OUR STATION THREATENED BY HEATHEN NATIVES.--LISELE, ACCEPTING THE TRUTH,
DESIRES THE CONVERSION OF HER FATHER, AND OBTAINS PERMISSION FROM HER
AUNT AND ABELA TO VISIT HIM.--I DESCRIBE OUR VOYAGE, WHEN LITTLE MAUD
WAS FOUND.--CONDITION OF THE STATION AT THE TIME WHEN MY NARRATIVE
COMMENCES.
Our little Christian settlement was truly an oasis in the wilderness.
We were closely beset by heathens, and frequently we could see them
assembling on the hill side, performing their savage dances, or
threatening our destruction with fierce gestures--shaking their clubs
and spears, and shrieking and hooting wildly.
Most of the converts settled round us belonged to the tribe of Masaugu,
Lisele's father; for although he himself still remained a heathen, he
did not oppose those of his people who wished to lotu, or become
Christians.
Among them was Lisele's aunt, the sister of her mother, with whom she
resided, and through her influence Lisele had first been induced to
attend the school.
On the day I have spoken of, when it was time for Lisele to return to
her aunt's house, she invited me to accompany her, which my mother gave
me permission to do. She wanted me to assist her in persuading her aunt
to allow her to return to her father.
"I have been so long accustomed to speak falsehoods, that if I tell her
that I wish to go she will not believe my object," said Lisele.
"Besides, she will not think it possible that so fierce a warrior as my
father will consent to lotu; but I heard your mother say the other day,
that with Jehovah nothing is impossible, and therefore I believe that if
I pray that my father's heart may be changed, he will, notwithstanding
his fierceness, become a Christian."
"I am very sure that Jehovah will hear your prayers," I remarked, "if
you offer them up according to His own appointed way, through Jesus
Christ; but still He will take His own good time to bring about what you
desire. My father often says we must not expect to have our prayers
answered exactly in the way we wish. God knows what is best, and
oftentimes He does not accomplish that which we desire; and though we
cannot comprehend His reasons, still it is our duty to pray on in faith,
without ceasing. Jehovah, too, often allows those He loves to suffer;
and though they may complain that the sufferings are very hard to bear,
He will assuredly lift them up and support them, for He has said, `My
strength is made perfect in weakness,'" (2 Corinthians 12 verse 9).
This conversation lasted till we reached the house of Abela, Lisele's
aunt.
Abela was a woman of about forty, her face, though not handsome, and
with a serious expression, was mild and pleasing. She was dressed in an
ample petticoat, made from the fibres of the hibiscus, while over her
shoulders she wore a tippet somewhat resembling a small poncho, which
completely shrouded the upper part of her form. Having finished the
labours of the day (for although of high rank, she was compelled, like
others, to work for her support), she was seated on a mat, with a book
open on her knees, from which she was endeavouring to read. Not having
long been a convert, she had as yet made but little progress in her
studies. She affectionately welcomed her niece and me as we took our
seats near her. Lisele then eagerly poured forth what she had been
hearing, so rapidly, that I could scarcely follow her.
"It is all true," said Abela, when her niece at length ceased speaking.
"I praise Jehovah that you know it."
When, however, Lisele told her of her wish to go back to her father,
Abela hesitated. "He will not understand you, my child," she exclaimed,
"and perhaps will not allow you to return to people whom he may think so
foolish."
"Oh, but I'll pray for him," answered Lisele. "I'll ask Jehovah to help
me, and I know He will hear me, so I shall not have to trust to my own
strength."
Abela remained silent for some time, and I saw that she was engaged in
prayer.
"You shall go, my child," she said at length. "Jehovah will take care
of you, and may He prosper your undertaking."
Delighted at having obtained this permission, Lisele returned to spend
the evening with us, for my father wished to have an opportunity of
speaking to her. He warned her of the opposition she must expect to
meet with from her people, and of the dangers she would have to
encounter, especially as he knew that she had been sought in marriage by
a young heathen chief, who might wish to detain her.
"But now I know the truth. I will never consent to marry one who is a
heathen," she answered. "And I do not intend to remain. I will only
try to persuade my father to visit you, and then I will return."
Lisele set off the next day, accompanied by two Christian people of her
tribe, who promised to protect her from the heathens, and aid her return
should it be opposed, even although they might risk their lives in so
doing. We were very sorry to lose her, as we feared that efforts would
be made to prevent her returning among us.
Maud could not restrain her tears. "I know too well how cruelly these
heathens can act," she said. "They will not hesitate to carry her off
to some distant island, whence she cannot possibly escape; or, if she
offends them by what she says, they may even kill her." Dear Maud had
indeed had bitter experience of the barbarities often committed by the
savage islanders.
