John G. Paton · 30 of 48

Chapter VI. Face to Face with Heathenism · Part 1

Navalak and Nemeyan on Aniwa.—Taia the “Orator.”—The Two next Aneityumese Teachers.—In the Arms of Murderers.—Our First Aniwan Converts.—Litsi Soré.—Surrounded by Torches.—Traditions of Creation, Fall, and Deluge.— Infanticide and Wife-Murder.—Last Heathen Dance.—Nelwang’s Elopement.—Yakin’s Bridal Attire.—Christ-Spirit versus War-Spirit.—Heathenism in Death-Grips.—A Great Aniwan Palaver.—The Sinking of the Well.—“Missi’s Head Gone Wrong.”—“Water! Living Water!”—Old Chief’s Sermon on “Rain from Below.”—The Idols Cast Away.—The New Social Order.—Back of Heathenism Broken.

On landing in November, 1866, we found the Natives of Aniwa, some very shy and distrustful, and others forward and imperious. No clothing was worn; but the wives and elder women had grass aprons or girdles like our first Parents in Eden. The old Chief interested himself in us and our work; but the greater number showed a far deeper interest in the axes, knives, fish-hooks, stripes of red calico and blankets, received in payment for work or for bananas. Even for payment they would scarcely work at first, and they were most unreasonable,[148] easily offended, and started off in a moment at any imaginable slight.

For instance, a Chief once came for Medicine. I was so engaged that I could not attend to him for a few minutes. So off he went, in a great rage, threatening revenge, and muttering, “I must be attended to! I won’t wait on him.” Such are the exactions of a naked Savage!

Shortly before our arrival, an Aneityumese Teacher was sacrificed on Aniwa. The circumstances are illustrative of what may be almost called their worship of revenge. Many long years ago, a party of Aniwans had gone to Aneityum on a friendly visit; but the Aneityumese, then all Savages, murdered and ate every man of them save one, who escaped into the bush. Living on cocoa-nuts, he awaited a favourable wind, and, launching his canoe by night, he arrived in safety. The bereaved Aniwans, hearing his terrible story, were furious for revenge; but the forty-five miles of sea between proving too hard an obstacle, they made a deep cut in the earth and vowed to renew that cut from year to year till the day of revenge came round. Thus the memory of the event was kept alive for nearly eighty years.

At length the people of Aneityum came to the knowledge of Jesus Christ. They strongly yearned to spread that saving Gospel to the Heathen Islands all around. Amid prayers and strong cryings to God they, like the Church at Antioch, designated two of their leading men to go as Native Teachers and[149] evangelize Aniwa, viz., Navalak and Nemeyan; whilst others went forth to Fotuna, Tanna, and Erromanga, as opportunity arose. Namakei, the principal Chief of Aniwa, had promised to protect and be kind to them. But as time went on, it was discovered that the Teachers belonged to the Tribe on Aneityum, and one of them to the very land, where long ago the Aniwans had been murdered. The Teachers had from the first known their danger, but were eager to make known the Gospel to Aniwa. It was resolved that they should die. But the Aniwans, having promised to protect them, shrank from doing it themselves; so they hired two Tanna men and an Aniwan Chief, one of whose parents had belonged to Tanna, to waylay and shoot the Teachers as they returned from their tour of Evangelism among the villages on Sabbath afternoon. Their muskets did not go off, but the murderers rushed upon them with clubs and left them for dead.

Nemeyan was dead, and entered that day amongst the noble army of the Martyrs. Poor Navalak was still breathing, and the Chief Namakei carried him to his village and kindly nursed him. He pled with the people that the claims of revenge had been satisfied, and that Navalak should be cherished and sent home,—the Christ-Spirit beginning to work in that darkened soul! Navalak was restored to his people, and is yet living—a high-class Chief on Aneityum and an honour to the Church of God, bearing on his body “the marks of the Lord Jesus.” And often[150] since has he visited Aniwa, in later years, and praised the Lord amongst the very people who once thirsted for his blood and left him by the wayside as good as dead!

