Books: Life of John Coleridge Patteson

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

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'I was disappointed though in the morning, when Taroniara declined to
come with me to this place.

'My people say, "Why do you go away?"--the old stupid way of getting
out of an engagement.' However, two others came to 'this place,'
which was a hut in the village of Wango, which the Bishop had hired
for ten days for the rent of a hatchet.

'A very sufficient rent too, you would say, if you could see the
place. I can only stand upright under the ridge pole, the whole of
the oblong is made of bamboo, with a good roof that kept out a heavy
shower last night. There is a fresh stream of water within fifteen
yards, where I bathed at 9 P.M. yesterday; and as I managed to get
rid of strangers by 8.30, it was not so difficult to manage a shift
into a clean and dry sleeping shirt, and then, lying down on Aunt
William's cork-bed (my old travelling companion), I slept very
fairly.

'People about the hut at earliest dawn; and the day seems long, the
sustained effort of talking, the heat, the crowd, and the many little
things that should not but do operate as an annoyance, all tire one
very much. But I hope that by degrees I may get opportunities of
talking about the matter that I come to talk about. Just now the
trading with the vessel, which is detained here by the weather, and
surprise at my half-dozen books, &c., prevent any attention being
paid to anything else.

'7 P.M.--The vessel went off at 10.30 A.M. I felt for a little while
rather forlorn, and a little sinking at the heart. You see I confess
it all, how silly! Can't I after so many years bear to be left in
one sense alone? I read a little of you know what Book, and then
found the feeling pass entirely away.

'But, more than that, the extreme friendliness of the people, the
real kindness was pleasant to me. One man brought his child, "The
child of us two, Bishop." Another man, "These cocoa-nut trees are
the property of us two, remember." A third, "When you want yams,
don't you buy them, tell me."

'But far better still. Many times already to-day have I spoken to
the people; they have so far listened that they say, "Take this boy,
and this boy, and this boy. We see now why you don't want big men,
we see now that you can't stop here long, what for you wish for lads
whom you may teach, we see that you want them for a long time. Keep
these lads two years."

'"Yes, two or three or four. By-and-by you will understand more and
more my reason."

'Then came the talks that you too may experience when dealing with
some neglected child in London, or it may be in the country; but
which, under the cocoa-nut tree, with dark naked men, have a special
impressiveness. It was the old lesson, of the Eternal and Universal
Father, who has not left Himself without witness in that He gives us
all rain from Heaven, &c., and of our ingratitude, and His love; of
His coming down to point out the way of life, and of His Death and
Rising again; of another world, Resurrection, and Judgment. All
interrupted, now and then, by exclamations of surprise, laughter, or
by some one beginning to talk about something that jarred sadly on
one's ear, and yet was but natural. But I do hope that a week may
pass not unprofitably. In one sense, I shall no doubt be glad when
it is over; but I think that it may, by God's great goodness, be a
preparation for something more to come.

'Last night, my little hired hut being crowded as usual, they all
cried out at once "Numu" (earthquake). I should not the least have
known that anything had occurred. I said I thought it was a pig
pushing against the bamboo wall of the hut. They say that they have
no serious shocks, but very many slight ones. Crocodiles they have
too, but, they say, none in this stream.

'July 22nd.--It is 9 P.M., the pleasantest time, in one sense, of my
twenty-four hours, for there are only two people with me in the hut.

'My arrangements are somewhat simple; but I am very comfortable.
Delicious bathes I have in the stream: yams and fish are no bad fare;
and I have some biscuit and essence of coffee, and a few books, and
am perfectly well. The mode of life has become almost natural to me.
I am on capital terms with the people, and even the babies are no
longer afraid of me. Old and young, men and women, boys and girls
about me of course all day; and small presents of yams, fish,
bananas, almonds, show the friendliness of the people when properly
treated. But the bunches of skulls remain slung up in the large
canoe houses, and they can be wild enough when they are excited.'