My father had for some years been a missionary in another part of the
Pacific, when it was settled that he should occupy the Station where we
now were. I was too young at the time to remember much about what
occurred, so I can describe only what I have heard. As there was then
no missionary vessel to convey us, we embarked on board a whaler, the
Christian captain of which undertook to carry us to our destination. He
was, however, unable to make a direct passage, as he had in the
prosecution of his business first to visit several other places, still,
as no other means of getting where we wished to go were likely to occur,
my father was glad to embrace the opportunity thus offered. We had been
for some time at sea when a fearful storm arose, which compelled us to
run before it under bare poles, and carried us a long way out of our
course. The vessel received also considerable damage, losing one of her
masts and several spars. At length a beautiful island appeared in
sight, covered thickly with trees, and directly ahead was seen a
commodious harbour. The captain therefore ran into it and came to an
anchor, that the damages which the vessel had received might be
repaired. He soon found that it was inhabited by numerous savages, who
pushed off in their canoes to visit the strange ship. He, however, had
so long been acquainted with the treacherous character of the natives of
most of the Pacific islands, that he would allow no one to come on
board, and he had also boarding-nettings triced up to guard against any
sudden attack they might venture to make. We had on board a Sandwich
islander, who managed to make himself understood by the natives.
Through his means our good captain let them know that he wished to cut
down some trees, and that he was ready to pay for permission to do so.
The captain then inquired for their chief, and said that if he would
come off and receive part of the payment, the remainder would be given
after the spars had been brought on board, and as a proof of his good
intentions, he sent the chief a present of an axe and a piece of cloth.
This had the desired effect; and in a short time an old warrior came
alongside in his canoe, and announced himself as the chief of the
district. The Sandwich islander then explained what the captain wished,
and certain articles which had been agreed on were given to him, he
undertaking, while the trees were being cut down and carried off, to
keep his people at a distance to prevent the possibility of any dispute
arising.
As soon as the chief and his followers had returned to the shore, two
boats' crews, well armed, put off, and while one party were engaged in
felling the trees, the other remained drawn up to guard against any
attack which the natives might treacherously venture to make. The spars
having been brought on board, the old chief returned for the promised
remainder of the payment. He seemed highly pleased with the
transaction.
"I see that you are wise and just people," he observed. "If all whites
who come to our shores acted in the same way, we would be their friends;
but it has not been always so, and after they have ill-treated and
cheated us, we have been tempted to take advantage of their folly and
carelessness to revenge ourselves."
This remark induced the captain, through the interpreter, to make
inquiries as to what the chief alluded to. At length he learned that
some time before a vessel, with white people on board, had come into the
harbour to obtain sandal wood; that after the natives had supplied a
large quantity, sufficient to fill her, the captain had refused the
promised payment; but, in spite of this, that the crew were allowed to
go on shore and wander about in small parties, when some of them had
quarrelled with the natives and ill-treated them. In consequence the
sailors had been set upon, and killed every man of them. A party of
warriors then put off for the ship, and pretending they had come to
trade, clambered up her sides before the part of the crew who had
remained on board had heard of the massacre, or suspected their
intentions. The savages thus taking them at a disadvantage, put every
person to death, with the exception of a woman and child, who were saved
by the intervention of the old chief. The vessel, it appeared, by some
accident, caught fire, and had been utterly destroyed.
The captain, on hearing this, made eager inquiries about the poor woman
and the child. The former, however, had, he found soon afterwards,
died, leaving the little girl in possession of the chief.
Instead of threatening the old chief with the vengeance of his people,
as some might have done, he spoke to him gently, saying that he himself
had not come there as a judge, or to take vengeance for injuries which
other white men might have received, but that we wished to know whether
he would be ready to give up the little girl he had under his care. The
old man seemed very much struck by this style of address, and confessed
that the child was still living with him, but that he was very fond of
her, and that when she grew up he hoped that she might become the wife
of one of his sons.
This of course made the captain still more anxious to recover her, and
he used every argument he could think of to induce the old man to give
her up. He told him that, unaccustomed to the mode of life of his
people, she would probably die, as her mother had done, and that if he
really loved her, he would be anxious for her safety, and that though he
had paid him liberally for the trees, he would give him twice the amount
of goods if he would, without delay, bring the little girl on board.
This last argument seemed to weigh greatly with the chief, and he said
he would think about it, and returned on shore, leaving us in doubt,
however, what he would do.
Our anxiety about the poor girl was, as may be supposed, very great.
The men, on hearing of the matter, came aft, and each one said that he
would be ready to contribute some article to induce the chief to give
her up. Some even proposed, that should he refuse, to land and compel
him to do so by force of arms. The captain thanked them for their zeal,
but told them that that was not the way he conceived Christian men
should act.
