Victorian Worthies

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A sojourn which was to bear more permanent fruit was that which he made
at Mota in 1860. This was one of the Banks Islands lying north of the
New Hebrides, in 14 deg. South Latitude. The inhabitants of this group
showed unusual capacity for learning from the missionaries, and
sufficient stability of character to promise lasting success for the
work carried on among them. Mota, owing to the line of cliffs which
formed its coast, was a difficult place for landing; so it escaped the
visits of white traders who could not emulate the swimming feats of
Selwyn and Patteson, and was free from many of the troubles which such
visitors brought with them. Once the island was reached, it proved to be
one of the most attractive, with rich soil, plenty of water, and a
kindly docile population. Here, on a site duly purchased for the
mission, under the shade of a gigantic banyan tree, on a slope where
bread-fruit and coco-nuts (and, later, pine-apples and other
importations) flourished, the first habitation was built, with a boarded
floor, walls of bamboo canes, and a roof of coco-nut leaves woven
together after the native fashion so as to be waterproof. Here, in the
next ten years, Patteson was to spend many happy weeks, taking school,
reading and writing when the curiosity of the natives left him any
peace, but in general patiently conversing with all and sundry who came
up, with the twofold object of gathering knowledge of their dialect and
making friends with individuals. While he showed instinctive tact in
knowing how far it was wise to go in opposing the native way of life, he
was willing to face risks whenever real progress could be made. After he
had been some days in Mota a special initiation in a degrading rite was
held outside the village. Patteson exercised all his influence to
prevent one of his converts from being drawn in; and when an old man
came up and terrorized his pupils by planting a symbolic tree outside
the Mission hut, Patteson argued with him at length and persuaded him to
withdraw his threatening symbol. But apart from idolatry, from
internecine warfare, and from such horrors as cannibalism, prevalent in
many islands, he was studious not to attack old traditions. He wanted a
good Melanesian standard of conduct, not a feeble imitation of European
culture. He was prepared to build upon the foundation which time had
already prepared and not to invert the order of nature.

In writing home of his life in the island Patteson regularly depreciates
his own hardships, saying how unworthy he feels himself to be ranked
with the pioneers in African work. But the discomforts must often have
been considerable to a man naturally fastidious and brought up as he had
been.

Food was most monotonous. Meat was out of the question except where the
missioners themselves imported live stock and kept a farm of their own;
variety of fruit depended also on their own exertions. The staple diet
was the yam, a tuber reaching at times in good soil a weight far in
excess of the potato. This was supplied readily by the natives in return
for European goods, and could be cooked in different ways; but after
many weeks' sojourn it was apt to pall. Also the climate was relaxing,
and apt sooner or later to tell injuriously on Europeans working there.
Dirt, disease, and danger can be faced cheerfully when a man is in good
health himself; but a solitary European suffering from ill-health in
such conditions is indeed put to an heroic test. Perhaps the greatest
discomfort of all was the perpetual living in public. The natives became
so fond of Patteson that they flocked round him at all times. His
reading was interrupted by a stream of questions; when writing he would
find boys standing close to his elbow, following his every movement with
attention. The mere writing of letters seems to have been a relief to
him, though they could not be answered for so long. His journal, into
which he poured freely all his hopes and fears, all his daily anxieties
over the Mission, was destined for his family. But he had other
correspondents to whom he wrote more or less regularly, especially at
Eton and Winchester. At Eton his uncle was one of his most ardent
supporters and much of the money which supported the Mission funds came
to Patteson through the Eton Association. Near Winchester was living his
cousin Charlotte Yonge, the well-known authoress, who afterwards wrote
his Life, and through her he established friendly communications with
Keble at Hursley and Bishop Moberly, then Head Master of Winchester
College. To them he could write sympathetically of Church questions at
home, in which he maintained his interest.

During the summer months also, spent near Auckland, Patteson suffered
from the want of privacy. At Kohimarana, a small bay facing the entrance
to the harbour, to which the school was moved in 1859, he had a tiny
room of his own, ten feet square; but the door stood open all day long
in fine weather, and he was seldom alone. And when there was sickness
among the boys, his own bedroom was sure to be given up to an invalid.
But these demands upon his time and comfort he never grudged, while he
talks with vexation, and even with asperity, of the people from the town
who came out to pay calls and to satisfy their curiosity with a sight of
his school. His real friends were few and were partners in his work. The
two chief among them were unquestionably Bishop Selwyn, too rarely seen
owing to the many claims upon him, and Sir Richard Martin, who had been
Chief Justice of the Colony. The latter shared Patteson's taste for
philology, and had a wide knowledge of Melanesian dialects.