For a time, Aniwa was left without any witness for Jesus,—the London Missionary Society Teachers, having suffered dreadfully for lack of food and from fever and ague, being also removed. But on a visit of a Mission vessel, Namakei sent his orator Taia to Aneityum, to tell them that now revenge was satisfied, the cut in the earth filled up, and a cocoa-nut tree planted and flourishing where the blood of the Teachers had been shed, and that no person from Aneityum would ever be injured by Aniwans. Further, he was to plead for more Teachers, and to pledge his Chief’s word that they would be kindly received and protected. They knew not the Gospel, and had no desire for it; but they wanted friendly intercourse with Aneityum, where trading vessels called, and whence they might obtain mats, baskets, blankets, and iron tools. At length two Aneityumese again volunteered to go, Kangaru and Nelmai, one from each side of the Island, and were located by the Missionaries, along with their families, on Aniwa, one with Namakei, and the other at the south end, to lift up the Standard of a Christlike life among their Heathen neighbours.

Taia, who went on the Mission to Aneityum, was a great speaker and also a very cunning man. He was the old Chief’s appointed “Orator” on all state[151] occasions, being tall and stately in appearance, of great bodily strength, and possessed of a winning manner. On the voyage to Aneityum, he was constantly smoking and making things disagreeable to all around him. Being advised not to smoke while on board, he pled with the Missionary just to let him take a whiff now and again till he finished the tobacco he had in his pipe, and then he would lay it aside. But, like the widow’s meal, it lasted all the way to Aneityum, and never appeared to get less—at which the innocent Taia expressed much astonishment!

The two Teachers and their wives on Aniwa were little better than slaves when we landed there, toiling in the service of their masters and living in constant fear of being murdered. They conducted the Worship in Aneityumese, while the Aniwans lay smoking and talking all round till it was over. The language of Aniwa had never yet been reduced to a written form, and consequently no book had been printed in it. The Teachers and their wives were kept hard at work on Friday and Saturday, cooking and preparing food for the Aniwans, who, after the so-called Worship, feasted together and had a friendly talk. We immediately put an end to this Sabbath feasting. That made them angry and revengeful. They even demanded food, etc., in payment for coming to the Worship, which we always resolutely refused. Doubtless, however, the mighty contrast presented by the life, character, and disposition of these godly Teachers[152] was the sowing of the seed that bore fruit in other days,—though as yet no single Aniwan had begun to wear clothing out of respect to Civilization, much less been brought to know and love the Saviour.

I could now speak a little to them in their own language; and so, accompanied generally by my dear wife and by an Aneityumese Teacher, and often by some friendly Native, I began to visit regularly at their villages and to talk to them about Jesus and His love. We tried also to get them to come to our Church under the shade of the banyan tree. Nasi and some of the worst characters would sit scowling not far off, or follow us with loaded muskets. Using every precaution, we still held on doing our work; sometimes giving fish-hooks or beads to the boys and girls, showing them that our objects were kind and not selfish. Such visits gained their confidence.

And however our hearts sometimes trembled in the presence of imminent death and sank within us, we stood fearless in their presence, and left all results in the hands of Jesus. Often have I had to run into the arms of some savage, when his club was swung or his musket levelled at my head, and, praying to Jesus, so clung round him that he could neither strike nor shoot me till his wrath cooled down and I managed to slip away. Often have I seized the pointed barrel and directed it upwards, or, pleading with my assailant, uncapped his musket in the struggle. At other times, nothing could be said, nothing done, but stand still in silent prayer, asking[153] God to protect us or to prepare us for going home to His Glory. He fulfilled His own promise,—“I will not fail thee nor forsake thee.”

I WANT YOU TO TRAIN LITSI FOR JESUS.

