John G. Paton · 38 of 48

Chapter IX. Letters From Aniwa · Part 4

“Poor Yawaci was our chief care after that. It seemed strange that Litsi, who so longed for death, should survive so much ill usage, for I could not pen a fiftieth part of the cruelty—the refinement of cruelty—with which he treated her. One instance will suffice. We missed him from Church one Sabbath, and found that he had spent the time skinning the lower part of her face and pinching little bits of flesh out of her chest from shoulder to shoulder, threatening her with his club if she dared to cry out. You will wonder that the Natives did not interfere. We began to lose all patience with them. I remember Mr. Inglis once saying, ‘It was worth living twenty years on the Islands just to know what we owed to Christianity,’ and how I thought they were stupid who did not find out all that in six months or less! I myself have had to live twelve years on Aniwa, however, to know what we owe to Lunatic Asylums, and also to learn how exclusively a man’s wife is regarded as his own peculiar property—that is, to be used exactly as he likes. They would as soon think of interfering with a man’s conduct to his wife, as we would if in civilization a man chose to burn his own carpet or smash his own timepiece. They would break out into the most amused smile, when John was begging them[324] to protect her, and say, ‘But, Missi, it’s his own wife!’ Of course, they were mad enough at him, Litsi being a general favourite, but could not well see their right to interfere.

“Yawaci’s breathing was rather easier; and about eight o’clock, after getting all she could want for the night, we were so thankful to see her lie down for the first time, and fondly hoped she was beginning to recover. She called the girls round her, telling them to sing; and, after beginning the translation of ‘Nearer, my God, to Thee,’ I slipped away leaving them singing it, and got to my bed thoroughly exhausted. Through the night, her husband knocked at our bedroom window, saying she was dying. John sprang up and went to her side, offering a short prayer, but her spirit fled before he had done, and she was buried amid heart-felt lamentations before Church Service on Sabbath, 3rd February. Our hearts were like to break, for she had been a faithful attached servant—daughter, rather—to us for ten years; a sweet little thing about eight or nine when she first came, and every year we liked her better. She had a great lump of heart, and I can never forget her devoted care of us all at that time when we were both laid up and our precious baby died. It was she I trusted to put the little form in its last resting-place, myself too weak to move! It was so sad to see her friends going about the next few days, their eyes red and swollen with weeping. Weeks after, on putting her Photo. into the hands of one of the sewing women, her head sank lower over it till the heavy sobs welled up; and as it was passed from one to another, there was hardly a dry eye—so generally was she beloved. You have all the same likeness, a true one, taken in Melbourne. Mungaw’s was not so good—at least it did not do him justice in his best days; but it is charming to what he looked like in his last few months—his face was so wild and ghastly.

“Poor fellow, I would fain pass over his sad end; but I must hasten on and have done with him, as I daresay you are as tired of the subject as I. The last open break out with his wife was on the day that her baby was three weeks old. He was in a very excited state in the morning, threw off his clothing, stuck on paint (he supplied himself with balls of blue from our washing-house!),[325] and seizing his musket, said he was going to shoot some one ere he returned. The alarm spread, and John came to me at the sewing class to warn the women; but he soon came back, and I dismissed the School, feeling anxious to get the children into the house (John would not budge from his usual work, but he had always Natives with him), and get doors and windows shut. They had hardly gone when terrible screams came from his house, and I flew to implore our cooks to protect Litsi. Just then John rushed past me, telling me I must not hinder him, as he could not hear that poor girl being killed. Our boys ran with him, and met Litsi running from her house covered with blood streaming from the back of her head. John caught her as she fell forward in a fainting fit, and a woman caught up her baby; they were carried to the Imrai, where John bound up her head and revived her with brandy and water. I sent her some fresh clothes, as John would not let me see her till she was revived and doctored, and I followed with some dinner. Her tormentor was coming too, but John gave him a look which made him disappear into the bush in quick style. He re-appeared with the utmost coolness in a nice clean shirt about half an hour afterwards, and walked right into the Mission Premises, helping about a score of men to carry a huge log of wood which John had asked them to bring for some purpose.—I forget what. During the afternoon School he sat eyeing Litsi and grinning from the opposite side of the Imrai, and chatting with the passers-by, as if he had done no wrong!

