Books: Life of John Coleridge Patteson

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> Life of John Coleridge Patteson

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To Miss Neill, on the same day, after repeating his conviction that
he was in the right place, he says:--

'I have written to them at home what I ought not perhaps to have said
of myself, but that it will give them comfort--that from all sides my
being here as the Bishop's companion is hailed as likely to produce
very beneficial results. But I must assure you that I fully know how
your love for me and much too high opinion of me makes you fancy that
I could be of use at home. But we must not, even taking this view,
send our refuse men to the colonies. Newly forming societies must be
moulded by men of energy, and power, and high character; in fact,
churches must be organised, the Gospel must be preached by men of
earnest zeal for God's glory in the salvation of souls. To lower the
standard of Christian life by exhibiting a feeble faint glimmering
instead of a burning shining light is to stamp upon the native mind a
false impression, it may be for ever.

'Remember, we have no ancient customs nor time-hallowed usages to
make up for personal indifference and apathy; we have no momentum to
carry on the machine. We have to start it, and give it the first
impulse, under the guidance of the Spirit of God; and oh! if it takes
a wrong direction at first, who can calculate the evil that must
follow? It is easy to steer a vessel in smooth water, with a fair
breeze; but how are you to keep her head straight in a rolling sea
with no way on her?'

This letter, with two or three more, went by the first mail after his
arrival. From that time he generally kept a journal-letter, and
addressed it to one or other of his innermost home circle; while the
arrival of each post from home produced a whole sheaf of answers, and
comments on what was told, by each correspondent, of family,
political or Church matters. Sometimes the letter is so full of the
subject of immediate interest as absolutely to leave no room for
personal details of his own actual life, and this became more the
case as the residence in New Zealand or Norfolk Island lost its
novelty, while it never absorbed him so as to narrow his interests.
He never missed a mail in writing to his father and sisters, and a
letter to his brother was equally regular, but these latter were
generally too much concerned with James's own individual life to be
as fully given as the other letters, which were in fact a diary of
facts, thoughts, and impressions.

'July 12, St. Stephen's, Mr. Kissling's School-house.--You know I am
to live here when not on the "Southern Cross," or journeying in the
Bush; so I must describe, first, the place itself, then my room in
it. The house is a large one-storied building of wood, no staircase
in it, but only a succession of rooms.... There are at present
fourteen or sixteen girls in the school, boarding here, besides Rota,
who is a native deacon, spending a month here; Levi, who is preparing
for ordination, and three other men. The house stands on table-land
about four hundred yards from the sea, commanding glorious views of
the harbour, sea, and islands, which form groups close round the
coast. It is Church property all round, and the site of a future
cathedral is within a stone's throw of it.... Now for my room.
Plenty large enough to begin with, not less than sixteen feet long by
twelve wide, and at least eleven high, all wood, not papered or
painted, which I like much, as the kauri is a darkish grained wood;
no carpet of course, but I am writing now at 10 P.M., with no fire,
and quite warm. The east side of the room is one great window,
latticed, in a wooden frame; outside it a verandah, and such a
beautiful view of the harbour and bay beyond. I will tell you
exactly what I have done to-day since two o'clock, as a sample of my
life.

'2 P.M., dinner, roast mutton; my seat between the Bishop and Eota.
Fancy the long table with its double row of Maoris. After dinner,
away with the Bishop to the hospital, a plain wooden building a mile
off, capable of taking in about forty patients in all. I am to visit
it regularly when here, taking that work off the parish clergyman's
shoulders, and a great comfort it will be. I went through it to-day,
and had a long talk with the physician and surgeon, and saw the male
patients, two of them natives. One of them is dying, and so I am to
be now talking as well as I can, but at all events reading and
praying, with this poor fellow, and a great happiness it is to have
such a privilege and so on. Came back to tea, very pleasant. After
tea made Eota, and Sydney, a young-man who knows English pretty well,
sit in my room (N.B., there is but one chair, in which I placed
Eota), and then I made them read Maori to me, and read a good deal
myself, and then we talked as well as we could. At 6.15, prayers,
the whole party of Maoris assembled. Mr. Kissling read the first
verse of the chapter (Joshua vi.), and we each read one verse in
turn, and then he questioned them for perhaps fifteen minutes. They
were very intelligent and answered well, and it was striking to see
grown-up men and young women sitting so patiently to be taught. Then
the evening service prayers; and so I knelt with these good simple
people and prayed with them for the first time. Very much I enjoyed
all this. Soon after came supper, a little talking, and now here am
I writing to you.