[The home diary continues, on the 26th]:--'I am expecting the
schooner, and shall be glad to get off if it arrives to-day, for it
is very fine. I don't think I could do any good by staying a few
days more, so I might as well be on my way to Santa Cruz. If I were
here for good, of course I should be busy about many things that it
would be useless to attempt now, e.g., what good would it be to
induce half-a-dozen boys to learn "a," when I should be gone before
they could learn "b"? So I content myself with making friends with
the people, observing their ways, and talking to them as I can. It
is hot, now at 8.30 A.M. What will it be at 2 P.M.? But I may
perhaps be able to say something to cheer me up. One of the trials
of this kind of thing is that one seems to be doing nothing. Simply
I am here! Hardly in one hour out of the twenty-four am I sure to be
speaking of religion. Yet the being here is something, the gaining
the confidence and goodwill of the people. Then comes the thought,
who is to carry this on? And yet I dare not ask men to come, for I
am certain they would after all my pains find something different
from what they expect.

My death would very likely bring out some better men for the work,
with energy and constructive power and executive genius, all of
which, guided by Divine Wisdom, seem to be so much wanted! But just
now, I don't see what would become of a large part of the work if I
died. I am leaving books somewhat more in order; but it is one thing
to have a book to help one in acquiring a language, quite another to
speak it freely, and to be personally known to the people who speak
it.

'11th Sunday after Trinity.--Off Anudha Island, 4 P.M. Thermometer
88° in the empty cabin, everyone being on deck. Well, dear old Joan
and Fan, refreshed by--what do you think? O feast of Guildhall and
Bristol mayors! Who would dream of turtle soup on board the
"Southern Cross" in these unknown seas? Tell it not to Missionary
Societies! Let no platform orator divulge the great secret of the
luxurious self-indulgent life of the Missionary Bishop! What nuts
for the "Pall Mall Gazette"! How would all subscriptions cease, and
denunciations be launched upon my devoted head, because good Mr.
Tilly bought, at San Cristoval, for the price of one tenpenny
hatchet, a little turtle, a veritable turtle, with green fat and all
the rest of it, upon which we have made to-day a most regal feast
indeed.

'But seriously. There has been much to make me hopeful, and
something to disappoint me, since I last wrote.'

The two days at Santa Cruz were hopeful--[Mr. Atkin says that the
natives came on board with readiness and stole with equal readiness;
but this was all in a friendly way]--and a small island, named
Piteni, was visited, and judged likely to prove a means of reaching
the larger isle.

The disappointment is not here mentioned, unless it was the missing
some of the Ysabel scholars, and bringing away only three; but this
mattered the less, as the Banks Island party, which, as forming a
nucleus, was far more important, was now considerable. Sixty-two
scholars were the present freight, including nine little girls,
between eight and twelve, mostly betrothed to old pupils.

At Malanta, a new village called Saa was visited. The 'harbour' was
a wall of coral, with the surf breaking upon it, but a large canoe
showed the only accessible place, and this was exposed to the whole
swell of the Pacific.

'The natives,' writes Mr. Atkin, 'held the boat in water up to their
knees, but the seas that broke thirty yards outside washed over their
shoulders and sometimes their heads. We might have taken away half
the people of the village, and had no trouble in getting two nice-
looking little boys. About 320 miles from Norfolk Island, one of
these little boys, Wate, playing, fell overboard: we were going ten
knots at the time, right before the wind; it was a quarter of an hour
before we picked him up, as it took five minutes to stop the vessel
and ten to get to him. Wate seemed all the better for his ducking.'
This little Wate became Mr. Atkin's especial child, his godson and
devoted follower.

On October 2, Norfolk Island was reached, and there, a wooden house
having been conveyed thither by H.M.S. 'Falcon,' Mr. Palmer and
fifteen scholars were placed to spend the winter. The Pitcairners
welcomed the Mission, but were displeased at the Government assuming
a right to dispose of the land which they had fancied entirely their
own.

One of the letters written separate from the journal during this
voyage gives a commission for photographs from the best devotional
prints, for the benefit chiefly of his young colonial staff:--'I have
not the heart to send for my Lionardo da Vinci,' (he says), that much
valued engraving, purchased at Florence, and he wishes for no modern
ones, save Ary Scheffer's 'Christis Consolator,' mentioning a few of
his special favourites to be procured if possible. For the
Melanesians, pictures of ships, fishes, and if possible tropical
vegetation, was all the art yet needed, and beads, red and blue, but
dull ones; none not exactly like the samples would be of any use.
'It is no good sending out any "fancy" articles such as you would
give English children. "Toys for savages" are all the fancies of
those who manufacture such toys for sale. Of course, any
manufacturer who wishes to give presents of knives, tools, hatchets,
&c., would do a great benefit, but then the knives must be really
strong and sharp.'