By the middle of 1860, when Patteson had been five years at work, he
became aware that the question of his consecration could not be long
delayed. New Zealand was taxing the Primate's strength and he wished to
constitute Melanesia a separate diocese. He believed that in Patteson,
with his single-minded zeal and special gifts, he had found the ideal
man for the post, and in February 1861 the consecration took place. The
three bishops who laid hands upon him were, like the Bishop-elect,
Etonians;[39] and thus Eton has played a very special part in founding
the Melanesian Church. What Patteson thought and felt on this solemn
occasion may be seen from the letters which he wrote to his father. The
old judge, still living with his daughters at Feniton, had been stricken
with a fatal disease, and in the last months of his life he rejoiced to
know that his son was counted worthy of his high calling. He died in
June 1861 and the news reached his son when cruising at sea a few months
later. They had kept up a close correspondence all these years, which he
now continued with his sisters; nothing shows better his simple
affectionate nature. They are filled mostly with details of his mission
life. It was this of which his sisters wanted to hear, and it was this
which filled almost entirely his thoughts: though he loved his family
and his home, he had put aside all idea of a voyage to England as
incompatible with the call to work. To the Mission he gave his time, his
strength, his money. Eton supplied him with regular subscriptions,
Australia responded to appeals which he made in person and which
furnished the only occasions of his leaving the diocese; but, without
his devotion of the income coming from his Merton fellowship and from
his family inheritance, it would have been impossible for him to carry
on the work in the islands.

[Note 39: Bishop Selwyn (Primate), Bishop Abraham of Wellington, and
Bishop Hobhouse of Nelson.]

In his letters written just about the time of his consecration there are
abundant references to the qualities which he desired to see in
Englishmen who should offer to serve with him. He did not want young men
carried away by violent excitement for the moment, eager to make what
they called the sacrifice of their lives. The conventional phrases about
'sacrifices' he disliked as much as he did the sensational appeals to
which the public had been habituated in missionary meetings. He asked
for men of common sense, men who would take trouble over learning
languages, men cheerful and healthy in their outlook, 'gentlemen' who
could rise above distinctions of class and colour and treat Melanesians
as they treated their own friends. Above all, he wanted men who would
whole-heartedly accept the system devised by Selwyn, and approved by
himself. He could not have the harmony of the Mission upset by people
who were eager to originate methods before they had served their
apprenticeship. If he could not get the right recruits from England, he
says more than once, he would rather depend on the materials existing
on the spot: young men from New Zealand would adapt themselves better to
the life and he himself would try to remedy any defects in their
education. Ultimately he hoped that by careful education and training he
would draw his most efficient help from his converts in the islands, and
to train them he spared no pains through the remaining ten years of his
service.

His way of life was not greatly altered by his consecration. He
continued to divide his year between New Zealand and his ocean cruise.
He had no body of clergy to space out over his vast diocese or to meet
the urgent demands of the islands. In 1863 he received two valuable
recruits--one the Rev. R. Codrington, a Fellow of Wadham College,
Oxford, who shared the Bishop's literary tastes and proved a valued
counsellor; the other a naval man, Lieut. Tilly, who volunteered to take
charge of the new schooner called the _Southern Cross_, just sent out to
him from England. Till then his staff consisted of three men in holy
orders and two younger men who were to be ordained later. One of these,
Joseph Atkin, a native of Auckland, proved himself of unique value to
the Mission before he was called to share his leader's death. But the
Bishop still took upon himself the most dangerous work, the landing at
villages where the English were unknown or where the goodwill of the
natives seemed to be doubtful. This he accepted as a matter of course,
remarking casually in his letters that the others are not good enough
swimmers to take his place. But caution was necessary long after the
time when friendship had begun. In the interval between visits anything
might have happened to render the natives suspicious or revengeful; and
it is evident that, month after month, the Bishop carried his life in
his hand.

The secret of his power can be found in his letters, which are quite
free from heroics. His religion was based on faith, simple and sincere;
and he never hesitated to put it into practice. From the Bible, and
especially from the New Testament, he learned the central lessons, the
love of God and the love of man. Nothing was allowed to come between him
and his duty; and to it he devoted the faculties which he had trained.
His instinct often stood him in good stead, bidding him to practise
caution and to keep at a distance from treacherous snares; but there
were times when he felt that, to advance his work, he must show absolute
confidence in the natives whatever he suspected, and move freely among
them. In such cases he seemed to rise superior to all nervousness or
fear. At one time he would find his path back to the boat cut off by
natives who did not themselves know whether they intended violence or
not. At another he would sit quietly alone in a circle of gigantic
Tikopians, some of whom, as he writes, were clutching at his 'little
weak arms and shoulders'. 'Yet it is not', he continued, 'a sense of
fear, but simply of powerlessness.' No amount of experience could render
him safe when he was perpetually trying to open new fields for mission
work and when his converts themselves were so liable to unaccountable
waves of feeling.