'I wish you could see the tree-ferns; some are quite twenty feet high
in the trunk, for trunk it is, and the great broad frond waves over
it in a way that would make that child Pena clap her hands with
delight. Then the geraniums and roses in blossom, the yellow mimosa
flower, the wild moncha, with a white flower, growing everywhere, and
the great variety of evergreen trees (none that I have seen being
deciduous) make the country very pretty. The great bare volcanic
hills, each with its well-defined crater, stand up from among the
woodlands, and now from among pastures grazing hundreds of oxen; and
this, with the grand sea views, and shipping in the harbour, make a
very fine sight.

'July 14.--I write to-night because you will like a line from me on
the day when first I have in any way ministered to a native of the
country. I was in the hospital to-day, talked a little, and read St.
Luke xv. to one, and prayed with another Maori. The latter is dying.
He was baptized by the Wesleyans, but is not visited by them, so I do
not scruple to go to him. Rota, the native deacon, was with me, and
be talked a long while with the poor fellow. It is a great comfort
to me to have made a beginning. I did little more than read a few
prayers from the Visitation Service, but the man understood me well,
so I may be of use, I hope. He has never received the Lord's Supper;
but if there is time to prepare him, the Bishop wishes me to
administer it to him.

'July 20.--Yesterday in sailed the "Southern Cross" with not a spar
carried away or sail lost, perfectly sound, and in a fit state to be
off again at once. She left England on the same day that we did, and
arrived just a fortnight after us, and this is attributable to her
having kept in low latitudes, not going higher than 39°; whereas we
were in 51° 30', which diminished the distance and brought us in the
way of more favourable winds. I saw from my windows about 9 A.M. a
schooner in the distance, and told the Bishop I thought it might be
the "Southern Cross" (she has no figure-head and a very straight
bow). Through the day, which was very rainy, we kept looking from
time to time through our glasses. At 3 P.M. the Bishop came in:
"Come along, Coley; I do believe it is the 'Southern Cross.'" So I
hurried on waterproofs, knowing that we were in for some mudlarking.
Off we went, lugged down a borrowed boat to the water, tide being
out. I took one oar, a Maori another, and off we went, Bishop
steering. After twenty minutes' pull, or thereabouts, we met her,
jumped on board, and then such a broadside of questions and answers.
They had a capital passage. Two men who were invalided when they
started died on the voyage--one of dysentery, I think--all the rest
flourishing, the three women respectable and tidy-looking
individuals, and two children very well. After a while the Bishop
and I went off to shore, in one of his boats, pulled by two of the
crew, Lowestoft fishermen, fine young fellows as you ever saw. Then
we bought fresh meat, onions, bread, etc., for them, and so home by 7
P.M. "Mudlarking" very slight on this occasion, only walking over
the flat swamp of low-water marsh for a quarter of a mile; but on
Tuesday we had a rich scene. Bishop and I went to the "Duke of
Portland" and brought off the rest of our things; but it was low-
water, so the boats could not come within a long way of the beach,
and the custom is for carts to go over the muddy sand, which is
tolerably hard, as far into the water as they can, perhaps two and a
half or three feet deep when it is quite calm, as it was on Tuesday.
Well, in went our cart, which had come from the College, with three
valuable horses, while the Bishop and I stood on the edge of the
water. Presently one of the horses lost his footing, and then all at
once all three slipped up, and the danger was of their struggling
violently and hurting themselves. One of those in the shafts had his
head under water, too, for a time. Instanter Bishop and I had our
coats off, my trousers were rolled over my knees, and in we rushed to
the horses. Such a plunging and splashing! but they were all got up
safe. This was about 4 P.M., and I was busy about the packages and
getting them into the carts, unloading at Mr. Kissling's till past 8;
but I did not catch cold. Imagine an English Bishop with attending
parson cutting into the water up to their knees to disentangle their
cart-horses from the harness in full view of every person on the
beach. "This is your first lesson in mudlarking, Coley," was the
remark of the Bishop as we laughed over our respective appearance.

