which live

in my "Christian Year," and so I went on dreaming and thinking.

'Yes, if by His mercy I may indeed be brought to the home where they

dwell! But as the power of keen enjoyment of this world was never mine,

as it is given to bright healthy creatures with eyes and teeth and limbs

sound and firm, so I try to remember dear Father's words, that "he did

not mean that he was fit to go because there was little that he cared

to stop here for." And I don't feel morbid like, only with a diminished

capacity for enjoying things here. Of the mere animal pleasures, eating

and drinking are a serious trouble. My eyes don't allow me to look about

much, and I walk with "unshowing eye turned towards the earth." I don't

converse with ease; there is the feeling of difficulty in framing words.

I prefer to be alone and silent. If I must talk, I like the English

tongue least of all. Melanesia doesn't have such combinations of

consonants and harsh sounds as our vernacular rejoices in. If I speak

loud, as in preaching, I am pretty clear still; but I can't read at all

properly now without real awkwardness.

'I am delighted with Shairp's "Essays" that Pena sent me. He has the

very nature to make him capable of appreciating the best and most

thoughtful writers, especially those who have a thoughtful spirit of

piety in them. He gives me many a very happy quiet hour. I wish such a

book had come in my way while I was young. I more than ever regret that

Mr. Keble's "Praelectiones" was never translated into English. I am sure

that I have neglected poetry all my life for want of some guide to the

appreciation and criticism of it, and that I am the worse for it. If you

don't use Uncle Sam's "Biographia Literaria," and "Literary Remains," I

should much like to have them.

'Do you, Fan, care to have any of my German books? I have, indeed,

scarce any but theological ones. But no one else reads German here, and

I read none but the divinity; and, indeed, I almost wish I had them in

translations, for the sake of the English type and paper. My eyes don't

like the German type at all.

'Moreover, now (it was not so years ago), all that is worth reading

in their language is in a good serviceable English dress, and passed,

moreover, through the minds of clear English thinkers--and the Germans

are such wordy, clumsy, involved writers. A man need not be a German

scholar to be well acquainted with all useful German theology. Döllinger

is almost the only clear, plain writer I know among them. Dorner, the

great Lutheran divine, gives you about two pages and a half of close

print for a single sentence--awful work, worse than my English!... But I

know that if I read less, and thought more, it would be better. Only it

is such hard work thinking, and I am so lazy! I was amused at hearing,

through another lad, of Edward Wogale's remark, "This helping in

translation" (a revisal of the "Acts" in Mota) "is such hard work!"

"Yes, my boy, brain work takes it out of you." I wish I had Jem's power

of writing reports, condensing evidence into clear reliable statements.

Lawyers get that power; while we Clergymen are careless and inaccurate,

because, as old Lord Campbell said, "there is no reply to our sermons."

'What would I give to have been well drilled in grammar, and made an

accurate scholar in old days! Ottery School and Eton didn't do much for

me in that way, though of course the fault was chiefly in myself.

'But most of all, I think that I regret the real loss to us Eton boys

of the weekly help that Winchester, Rugby, and Harrow boys had from

Moberly, Arnold, and Vaughan in their sermons! I really think that might

have helped to keep us out of harm!