I well remember that evening, when we were assembled to worship God as
usual, in the cabin, how my father lifted up his voice in prayer, that
the heart of the chief might be moved to restore the little Christian
damsel to those who would bring her "up in the nurture and admonition of
the Lord," and that she might be saved from the fearful fate the old man
intended for her. God never fails to listen to the prayers of
believers.
The next morning, as we anxiously turned our eyes towards the shore, the
chief's canoe was seen coming off.
"Our prayer has been answered," exclaimed my father, who was watching it
through a spy-glass. "There is a child by his side."
The sailors sprang into the rigging, and every one on board eagerly
watched the approach of the canoe. It was soon alongside, and the
little girl we had been looking for was handed up on deck, followed by
the old chief. She was dressed in a clean white frock, and her hair was
neatly braided, and ornamented with flowers and feathers; but she looked
thin and ill, and sadly scared. When my mother approached the gangway
she flew towards her, and threw herself into her arms, as if she was
sure that she should find in her a loving friend.
"Mamma! mamma!" she exclaimed; but she could utter no other words; and
had it not been for those sounds we should have supposed that she had
lost the power of speech. My mother could not restrain her tears, as
she held the forlorn little creature to her heart.
Such was the way in which we met with little Maud.
Nothing would induce her to leave my mother while the old chief remained
on board; and although he and his people might have treated her kindly,
they certainly had not won her love.
Having received the promised reward, to which the captain added a few
other articles, the chief prepared to take his departure, evidently very
well satisfied with the transaction. The captain, however, warned him,
that should he venture to attack another vessel he would not escape a
severe punishment; but that if he would promise to behave well towards
white people in future, they would come and trade with him, and bring
him a greater blessing than he could at present comprehend. The captain
said this, because he hoped that some day he might be able to convey a
missionary to the place, that he might spread the blessings of the
gospel among the heathen inhabitants.
After the ship was refitted we put to sea, but she was some time engaged
in catching whales, so that our voyage was a very long one. The little
girl who had been rescued from the savages was utterly unable to explain
anything that had happened to her.
Weeks passed away, and not a word did she utter, and my father and
mother began to fear that the hardships she had gone through had
deprived her of her senses. For a long time she could not be induced to
leave my mother's side, and seemed to mistrust every one else. If
separated from her, even for a few moments, she would run back again,
and seizing her gown, glance up with an imploring look, as if begging to
be protected from some imaginary danger--she would not even trust
herself with me, and seemed to fancy that I might hurt her. Possibly
she might have been ill-treated by the native children, and was unable
to distinguish the difference. Gentle and careful treatment, however,
had its due effect on her, and her fears were gradually allayed.
At length one day she, of her own accord, took my hand, and looking into
my face said, "Girl not hurt poor Maud." These were the first words we
had heard her utter. Until then also we were ignorant of her name.
Putting my arms round her neck I kissed her, and answered, "No indeed I
will not hurt you, but I will treat you as a dear sister, and love you
very very much."
A faint smile passed over her countenance, as if she comprehended my
answer. After that she would remain contentedly with me--still her
mind, for some time longer, continued apparently in the same state as at
first. My father and mother, however, felt sure that her senses would
ultimately be restored. They were not mistaken; but even when she had
begun to speak, she made no allusion to the circumstances of the
massacre, or her life among the natives, and we forbore to ask her any
questions.
When at last we landed here, her alarm at seeing the natives was very
great, and my father was afraid that it would cause her mind to relapse
into its former state. By doing all we could to re-assure and cheer
her, no ill effects occurred. When once we were settled, and she had
got accustomed to the scenery, and the appearance of the people, her
improvement was more rapid. In course of time her mind and bodily
health were perfectly restored. On seeing me at my lessons, she showed
a strong wish to join me, and though she had forgotten even her letters,
if she had ever known them, she made rapid progress, so that she was
soon able to read fluently, when she eagerly perused every book my
father would allow her to have from his library. Even then, however,
she could give no account of her former life, and we knew no more of
little Maud than at first. My father and mother treated her as they
would a daughter, while I looked upon her and loved her as a younger
sister.
We had now been upwards of three years at the Station. My father had
laboured on in faith, as a missionary in all regions must be prepared to
do, for as yet only the comparatively small body of Christians as I have
mentioned, who had settled round us, had been brought out of heathenism,
while the larger number of the population appeared even more hostile to
the new faith than at first. Still my father would often say, when he
felt himself inclined to despond, "Let us recollect the value of one
immortal soul, and all our toils and troubles will appear as nothing."
Such was the state of things at the mission station when my history
commences.