'July 21.--I was finishing my sermon for the soldiers to-morrow at
11.30, when Mr. Kissling came in to say that the schooner just come
into the harbour was the vessel which had been sent to bring Mr.
and Mrs. Nihill from Nengone or Mare Island. He was in very bad
health when he went there, and great doubts were entertained as to
his coming back. I was deputed to go and see. I ran a good part of
the way to the town on to the pier, and there heard that Mr. Nihill
was dead. An old acquaintance of Mrs. Nihill was on the pier, so I
thought I should be in the way, and came back, told Mrs. Kissling,
and went on to the Judge's, and told Mrs. Martin and Mrs. Selwyn.
Whilst there we saw a boat land a young lady and child on the beach
just below the house, and they sent me down. Pouring with rain here
on the beach, taking shelter in a boat-house with her brother, I
found this poor young widow; and so, leaning on my arm, she walked up
to the house. I just waited to see Mrs. Selwyn throw her arms round
her neck, and then walked straight off, feeling that the furious rain
and wind chimed in with a violent struggle which was just going on in
my own mind. I go through such scenes firmly enough at the time, but
when my part is over I feel just like a child, and I found the tears
in my eyes; for the universal sympathy which has been expressed by
everyone here for the lonely situation of the Nihills at Nengone made
me feel almost a personal interest in them. He was a good linguist,
and his loss will be severely felt by the Bishop.

'August 14.--I marked out to-day some pretty places for the two
wooden houses for the "Southern Cross" sailors at Kohimarama (Focus
of Light), a quiet retired spot, with a beautiful sparkling beach,
the schooner lying just outside the little bay a third of a mile off.
Forty or fifty acres of flat pasturage, but only sixteen properly
cleared, and then an amphitheatre of low hills, covered with New
Zealand vegetation. I passed fine ferns to-day quite thirty feet in
the stem, with great spreading-fronds, like branches of the Norfolk
Island pine almost.

'On the 17th of August came the welcome mail from home. "Oh what a
delight it is to see your dear handwriting again!" is the cry in the
reply. "Father's I opened first, and read his letter, stopping often
with tears of thankfulness in my eyes to thank God for enabling him
not to be over-anxious about me, and for the blessing of knowing that
he was as well as usual, and also because his work, so distasteful to
him, was drawing to a close. Then I read Fan's, for I had a secret
feeling that I should hear most from her about Alfington.'

On the evening of that day he wrote to Fanny. In answer to the
expression of the pain, of separation, he says:--

'There is One above who knows what a trial it is to you. For myself,
hard as it is, and almost too hard sometimes, yet I have relief in
the variety and unceasing-multiplicity of my occupations. Not a
moment of any day can I be said to be idle. Literally, I have not
yet had a minute to untie my "Guardians;" but for you, with more time
for meditating, with no change of scene, with every object that meets
you at home and in your daily walks reminding you of me, it must
indeed be such a trial as angels love to look upon when it is borne
patiently, and with a perfect assurance that God is ordering all
things for our good; and so let us struggle on to the end. All good
powers are on our side, and we shall meet by the infinite mercy one
day when there shall be no separation for ever.

'I read on in your letter till I came to "Dear Coley, it is very hard
to live without you,"--and I broke down and cried like a child. I
was quite alone out in the fields on a glorious bright day, and it
was the relief I had longed for. The few simple words told me the
whole story, and I prayed with my whole heart that you might find
strength in the hour of sadness. Do (as you say you do) let your
natural feelings work; do not force yourself to appear calm, do not
get excited if you can help it; but if your mind is oppressed with
the thought of my absence, do not try to drive it away by talking
about something else, or taking up a book, etc.; follow it out, see
what it ends in, trace out the spiritual help and comfort which have
already, it may be, resulted from it, the growth of dependence upon
God above; meditate upon the real idea of separation, and think of
Mamma and Uncle Frank.'

'August 26, 1855, 10.40 P.M.: S. Stephen's, Auckland. 'My dear
Arthur,--I am tired with my Sunday work, which is heavy in a colony,
but I just begin my note on the anniversary of your dear, dear
father's death. How vividly I remember all the circumstances of the
last ten days--the peaceful, holy, happy close of a pure and well-
spent life! I do so think of him, not a day passing without my mind
dwelling on him; I love to find myself calling up the image of his
dear face, and my heart is very full when I recollect all his love
for me, and the many, many tokens of affection which he used to pour
out from his warm, generous, loving heart. I can hardly tell you
what an indescribable comfort it is to me now I think of these
things, cut off from the society and sympathy of friends and the
associations of home; the memory is very active in recalling such
scenes, and I almost live in them again. I have very little time for
indulging in fancies of any kind now; I begin to get an idea of what
work is; but in my walks or at night (if I am awake), I think of dear
Mamma and your dear father, and others who are gone before, with
unmixed joy and comfort. You may be quite sure that I am not likely
to forget anybody or anything connected with home. How I do watch
and follow them through the hours of the day or night when we are
both awake and at our work! I turn out at 6.45, and think of them at
dinner or tea; at 10, I think of them at evening prayers; and by my
own bed-time they are in morning church or busied about their
different occupations, and I fancy I can almost see them.