“Poor Litzi sat leaning against the Church fence, too weak to notice anything, but thought she was safer there when John had to be in School. He told the Natives that she must not be left to her husband’s tender mercies any longer, but that they must take her to one of their distant villages, and if need be protect her with their muskets. Our house was too near; and besides, if he burnt it to get her it would simply mean death to us all,—our food was in it, and neither of us being extra strong, we could not exist on roots and leaves like Natives,—whereas any of their houses could be replaced in a few days. He said also that it would never do for him to use arms,—his work was to teach, theirs to protect each other when necessary. They[326] all saw the force of his words and heartily agreed with him, but all managed to back out of it, one after another, Litsi being too high-spirited to ask protection from any of them.

“When we heard that she was left with only a few women we both felt it our duty to shelter her, regardless of consequences, and ran out to fetch her; but the poor girl had fled with her two little ones to hide for the night in a plantation, one or two women keeping her company.

“Amid all her own danger, she was mindful of us, and sent a messenger to warn us that Mungaw would be sure to burn the house that night if he could. We had a few necessaries selected, a cask of flour, hops for yeast, changes of clothing, etc., to put into the Printing Office, which would not burn so easily with its zinc roof; but when our Aneityumese Teacher came after dark for their quiet removal, Mungaw accompanied him as far as the door! We all laughed. It was no use, with such a vigilant spy upon all our movements. But we were specially reminded of some One watching over us.

“It began to pour torrents of rain, as it so often did when there was imminent danger, and I sent coverings for the wanderers, hot tea, etc., by a circuitous path, with orders to take them to another invalid should Mungaw meet them. Our girls entered eagerly into it, and poor Litsi was made tolerably comfortable in body for the night, there being an old deserted hut in the plantation. Next morning, her cousin whispered to me that two men had taken her under protection to Towleka, a village a mile off, and that Mungaw had no idea of her whereabouts, supposing her to be with us, as he had sent word the evening before that he would kill her if she went anywhere else.

“He got fearfully roused at not finding her by the afternoon, and sprang up after writing a line or two of his copy (he insisted on attending School) to go in search, beginning at the nearest villages, armed with club and killing-stone, and nearly frightening the life out of a dumpy little virago, who was in the habit of hen-pecking her own husband. It was capital to see her thoroughly cowed for once! His wrath grew with his want of success; and, returning after school, he told our boys in a[327] tone of suppressed rage that he was now going to Towleka to kill Litsi if he found her there. One of them flew through the bush to warn her of his approach, and John and I went to the Study to commit her to God. I think I would have gone mad myself, if we had not had our never-failing Refuge in these troublous times!

“We heard after retiring for the night an infant’s piteous wail, and found that, failing to get the mother (for the Natives would not let him finish her quite, though he dragged her out of the house by her hair, wool rather), he had torn the baby from her and rushed home with it, knowing that she would follow it at any risk. It was awfully hard to keep John in the house, but I felt there was not the slightest use in going. We heard other voices remonstrating, and the cries ceasing we knew that Litsi had come. About midnight, what seemed to be the death wail in Litsi’s voice made us think he had murdered the baby. It continued for about three hours, and rose to a perfect agony of distress before stopping. On inquiry at daybreak, for which we anxiously waited, it turned out that he had tied her arms and legs in the most savage manner, only loosing her when two or three Natives went to the rescue. It was at the risk of their lives they did it, and all warned us not to go to their house that morning, as he was raving mad and would not hesitate to kill any one coming near.

“We just felt that poor Litsi had all the more right to our sympathy, when no one else would go. They insisted that she was dead and the baby too, there was such silence round all the place. John would not let me go alone, and I would not let him go alone, so we compromised the matter by going together, and took a plentiful breakfast as an excuse for intruding on his lordship’s privacy, the Natives looking after with wistful eyes, but not one offering to accompany us to the lion’s den! I trembled violently, though I felt the Lord was with us, and was almost relieved when we found the house deserted; but John called aloud for Litsi several times, and at last she came staggering from an enclosure opposite, from which the occupant had fled when Mungaw first went mad. She was trembling with pain and weakness, and when we were going over the stile,[328] she looked back alarmed and said, ‘You’d better not, Missi,’ so we spoke a few cheering words as we stood, and told her again that our house was open to her, night or day, whenever she needed shelter.