The first Aniwan that ever came to the knowledge and love of Jesus was the old Chief Namakei. We came to live on his land, as it was near our diminutive harbour; and upon the whole, he and his people were the most friendly; though his only brother, the Sacred Man of the tribe, on two occasions tried to shoot me. Namakei came a good deal about us at the Mission House, and helped us to acquire the language. He discovered that we took tea evening and morning. When we gave him a cup and a piece of bread, he liked it well, and gave a sip to all around him. At first he came for the tea, perhaps, and disappeared suspiciously soon thereafter; but his interest manifestly grew, till he showed great delight in helping us in every possible way. Along with him, and as his associates, came also the Chief Naswai and his wife Katua. These three grew into the knowledge of the Saviour together. From being savage Cannibals they rose before our eyes, under the influence of the Gospel, into noble and beloved characters; and they and we loved each other exceedingly.

Namakei brought his little daughter, his only child, the Queen of her race, called Litsi Soré (= Litsi the Great), and said,—

“I want to leave my Litsi with you. I want you to train her for Jesus.”

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She was a very intelligent child, learned things like any white girl, and soon became quite a help to Mrs. Paton. On seeing his niece dressed and so smart-looking, the old Chief’s only brother, the Sacred Man that had attempted to shoot me, also brought his child, Litsi Sisi (= the Little) to be trained like her cousin. The mothers of both were dead. The children reported all they saw, and all we taught them, and so their fathers became more deeply interested in our work, and the news of the Gospel spread far and wide. Soon we had all the Orphans committed to us, whose guardians were willing to part with them, and our Home became literally the School of Christ,—the boys growing up to help all my plans, and the girls to help my wife and to be civilized and trained by her, and many of them developing into devoted Teachers and Evangelists.

Our earlier Sabbath Services were sad affairs. Every man came armed—indeed, every man slept with his weapons of war at his side—and bow and arrow, spear and tomahawk, club and musket, were always ready for action. On fair days we assembled under the banyan tree, on rainy days in a Native hut partly built for the purpose. One or two seemed to listen, but the most lay about on their backs or sides, smoking, talking, sleeping! When we stopped the feast at the close, for which they were always ready, the audiences at first went down to two or three; but these actually came to learn, and a better[155] tone began immediately to pervade the Service. We informed them that it was for their good that we taught them, and that they would get no “pay” for attending Church or School, and the greater number departed in high dudgeon as very ill-used persons! Others of a more commercial turn came offering to sell their “idols,” and when we would not purchase them but urged them to give them up and cast them away for love to Jesus, they carried them off saying they would have nothing to do with this new Worship.

Amidst our frequent trials and dangers in those earlier times on Aniwa, our little Orphans often warned us privately and saved our lives from cruel plots. When, in baffled rage, our enemies demanded who had revealed things to us, I always said, “It was a little bird from the bush.” So, the dear children grew to have perfect confidence in us. They knew we would not betray them; and they considered themselves the guardians of our lives.

The excitement increased on both sides, when a few men openly gave up their idols. Morning after morning, I noticed green cocoa-nut leaves piled at the end of our house, and wondered if it were through some Heathen superstition. But one night the old Chief knocked upon me and said,—

“Rise, Missi, and help! The Heathen are trying to burn your house. All night we have kept them off, but they are many and we are few. Rise quickly, and light a lamp at every window. Let us pray to[156] Jehovah, and talk loud as if we were many. God will make us strong.”

I found that they had the buckets and pails from all my Premises full of water,—that the surrounding bush was swarming with Savages, torch in hand,—that the Teachers and other friendly Natives had been protecting themselves from the dews under the large cocoa-nut leaves which I saw, while they kept watch over us. After that I took my turn with them in watching, each guard being changed after so many hours. But they held a meeting and said amongst each other,—

“If our Missi is shot or killed in the dark, what will we have to watch for then? We must compel Missi to remain indoors at night!”

I yielded so far to their counsel; but still went amongst them, watch after watch, to encourage them.