'So it goes on, and still I am calm and happy and very well; and I
think I am in my place and hope to be made of some use some day. I
like the natives in this school very much. The regular wild untamed
fellow is not so pleasant at first--dirty, unclothed, always smoking,
a mass of blankets, his wigwam sort of place filthy; his food ditto;
but then he is probably intelligent, hospitable, and not insensible
to the advantage of hearing about religion. It only wants a little
practice to overcome one's English feelings about dress,
civilisation, etc., and that will soon come.

'But here the men are nice fellows, and the women and girls make
capital servants; and so whereas many of the clergy and gentry do not
keep a servant (wages being enormous), and ladies like your sisters
and mine do the whole work of the housemaid, nursery-maid, and cook
(which I have seen and chatted about with them), I, on the contrary,
by Miss Maria (a wondrous curly-headed, black-eyed Maori damsel,
arrayed in a "smock," weiter nichts), have my room swept, bed made,
tub--yes, even in New Zealand--daily filled and emptied, and indeed
all the establishment will do anything for me. I did not care about
it, as I did all for myself aboard ship; but still I take it with a
very good grace.

'In about six weeks I expect we shall sail all round the English
settlement of New Zealand, and go to Chatham Island. This will
occupy about three months, and the voyage will be about 4,000 miles.
Then we start at once, upon our return, for four months in the Bush,
among the native villages, on foot. Then, once again taking ship,
away for Melanesia. So that, once off, I shall be roving about for
nearly a year, and shall, if all goes well, begin the really
missionary life.

'It is late, and the post goes to morrow. Good-bye, my dear Arthur;
write when you can.

'Ever your affectionate

'J. C. PATTESON.'

'August 27.--I have just been interrupted by Mrs. Kissling, who came
to ask me to baptize privately the young son of poor Eota, the native
deacon, and his wife Terena. Poor fellow! This child was born two
or three days after he left this place for Taranaki with the Bishop,
so he has not seen his son as yet. He has one boy about four, and
has lost three or four others; and now this little one, about three
weeks old, seems to be dying. I was almost glad that the first time
I baptized a native child, using the native language, should be on
Fan's birthday. It was striking to see the unaffected sympathy of
the natives here. The poor mother came with the child in her arms to
the large room. A table with a white cloth in the centre, and nearly
the whole establishment assembled. I doubt if you would have seen in
England grown-up men and women more thoroughly in earnest. It was
the most comforting private baptism I ever witnessed.

'Henri has been for an hour or more this morning asking me questions
which you would seldom hear from farmers or tradesmen at home,
showing a real acquaintance with the Bible, and such a desire, hunger
and thirst, for knowledge. What was the manna in the wilderness? he
began. He thought it was food that angels actually lived upon, and
quoted the verse in the Psalm readily, "So man did eat angel's food."
So I took him into the whole question of the spiritual body; the
various passages, "meats for the belly," etc., our Lord's answer to
the Sadducees, and so on to 1 Cor. xv. Very interesting to watch the
earnestness of the man and his real pleasure in assenting to the
general conclusion expressed in 1 John iii. 2 concerning our
ignorance of what we shall be, not implying want of power on God's
part to explain, but His divine will in not withdrawing the veil
wholly from so great a mystery. "E marama ana," (I see it clearly
now): "He mea ngaro!" (a mystery). His mind had wholly passed from
the carnal material view of life in heaven, and the idea of food for
the support of the spiritual body, and the capacity for receiving the
higher truths (as it were) of Christianity showed itself more clearly
in the young New Zealander than you would find perhaps in the whole
extent of a country parish. I think that when I know the language
well enough to catechize freely, it will be far more interesting, and
I shall have a far more intelligent set of catechumens, than in
England. They seem especially fond of it, ask questions constantly,
and will get to the bottom of the thing, and when the catechist is up
to the mark and quick and wily in both question and illustration,
they get so eager and animated, all answering together, quoting
texts, etc. I think that their knowledge of the Bible is in some
sense attributable to its being almost the only book printed that
they care much about.'