“Some of the Church members came to ask what was to be done with him. Tieing only made him worse; confining or shooting were the only other alternatives. To confine him was impossible. Were they to shoot him? John, of course, would not hear of that, and they asked if there was no sort of medicine to cure madness! A near friend got him away to his village, where they had a long talk, and warned him of the consequences. The moment he went, I ran off to sit awhile with Litsi. We feared she would sink under her trials, and wished she had access to the rich consolations with which we were upheld every day in our little readings both of the Bible and other books. It seemed as if the Words were printed for our express circumstances and comfort. My own morning Reading was in the Psalms, and I never felt them so suitable. The very ones I used to think David had written in a fit of indigestion were fraught with the deepest comfort and meaning, and favourite passages were more precious than ever. I never noticed before that the passage, ‘Lead me to the Rock that is higher than I,’ begins with ‘From the end of the Earth will I cry unto Thee,’—so applicable to us! John and I have often remarked to each other that we had to come all the way to the South Seas to understand some bits of the Bible; and I see Bowen in his ‘Daily Meditations’ says the same in reference to India, where he laboured so devotedly as a Missionary. We have another precious book which we were reading aloud and enjoyed next to the Bible,—Boardman’s ‘In the Power of the Spirit,’ given us also before leaving Australia.

“How we wished poor Litsi could share all these privileges, and wondered if her faith were keeping alive at all, but her spirit was beautifully submissive. When I told her that, however difficult it might be for her to believe it, her Saviour God was tenderly caring for her every moment and would not let her have one more trial than she could bear, and that it would relieve her to take all her sorrows to Him, she replied, ‘Oh, I[329] know it, Missi; my whole words now are prayer; for I have no one else to speak to, and would have gone mad if I could not have told my Saviour! I tell Him everything, and know that it is all right even if Mungaw should kill me, for he can’t harm me beyond the grave.’ I told her not a single night passed that we were not engaging in prayer for her, and she said,—‘These prayers have been answered; for he has had the wish to kill me and burn your house, and he could easily have done both had not God prevented.’

“The whole provocation (I forgot to say) he had for laying her head open at this time, was her saying, ‘Oh, don’t do that!’ when he got up to burn the fine new house he had nearly completed. She learned never again to contradict him, even when he made the wildest proposals. The next house he burnt, a neighbour’s, he told her with a diabolical grin (he had such a beautiful smile in his sane days!) of his purpose, and she merely said, ‘Are you?’ and slipped round to take everything valuable out of it, as the owners were living a week or two on a lonely little islet adjoining this, where the Natives often go for change and fishing. Of course, they said nothing about it on their return; no one in the Island was prepared to tackle such a character, and he presumed accordingly, turning his attentions more to the general public after this, and dividing his favours pretty equally over the whole Island. He plundered the plantations in rotation, and shot all the pigs which came in his way, bringing Litsi part of the spoil; but she suddenly seemed possessed of the spirit of half a dozen, sternly refusing to touch one morsel of stolen food, and took their eldest little boy to the furthest village, begging the people to keep him as he was too young to refuse what was stolen. She then came to beg of me for a dose of poison—she thought the stuff we killed the rats with would do—as he was too wicked to live, and would bring a judgment on the whole Island. She had such a chance through the night when he fell into a deep sleep (the first time he was known to sleep for many weeks), and she had a great wish to take his life, but was afraid God would not like it.

“I confirmed her fears and counselled patience a little longer, as the Missi was getting the boat repaired to go to Tanna, and[330] it was well known Mungaw wanted to go there and stay a while. This was the last hope of the whole Island, and all were eager to see the boat finished, none more so than I, having an additional reason, viz., that it took John away to a distance nearly the whole day, and though he always left me with a body-guard he was not so careful of himself. I must say, the Natives were very thoughtful about him, however, and would not let him continue to take his nightly turns in watching our house. They begged him to arm himself, but that, of course, he would not do. He and our Aneityumese Teacher were the only ones who would not carry a weapon of any kind, or give in to him when it was right to be firm, and they were the only two Mungaw had the slightest fear of; but he kept prowling about our Premises day and night, for what intent he best knew. When he used to set off on his peregrinations, it was such a relief to throw windows and doors open for air; but back he would come with the rapidity of a race horse. Many a fainting fit he gave me; and F. used to get white to the lips when he appeared. Even little J. began to lisp,—‘I frightened Mungaw!’