I have concluded the letters of the island voyage, before giving
those written on the homeward transit from Norfolk Island, whither
the 'Falcon' had conveyed the letters telling of the departure of
both Mr. and Mrs. Keble. The first written under this impulse was of
course to Sir John Coleridge, the oldest friend:--

'At Sea, near Norfolk Island: October 3, 1866.

'My dear, dear Uncle,--How can I thank you enough for telling me so
much of dear saintly Mr. Keble and his wife? He has been, for my
dear father and mother's sakes, very loving to me, and actually wrote
me two short letters, one after his seizure, which I treasure. How I
had grown to reverence and love him more and more you can easily
believe; and yesterday at Norfolk Island, whither some letters had
been sent, I read with a very full heart of the peaceful close of
such a holy life. And I do love to think too of you and him, if I
may speak freely of such as you; and the weight attached to all you
say and do (you two I mean) in your several occupations seems at all
events one hopeful sign among not a few gloomy ones. I suppose you
and Mr. Keble little estimated the influence which even a casual word
or sentence of yours exercises upon a man of my age, predisposed (it
is true) to hearken with attention and reverence....

'Is it possible that fifty years hence any similar event, should
there be such, which should so "stir the heart of the country" (as
you say about Mr. Keble's death), might stimulate people to raise
large sums for the endowment of a Church about to be, or already
separated from the State? I can't avoid feeling as if God may be
permitting the extension of the Colonial Churches, partly and in a
secondary sense that so the ground may be travelled over on a small
scale before the Church at home may be thrown in like manner upon its
own resources. The alliance is a very precarious one surely, and
depends upon the solemn adherence to a fiction. It is extraordinary
that some Colonial Bishops should seek to reproduce the state of
things which is of course peculiar to England, the produce of certain
historical events, and which can have no resemblance whatever to the
circumstances of our Colonies.

'The mail closes just after our arrival; and I am very busy at first
coming on shore with such a party. Goodbye for the present, my dear
dear Uncle,

'Your loving and grateful Nephew,
'J. C. P.'

To me the condolence was:--

'October 6, 1866.

'And so, my dear Cousin, the blow has fallen upon you, and dear Mr.
and Mrs. Keble have passed away to their eternal rest. I found
letters at Norfolk Island on October 2, not my April letters, which
will tell me most about him, but my May budget.

'How very touching the account is which my Uncle John sends me of
dear Mrs. Keble, so thankful that he was taken first, so desirous to
go, yet so content to stay! And how merciful it has all been. Such
a calm holy close to the saintly life. May God bless and support all
you who feel the bereavement! Even I feel that I would fain look for
one more letter from him, but we have his "Christian Year," and other
books. Is it not wonderful that all the wisdom and love and beauty
of the "Christian Year," to say nothing of the exquisite and matured
poetry, should have been given to him so early in life? Why, as I
gather, the book was finished in the year 1825, though not published
till 1827. He wrote it when he was only 33 years old, and for 45
years he lived after he was capable of such a work. Surely such a
union of extreme learning, wisdom, and scholarship, with humility and
purity of heart and life has very seldom been found. Everyone wishes
to say something to everyone else of one so dear to all, and no one
can say what each and all feel. We ought indeed to be thankful, who
not only have in common with all men his books, but the memory of
what he was personally to us.

'The change must needs be a great one to you. I do feel much for you
indeed. But you will bear it bravely; and many duties and the will
and power to discharge them occupy the mind, and the elasticity comes
back again after a time. I know nothing of the Keble family, not
even how they were related to him, so that my interest in Hursley is
connected with him only. Yet it will always be a hallowed spot in
the memory of English Churchmen. You will hear the various rumours
as to who is to write his life, &c. Let me know what is worth
knowing about it.

'Kohimarama. Anchored on October 8, after an absence of exactly six
weeks; all well on board and ashore.

'Thanks be to God for so many mercies. The mail is gone, and alas!
all my letters and newspapers were sent off a few days since in the
"Brisk" to Norfolk Island. We passed each other. They did not
expect me back so soon, so I have no late news, and have no time to
read newspapers.