What a suggestive tradition of the Fall came to me in one of those early days on Aniwa! Upon our leaving the hut and removing to our new house, it was seized upon by Tupa for his sleeping place; though still continuing to be used by the Natives, as club-house, court of law, etc. One morning at daylight this Tupa came running to us in great excitement, wielding his club furiously, and crying,—

“Missi, I have killed the Tebil. I have killed Teapolo. He came to catch me last night. I raised all the people, and we fought him round the house with our clubs. At daybreak he came out and I[157] killed him dead. We will have no more bad conduct or trouble now. Teapolo is dead!”

I said, “What nonsense! Teapolo is a spirit, and cannot be seen.”

But in mad excitement he persisted that he had killed him. And at Mrs. Paton’s advice, I went with the man, and he led me to a great Sacred Rock of coral near our old hut, over which hung the dead body of a huge and beautiful sea-serpent, and exclaimed,—

“There he lies! Truly I killed him.”

I protested: “That is not the Devil; it is only the body of a serpent.”

The man quickly answered, “Well, but it is all the same! He is Teapolo. He makes us bad, and causes all our troubles.”

Following up this hint by many inquiries, then and afterwards, I found that they clearly associated man’s troubles and sufferings somehow with the serpent. They worshipped the Serpent, as a spirit of evil, under the name of Matshiktshiki; that is to say, they lived in abject terror of his influence, and all their worship was directed towards propitiating his rage against men.

Their story of Creation, at least of the origin of their own Aniwa and the adjacent Islands, is much more an outcome of the Native mind. They say that Matshiktshiki fished up these lands out of the sea. And they show the deep print of his foot on the coral rocks, opposite each island, whereon he stood as he strained and lifted them up above the[158] waters. He then threw his great fishing-line round Fotuna, thirty-six miles distant, to draw it close to Aniwa and make them one land; but, as he pulled, the line broke and he fell into the sea,—so the Islands remain separated unto this day.

Matshiktshiki placed men and women on Aniwa. On the southern end of the Island, there was a beautiful spring and a freshwater river, with rich lands all around for plantations. But the people would not do what Matshiktshiki wanted them; so he got angry, and split off the richer part of Aniwa, with the spring and river, and sailed thence across to Aneityum,—leaving them where Dr. Inglis has since built his beautiful Mission Station. To this day, the river there is called “the water of Aniwa” by the inhabitants of both Islands; and it is the ambition of all Aniwans to visit Aneityum and drink of that spring and river, as they sigh to each other,—

“Alas, for the waters of Aniwa!”

Their picture of the Flood is equally grotesque. Far back, when the volcano, now on Tanna, was part of Aniwa, the rain fell and fell from day to day, and the sea rose till it threatened to cover everything. All were drowned except the few who climbed up on the volcano mountain. The sea had already put out the volcano at the southern end of Aniwa; and Matshiktshiki, who dwelt in the greater volcano, becoming afraid of the extinction of his big fire too, split it off from Aniwa with all the land on the south-eastern side, and sailed it across to Tanna on the top[159] of the flood. There, by his mighty strength, he heaved the volcano to the top of the highest mountain of Tanna, where it remains to this day. For, on the subsiding of the sea, he was unable to transfer his big fire to Aniwa; and so it was reduced to a very small island, without a volcano, and without a river, for the sins of the people long ago.

Even where there are no snakes they apply the superstitions about the serpent to a large, black, poisonous lizard called kekvau. They call it Teapolo’s; and women or children scream wildly at the sight of one. The Natives of several of our Islands have the form of the lizard, as also of the snake and the bird and the face of man, cut deep into the flesh of their arms. When the cuts begin to heal, they tear open the figures and press back the skin and force out the flesh, till the forms stand out above the skin and abide there as a visible horror for all their remaining days. When they become Christians and put on clothing, they are very anxious to cover these reminders of Heathenism from public view.