“About the only time I was thankful to see him come was after he had been tracking John’s footsteps closer than I liked. I was watching him from our front verandah as he went off to his boat, the two lads a little before, when Mungaw suddenly appeared close behind him—axe in hand. I could see a long way, and when John stooped to examine a bush or fern Mungaw stopped too, always keeping right at his back. Visions of the murdered Gordons rose vividly before me, and I felt distracted. I knew that John and the boys were on their guard, and plenty of Natives were about, but a blow could be so easily struck! I went in-doors and told my God and then our Aneityumese Teacher (we showed as little fear as possible before our Natives), so that if he thought there was real danger he would go to him. He looked anxious and questioned me minutely, but went on quietly with his work, and I tried to follow his example; but my feet would carry me to the verandah, till the welcome sight of that usually dreaded form, tossing his axe in the air and catching it by the handle, allayed all fears, for I knew that had he done any harm he would have rushed into hiding.

[331]

“His last days were spent pulling up the people’s bananas and sugar-cane, destroying what he could not devour. He took our boys’ blankets and boxes, and walked off with the lookingglass from the girls’ house. Just the Sunday morning before he was shot he turned out all the girls’ boxes while we were at breakfast, and pranced up and down our front verandah. We had just finished our own Family Worship, and John was going off for a little quiet to his Study, when we heard the Church bell being furiously rung a full hour before the time! The Natives already gathered stood staring at each other in consternation, others hurried forward, thinking they were late, and the usual bell-ringer came panting to know why the work was so unceremoniously taken out of his hands! The more they begged Mungaw to leave off the quicker he rang, till John ran out and ordered him to stop instantly, which he did.

“He did not trouble us another Sunday, poor fellow, but he gave me two or three thorough frights through the week, once surprising me suddenly on the verandah, when mounted on a high box, and oil-painting the woodwork of the house. On the following Saturday morning, as we were in the garden, Litsi passed the fence and I ran to her. She said, ‘When will the boat be ready, Missi?’ I told her that there was just a little paint to finish to-day, and it would sail on Monday, so she would have only two days more of endurance. She jumped and clapped her hands, saying, ‘My heart sings, for he’s sure to go!’

“But that same evening, as we sat at a late tea, our spirits brighter than usual, feeling that relief was near (though it came not in the way we expected), for the Dayspring was to leave Sydney on Monday and would be getting nearer us every day, we heard the fatal shot go off close beside us! We have heard as loud reports and even nearer, when they were killing flying foxes or birds, which caused us nothing more than a start and a laugh; but there was something in that which made us spring simultaneously from our seats and stand in awe. John said, ‘Some one is shot! Either Mungaw, or some one by his hand.’ He had barely uttered the words, when the awful death-wail in Litsi’s voice confirmed our fears. Our girls rushed in from the[332] bath-room, where they had been filling baths and getting all ready for Sunday, and said, ‘That’s Mungaw, Missi, for the Inahutshi people told us not to be alarmed if we heard a shot after dark, as we would know it was Mungaw killed.’

“It had all been deliberately arranged, and we knew not a word about it. John said, ‘Then I must run and see what I can do for the poor fellow,’ and was off; but another loud report made me implore him to come back, till we ascertained certainly what the matter was, as he might be shot in the dark without any one meaning it, and F. decided the matter by saying in a faint voice, ‘Papa, will you stay and take care of us?’ His papa put his arm round him and said, ‘Yes, my boy, I’ll not leave the room again.’

“Two or three Natives came to tell us that Mungaw was shot dead, and that John’s going would be no use now. He engaged in prayer, and oh, how our hearts bled for the poor fellow! Now that his sad end had come, we could only think of him as he once was; as, for instance, we saw him one evening years before stand calm and tranquil, with three enraged men pointing their muskets at him for spoiling some Heathen performance, and telling them he would not fight, and that the worst they could do would only send him to Heaven. Or again, as he used to go about pleading with the young boys (a mere boy himself) not to follow the footsteps of their fathers, but come out decidedly for the Lord Jesus. Or again, we thought of the time when he was John’s right hand man, and would almost have laid down his life to serve him. His two nearest friends, on coming to ask if they would bury him at once, laid down their heads and sobbed aloud, though, like all the Aniwans, they had wished for his death. It was a sad, sad night; the hurried and midnight burial, the suppressed excitement, the fear and uncertainty about the real murderers and what would follow next, and last of all that young and once noble fellow cut down in the midst of his days.