'May God bless you, my dear Cousin,

'Your affectionate Cousin,
'J. C. PATTESON.'

In spite of this deep veneration for Mr. Keble and for his teachings,
Bishop Patteson did not embrace to the full the doctrine which had
been maintained in 'Eucharistic Adoration,' and which he rightly
perceived to lie at the root of the whole Ritualistic question. His
conclusions had been formed upon the teachings of the elder Anglican
divines, and his predilections for the externals of worship upon the
most reverent and beautiful forms to which he had been accustomed
before he left home.

After an All Saints' Communion, the following letter was written:--

'All Saints' Day, 1866.

'My dear Cousin,--You know why I write to you on this day. The
Communion of Saints becomes ever a more and more real thing to us as
holy and saintly servants of God pass beyond the veil, as also we
learn to know and love more and more our dear fellow-labourers and
fellow-pilgrims still among us in the flesh.

'Such a day as this brings, thanks be to God, many calm, peaceful
memories with it. Of how many we may both think humbly and
thankfully whose trials and sorrows are over for ever, whose earthly
work is done, who dwell now in Paradise and see His Face, and calmly
wait for the great consummation. To you the sense of personal loss
must be now--it will always be--mixed up with the true spirit of
thankfulness and joy; but remember that as they greatly helped you,
so you in no slight measure have received from God power to help
others, a trust which I verily believe you are faithfully
discharging, and that the brightness of the Christian life must be
not lost sight of in our dealings with others, would we really seek
to set forth the attractiveness of religion.

'I don't mean that I miss this element in any of your writings;
rather I am thankful to you because you teach so well how happiness
and joy are the portion of the Christian in the midst of so much that
the world counts sorrow and loss. But I think that depression of
mind rapidly communicates itself, and you must be aware that you are
through your books stamping your mind on many people.

'Do you mind my saying all this to you? only I would fain say
anything that at such a time may, if only for a minute, help to keep
the bright side before you. The spirit of patience did seem so to
rest upon him and his dear saintly wife. The motto of the Christian
Year seemed to be inwoven into his life and character. I suppose he
so well knew the insignificance of what to us mortals in our own
generation seems so great, that he had learned to view eternal truths
in the light of Him who is eternal. He fought manfully for the true
eternal issues, and everything else fell into its subordinate place.
Is not one continually struck with his keen sense of the proportion
of things? He wastes no time nor strength in the accidents of
religion; much that he liked and valued he never taught as essential,
or even mentioned, lest it might interfere with essentials.

'Oh! that his calm wise judgment, his spiritual discernment, may be
poured out on many earnest men who I can't help thinking lack that
instinct which divinely guided the early Church in the "selection of
fundamentals." We must all grieve to see earnest, zealous men almost
injuring the good cause, and placing its best and wisest champions in
an unnecessarily difficult position, because they do not see what I
suppose Mr. Keble did see so very clearly.

'I know that these questions present themselves somewhat differently
to those situated severally as you and we are. But it is, I suppose,
by freely interchanging amongst ourselves thoughts that the general
balance is best preserved. Pray, when you have time, write freely to
me on such matters if you think it may be of use to do so. The
Church everywhere ought to guard, and teach, and practise what is
essential. In non-essentials I suppose the rule is clear. I will
eat no meat, &c.

'And now good-bye, my dear Cousin; and may God ever bless and comfort
you.

'Your affectionate Cousin,

'J. C. PATTESON.'

Sir William and Lady Martin had just paid their last visit to
Kohimarama, and here is the final record by Lady Martin's hand of the
pleasant days there spent:--

'One more visit we paid to our dear friend in November 1866, a few
months before he left Kohimarama for Norfolk Island. He invited my
dear husband specially for the purpose of working together at Hebrew,
with the aid of the lights they thought our languages throw on its
grammatical structure.

'The Bishop was very happy and bright. He was in his new house, a
great improvement upon the stuffy quarters in the quad. His sitting-
room was large and lofty, and had French windows which opened on a
little verandah facing the sea.