The darkest and most hideous blot on Heathenism is the practice of Infanticide. Only three cases came to our knowledge on Aniwa; but we publicly denounced them at all hazards, and awoke not only natural feeling, but the selfish interests of the community for the protection of the children. These three were the last that died there by parents’ hands. A young husband, who had been jealous of his wife, buried their male child alive as soon as born. An[160] old Tanna woman, who had no children living, having at last a fine healthy boy born to her, threw him into the sea before any one could interfere to save. And a Savage, in anger with his wife, snatched her baby from her arms, hid himself in the bush till night, and returned without the child, refusing to give any explanation, except that he was dead and buried. Praise be to God, these three murderers of their own children were by-and-bye touched with the story of Jesus, became members of the Church, and each adopted little orphan children, towards whom they continued to show the most tender affection and care.

Wife murder was also considered quite legitimate. In one of our inland villages dwelt a young couple, happy in every respect except that they had no children. The man, being a Heathen, resolved to take home another wife, a widow with two children. This was naturally opposed by his young wife. And, without the slightest warning, while she sat plaiting a basket, he discharged a ball into her from his loaded musket. It crashed through her arm and lodged in her side. Everything was done that was in my power to save her life; but on the tenth day tetanus came on, and she soon after passed away. The man appeared very attentive to her all the time; but, being a Heathen, he insisted that she had no right to oppose his wishes! He was not in any way punished or disrespected by the people of his village, but went out and in amongst them as usual, and took[161] home the other woman as his wife a few weeks thereafter. His second wife began to attend Church and School regularly with her children; and at last he also came along with them, changing very manifestly from his sullen and savage former self. They have a large family; they are avowedly trying to train them all for the Lord Jesus; and they take their places meekly at the Lord’s Table.

It would give a wonderful shock, I suppose, to many namby-pamby Christians, to whom the title “Mighty to Save” conveys no ideas of reality, to be told that nine or ten converted murderers were partaking with them the Holy Communion of Jesus! But the Lord who reads the heart, and weighs every motive and circumstance, has perhaps much more reason to be shocked by the presence of some of themselves. Penitence opens all the Heart of God—“To-day shalt thou be with Me in Paradise.”

Amongst the heathen, a murderer was often honoured; and if he succeeded in terrifying those who ought to take revenge, he was sometimes even promoted to be a Chief. One who had thus risen to tyrannize over his village was so feared and obeyed, that one of the lads there said to me,—

“Missi, I wish I had lived long ago! I could have murdered some great man, and come to honour. As Christians, we have no prospects; where are your warriors? Are we always to remain common men?”

I told him of greatness in the service of Jesus, of[162] glory and honour with our Lord. That lad afterwards became a Native Teacher, first in his own village, and then on a Heathen Island,—the Lord the Spirit having opened up for his ambition the nobler path.

The last Heathen Dance on Aniwa was intended, strange to say, in honour of our work. We had finished the burning of a large lime-kiln for our buildings, and the event was regarded as worthy of a festival. To our surprise, loud bursts of song were followed by the tramp, tramp of many feet. Men and women and children poured past us, painted, decorated with feathers and bush twigs, and dressed in their own wildest form, though almost entirely nude so far as regards the clothing of civilization. They marched into the village Public Ground, and with song and shout and dance made the air hideous to me. They danced in inner and outer circles, men with men and women with women; but I do not know that the thing looked more irrational to an outsider than do the balls at home. Our Islanders, on becoming followers of Jesus, have always voluntarily withdrawn from all these scenes, and regard such dancings as inconsistent with the presence and fellowship of the Saviour.

On calling one of their leading men and asking him what it all meant, he said,—

“Missi, we are rejoicing for you, singing and dancing to our gods for you and your works.”

I told him that my Jehovah God would be angry[163] at His Church being so associated with Heathen gods. The poor bewildered soul look grieved, and asked,—

“Is it not good, Missi? Are we not helping you?”

I said, “No! It is not good. I am shocked to see you. I come here to teach you to give up all these ways, and to please the Jehovah God.”

He went and called away his wife and all his friends, and told them that the Missi was displeased. But the others held on for hours, and were much disgusted that I would not make them a feast and pay them for dancing! No other dance was ever held near our Station on Aniwa.