The 11th of September produced another long letter full of home
feeling, drawn forth in response to his sister. Here are some
extracts:--

'Sometimes I cannot help wishing that I could say all this, but not
often. There is One who understands, and in really great trials
even, it is well to lean only on Him. But I must write freely. You
will not think me moody and downhearted, because I show you that I do
miss you, and often feel lonely and shut up in myself. This is
exactly what I experience, and I think if I was ill, as you often
are, I should break down under it; but God is very merciful to me in
keeping me in very good health, so that I am always actively engaged
every day, and when night comes I am weary in body, and sleep sound
almost always, so that the time passes very rapidly indeed, and I am
living in a kind of dream, hardly realizing the fact of my being at
half the world's distance from you, but borne on from day to day, I
scarcely know how. Indeed, when I do look back upon the past six
months, I have abundant cause to be thankful. I never perhaps shall
know fully how it is, but somehow, as a matter of fact, I am on the
whole cheerful, and always busy and calm in mind. I don't have
tumultuous bursts of feeling and overwhelming floods of recollection
that sweep right away all composure. Your first letters upset me
more than once as I re-read them, but I think of you all habitually
with real joy and peace of mind. And I am really happy, not in the
sense that happiness presents itself always, or exactly in the way
that I used to feel it when with you all, or as I should feel it if I
were walking up to the lodge with my whole heart swelling within me.
It is much more quiet and subdued, and does not perhaps come and go
quite as much; but yet in the midst of all, I half doubt sometimes
whether everything about and within me is real. I just move on like
a man in a dream, but this again does not make me idle. I don't
suppose I ever worked harder, on the whole, than I do now, and I have
much anxious work at the Hospital. Such cases, Fan! Only two hours
ago, I left a poor sailor, by whose side I had been kneeling near
three-quarters of an hour, holding his sinking head and moistening
his mouth with wine, the dews of death on his forehead, and his poor
emaciated frame heaving like one great pulse at each breath. For
four days that he has been there (brought in a dying state from the
Merchantman) I have been with him, and yesterday I administered to
him the Holy Communion. He had spoken earnestly of his real desire
to testify the sincerity of his repentance and faith and love. I
have been there daily for nine days, but I cannot always manage it,
as it is nearly two miles off. The responsibility is great of
dealing with such cases, but I trust that God will pardon all my sad
mistakes. I cannot withhold the Bread of Life when I see indications
of real sorrow for sin, and the simple readiness to obey the command
of Christ, even though there is great ignorance and but little time
to train a soul for heaven. I cannot, as you may suppose, prepare
for my Sunday work as I ought to do, from want of time. Last Sunday
I had three whole services, besides reading the Communion Service and
preaching at 11 A.M., and reading Prayers at 5 P.M. I should have
preached five times but that I left my sermon at Mr. T.'s, thinking
to go back for it.... Mrs. K. gave me an old "Woolmer" the other
day, which gladdened my eyes. Little bits of comfort come in, you
see, in these ways. Nothing can be kinder than the people here, I
mean in Auckland and its neighbourhood--real, simple, hearty
kindness. Perhaps the work at Kohimarama is most irksome to me. It
is no joke to keep sailors in good humour ashore, and I fear that our
presence on board was much needed during the passage out.'

With reference to his sister's reading, he continues:--'Take care of
Maurice, Fan; I do not think it too much to say that he is simply and
plainly "unsound" on the doctrine of the Atonement; I don't charge
him with heresy from his stand-point, but remember that you have not
been brought into contact with Quakers, Socinians, &c., and that he
may conceive of a way of reconciling metaphysically difficulties
which a far inferior but less inquisitive and vorsehender geist
pronounces for itself simply contrary to the word of God. There are
two Greek prepositions which contain the gist of the whole matter,
huper, in behalf of, and anti, instead of, in the place of.
Maurice's doctrine goes far to do away with the truth of the last, as
applied to the Sacrifice of Christ. I have an exceedingly high
regard for him, and respect for his goodness no less than his
ability. His position has exposed him to very great difficulties,
and therefore, if he is decidedly wrong, it is not for us to judge
him. Read his "Kingdom of Christ," and his early books; but he is on
very slippery and dangerous ground now. It is indeed a great and
noble task to propose to oneself, viz.--to teach that God is our
Father, and to expose the false and most unhappy idea that has at
times prevailed of representing God as actuated by strong
indignation, resentment, &c., against the human race, so that men
turned from Him as from some fearful avenging power. This is the
worst form of Anthropomorphism, but this is not the Scriptural idea
of a just God. We cannot, perhaps, conceive of absolute justice;
certainly we are no judges of God's own revealed scheme of
reconciling Justice with Law, and so I call Maurice's, to a certain
extent, human teaching, more philosophy than religion, more
metaphysics than revelation.'