'The Mission party were most co-operative, and would not let the
Bishop come into school during the three weeks of our stay, so he had
a working holiday which he thoroughly enjoyed. The weather was
lovely, the boys were all well, and there was no drawback to the
happiness of that time. At seven the chapel bell rang and we walked
across with him to the pretty little chapel. The prayers and hymn
were in Mota, the latter a translation by the Bishop of the hymn "Now
that the daylight fills the sky." The boys all responded heartily
and were reverent in demeanour. After breakfast the two wise men
worked steadily till nearly one. We were not allowed to dine in Hall
as the weather was very warm, and we inveigled the Bishop to stay out
and be our host.

'A quaint little procession of demure-looking little maidens brought
our dinner over. They were grave and full of responsibility till
some word from 'Bisop' would light up their faces with shy smiles.

'What pleasant walks we had together before evening chapel under the
wooded cliffs or through the green fields. Mr. Pritt had by this
time brought the Mission farm into excellent working order by the aid
of the elder lads alone. Abundance of good milk and butter (the
latter getting ready sale in town) and of vegetables. His gifts too
in school-keeping were invaluable.

'I wish I could recall some of the conversations with our dear
friend. A favourite topic was concerning the best modes of bringing
the doctrines of the Christian religion clearly and fully within the
comprehension of the converts. Some of their papers written after
being taught by him showed that they did apprehend them in a
thoughtful intelligent way.

'At half-past six we had a short service, again in Mota, in chapel,
and then we rarely saw our dear friend till nine. He would not
neglect any of his night classes. At half-past nine the English
workers gathered together in the Bishop's room for prayers and for a
little friendly chat. Curiously enough, the conversation I most
distinctly remember was one with him as we rode up one Saturday from
Kohimarama to St. John's College. I got him to describe the game of
tennis, and he warmed up and told me of games he had played at.

'How that cheery talk came to mind as I drove down the same road last
year just after fine weather had come! It was the same season, and
the hedges on each side of the narrow lane were fragrant as then with
may and sweet briar.'

CHAPTER XI.

ST. BARNABAS COLLEGE, NORFOLK ISLAND. 1867--1869.

A new phase of Coleridge Patteson's life was beginning with the year
1867, when he was in full preparation for the last of his many
changes of home, namely, that to Norfolk Island, isolating him
finally from those who had become almost as near kindred to him, and
devoting him even more exclusively to his one great work. No doubt
the separation from ordinary society was a relief, and the freedom
from calls to irregular clerical duty at Auckland was an immense
gain; but the lack of the close intercourse with the inner circle of
his friends was often felt, and was enhanced by the lack of postal
communication with Norfolk Island, so that, instead of security of
home tidings by every mail, letters and parcels could only be
transmitted by chance vessels touching at that inaccessible island,
where there was no harbour for even the 'Southern Cross' to lie.

But the welfare of the Mission, and the possible benefit to the
Pitcairners, outweighed everything. It is with some difficulty that
the subject of this latter people is approached. They have long been
the romance of all interested in Missionary effort, and precious has
been the belief that so innocent and pious a community existed on the
face of the earth. And it is quite true that when they are viewed as
the offspring of English mutineers and heathen Tahitians, trained by
a repentant old sailor, they are wonderful in many respects; and
their attractive manners and manifest piety are sure to strike their
occasional visitors, who have seldom stayed long enough to penetrate
below the surface.

But it has been their great disadvantage never to have had a much
higher standard of religion, morals, civilisation, or industry set
before them, than they had been able to evolve for themselves; and it
is a law of nature that what is not progressive must be retrograde.
The gentle Tahitian nature has entirely mastered the English
turbulence, so that there is genuine absence of violence, there is no
dishonesty; and drunkenness was then impossible; there is also a
general habit of religious observance, but not including self-
restraint as a duty, while the reaction of all the enthusiastic
admiration expressed for this interesting people has gendered a self-
complacency that makes them the harder to deal with. Parental
authority seems to be entirely wanting among them, the young people
grow up unrestrained; and the standard of morality and purity seems
to be pretty much what it is in a neglected English parish, but, as
before said, without the drunkenness and lawlessness, and with a
universal custom of church-going, and a great desire not to expose
their fault to the eyes of strangers. The fertile soil, to people of
so few wants, and with no trade, prevents the necessity of exertion,
and the dolce far niente prevails universally. The Government
buildings have fallen into entire ruin, and the breed of cattle has
been allowed to become worthless for want of care. The dwellings are
uncleanly, and the people so undisciplined that only their native
gentleness would make their present self-government possible; and it
is a great problem how to deal with them.