Some most absurd and preposterous experiences were forced upon us by the habits and notions of the people. Amongst these I recall very vividly the story of Nelwang’s elopement with his bride. I had begun, in spare hours, to lay the foundation of two additional rooms for our house, and felt rather uneasy to see a well-known Savage hanging around every day with his tomahawk, and eagerly watching me at work. He had killed a man, before our arrival on Aniwa; and it was he that startled my wife by suddenly appearing from amongst the boxes, and causing her to run for life. On seeing him hovering so alarmingly near, tomahawk in hand, I saluted him,—

“Nelwang, do you want to speak to me?”

“Yes, Missi,” he replied, “if you will help me now, I will be your friend for ever.”

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I answered, “I am your friend. That brought me here and keeps me here.”

“Yes,” said he very earnestly, “but I want you to be strong as my friend, and I will be strong for you!”

I replied, “Well, how can I help you?”

He quickly answered, “I want to get married, and I need your help.”

I protested: “Nelwang, you know that marriages here are all made in infancy, by children being bought and betrothed to their future husbands. How can I interfere? You don’t want to bring evil on me and my wife and child? It might cost us our lives.”

“No! no! Missi,” earnestly retorted Nelwang. “No one hears of this, or can hear. Only help me now. You tell me, if you were in my circumstances, how would you act?”

“That’s surely very simple,” I answered. “Every man knows how to go about that business, if he wants to be honest! Look out for your intended, find out if she loves you, and the rest will follow naturally,—you will marry her.”

“Yes,” argued Nelwang, “but just there my trouble comes in!”

“Do you know the woman you would like to get?” I asked, wishing to bring him to some closer issue.

“Yes,” replied he very frankly, “I want to marry Yakin, the chief widow up at the inland village, and that will break no infant betrothals.”

“But,” I persevered, “do you know if she loves you or would take you?”

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“Yes,” replied Nelwang; “one day I met her on the path and told her I would like to have her for my wife. She took out her ear-rings and gave them to me, and I know thereby that she loves me. I was one of her late husband’s men; and if she had loved any of them more than she did me, she would have given them to another. With the ear-rings she gave me her heart.”

“Then why,” I insisted, “don’t you go and marry her?”

“There,” said Nelwang gravely, “begins my difficulty. In her village there are thirty young men for whom there are no wives. Each of them wants her, but no one has the courage to take her, for the other nine-and-twenty will shoot him!”

“And if you take her,” I suggested, “the disappointed thirty will shoot you.”

“That’s exactly what I see, Missi,” continued Nelwang; “but I want you just to think you are in my place, and tell me how you would carry her off. You white men can always succeed. Missi, hear my plans, and advise me.”

With as serious a face as I could command, I had to listen to Nelwang, to enter into his love affair, and to make suggestions, with a view to avoiding bloodshed and other miseries. The result of the deliberations was that Nelwang was to secure the confidence of two friends, his brother and the orator Taia, to place one at each end of the coral rocks above the village as watchmen, to cut down with his[166] American tomahawk a passage through the fence at the back, and to carry off his bride at dead of night into the seclusion and safety of the bush! Nelwang’s eyes flashed as he struck his tomahawk into a tree, and cried,—

“I see it now, Missi! I shall win her from them all. Yakin and I will be strong for you all our days!”

Next morning Yakin’s house was found deserted. They sent to all the villages around, but no one had seen her. The hole in the fence behind was then discovered, and the thirty whispered to each other that Yakin had been wooed and won by some daring lover. Messengers were despatched to all the villages, and Nelwang was found to have disappeared on the same night as the widow, and neither could anywhere be found.

The usual revenge was taken. The houses of the offenders burned, their fences broken down, and all their property either destroyed or distributed. Work was suspended, and the disappointed thirty solaced themselves by feasting at Yakin’s expense. On the third day I arrived at the scene. Seeing our old friend Naswai looking on at the plunderers, I signalled him, and said innocently,—