“He had just left our Premises and gone home for supper, and then had worship (!) with Litsi, after which she told him not to go outside, as two or three men had been watching for three nights to get a good aim at him. He courted death and[333] would go out, saying to Litsi, ‘You come with me.’ She went out first and thought she saw a man standing; but next moment the attention of both was suddenly directed to a meteor in its transit, and while gazing at it the musket went off, going through Mungaw’s body from arm to arm. He fell down by his own door, crying, ‘Awai!’ (= Alas!), and died immediately, the murderers making their escape as they shot the other musket into the air....

“You may be sure, after these trying times and seven months’ utter silence regarding our absent ones, we were intensely delighted to welcome the dear old Dayspring once more. But strange as it may seem, this is our most trying time; for all the anxiety of the past months seems to accumulate into an agony of suspense, from the time her sails are discerned till we have opened the most desired-for letters of our mail and found all well. She arrived at Aniwa just two days after we calculated upon seeing her, April 24th. The first announcement of her approach came as we were assembled in Church at three o’clock for the prayer-meeting; and I’m afraid the Services had not their usual interest for me! How John could proceed quietly with his address, under the excitement, was a puzzle; for I saw him start, and we exchanged earnest looks, as the well-known cry greeted our ears, and then two Natives came panting in with beaming faces, darting intelligent looks all around.

“The Service did come to an end at last, and then every one’s tongue was loosed. It was the Dayspring without doubt; but was there wind enough to bring her in that day? I made an agreement with the herd who went for the goats to shout again if it were very near, and soon a dozen voices yelled back the answer. I flew to give orders for all sorts of preparations, but not a girl was to be found, all having rushed up the hill to see for themselves; and when they came, they were so mad with joyful excitement, that instead of their usual respectful demeanour they tumbled heels over head on the verandah two or three times, before they could compose themselves to work; and so many little things waiting to be done!...

“We gathered round such a happy tea-table; for it is the[334] most exquisite treat to have intercourse with kindred spirits in our own tongue, after jabbering so many months to the Darkies, and to get all the news from the civilized world. Such a Mail too! Over one hundred letters, and no end of papers. We simply looked at all your different handwritings, but devoured our bairns’ monthly budgets that night after our visitors had retired to their rooms....

“The second Communion since our return also took place at this time, and was a season of great refreshing and comfort; but the sight of that little group of Communicants is always too much for me, especially when they stand up to sing so heartily! I could fain lay down my head and sob, were it not that I have the harmonium to attend to and must crush my heart down as best I can. All our trials and privations, looked at in the light of that little sable band (glancing back at what they once were) now sitting at their Lord’s Table, seem as nothing—as less than nothing.

“A stranger might simply have his risibles excited by the somewhat grotesque costume of the congregation. Indeed, I had to turn away my own head, as our two worthy Elders came in for the ‘Elements’ before the Service, with the most imposing gravity, with manifest devotion in their looks, but in all the dignity of their office, and with special hats to grace the occasion. The one had his white shirt done up round his hat so as to represent a puggaree, and, as it hung a long way behind, he had to keep his head well-balanced for fear of it falling back. As for the other, who or what his hat had been originally intended for, we were at a loss to divine! It has always been our difficulty to get them large enough to include their wool; but this, a light grey chimney-pot, overtopped wool and all till it rested on the tip of his nose, which fortunately being a very large one prevented his face from disappearing altogether!...

“The Captain’s plan was to land us on Sunday morning, lie off and on till Monday to land our luggage and some wood John had bought on Aneityum, and then return for the McDonalds at Port Resolution on his way northward. Mrs. Milne and I lay pillowed on deck, enjoying the moonlight till quite late, and having such a musical treat from Mr. Michelsen,[335] who sings and accompanies himself on the guitar with great taste. He had been playing it on deck in the afternoon, and we begged him to bring it up again after tea. The moon was brilliantly reflected on the water, and the ship lying so still, when he began with the exquisite guitar accompaniment to sing ‘Jesus, lover of my soul,’—the Missionaries standing round and joining softly in parts, while we were quietly crying. I have heard Oratorios in the old country rendered so that they almost took one out of the body, but never anything that went to my heart like this! You would need to take in the whole circumstances to know how we felt it. The Vessel, with her little band of Missionaries so far from kindred and country, and about to separate for their lonely homes, and we knew not how much trial awaiting them!...