This was proved by his terrible experience at Santa Cruz. He had visited
these islands (which lie north of the New Hebrides) successfully in
1862, landing at seven places and seeing over a thousand natives, and he
had no reason to expect a different reception when he revisited it in
1864. But on this occasion, after he had swum to land three times and
walked freely to and fro among the people, a crowd came down to the
water and began shooting at those in the boat from fifteen yards away,
while others attacked in canoes. Before the boat could be pulled out of
reach, three of its occupants were hit with poisoned arrows, and a few
days later two of them showed signs of tetanus, which was almost
invariably the result of such wounds. They were young natives of
Norfolk Island, for whom the Bishop had conceived a special affection,
and their deaths, which were painful to witness, were a very bitter
grief to him. The reason for the attack remained unknown. The traditions
of Melanesia in the matter of blood-feuds were like those of most savage
nations; and under the spur of fear or revenge the islanders were
capable of directing their anger blindly against their truest friends.

The most notable development in the first year of Patteson's episcopate
was the forming of a solid centre of work in the Banks Islands. Every
year, while the Mission ship was cruising, some member of the Mission,
often the Bishop himself, would be working steadily in Mota for a
succession of months. For visitors there was not much to see. At the
beginning, hours were given up to desultory talking with the natives,
but perseverance was rewarded. Those who came to talk would return to
take lessons, and some impression was gradually made even on the older
men attached to their idolatrous rites. Many years after Patteson's
death it was still the most civilized of the islands with a population
almost entirely Christian.

A greater change was effected in 1867 when the Bishop boldly cut adrift
from New Zealand and made his base for summer work at Norfolk Island,
lying 800 miles north-east of Sydney.[40] The advantages which it
possessed over Auckland were two. Firstly, it was so many hundred miles
nearer the centre of the Mission work; secondly, it had a climate much
more akin to that of the Melanesian islands and it would be possible to
keep pupils here for a longer spell without running such risks to their
health. Another point, which to many would seem a drawback, but to
Patteson was an additional advantage, was the absence of all
distraction. At Auckland the clergy implored him to preach, society
importuned him to take part in its gatherings; and if he would not come
to the town, they pursued him to his retreat. He was always busy and
grudged the loss of his time. A contemporary tells us that he worked
from 5 a.m. to 10 p.m. and later; and besides his philological
interests, he needed time for his own study of the Bible. In the former
he was a pioneer and had to mark out his own path; in the latter he
welcomed the guidance of the best scholars whenever he could procure
their books. He spoke with delight of his first acquaintance with
Lightfoot's edition of St. Paul's Epistles; he wrote home for such new
books as would be useful to him, and he read Hebrew daily whenever he
could find time. Into this part of his life he put more conscientious
effort the older he grew, and was always trying to learn. It may have
seemed to many a dull routine to be followed year after year by a man
who might have filled high place and moved in brilliant society at home;
but from his letters it is clear that he was satisfied with his life and
that no thought of regret assailed him.

[Note 40: This island had lately been colonized by settlers from
Pitcairn Island, descended from the mutineers of the _Bounty_, marooned
in 1789.]

The year 1868 brought a severe loss when Bishop Selwyn was called home
to take charge of the Diocese of Lichfield. It was he who had drawn
Patteson to the South Seas: his presence had been an abiding strength to
the younger man, however rare their meetings; and Patteson felt his
departure as he had felt nothing since his father's death. But he went
on unfalteringly with his work, ever ready to look hopefully into the
future. At the moment he was intensely interested in the ordination of
his first native clergyman, George Sarawia, who had now been a pupil for
nine years and had shown sufficient progress in knowledge and strength
of character to justify the step. Eager though he was to enrol helpers
for the work, Patteson was scrupulously careful to ensure the fitness of
his clergy, and to lay hands hastily on no man. In little matters also
he was careful and methodical. His scholars in Norfolk Island were
expected to be punctual, his helpers to be content with the simple life
which contented him. All were to give their work freely; between black
and white there was to be equality; no service was to be considered
degrading. He did not wish to hurry his converts into outward observance
of European ways. More important than the wearing of clothes was the
true respect for the sanctity of marriage; far above the question of
Sunday observance was the teaching of the love of God.

Foreign missions have come in for plenty of criticism. It is sometimes
said that our missionaries have occasioned strife leading to
intervention and annexation by the British Government, and have exposed
us abroad to the charge of covetousness and hypocrisy. But there are few
instances in which this charge can be maintained, least of all in
Australasian waters. A more serious charge, often made in India, is that
missioners destroy the sanctions of morality by undermining the
traditional beliefs of the natives, and that the convert is neither a
good Asiatic nor a passable European. This depends on the methods
employed. It may be true in some cases. Patteson fully realized the
danger, as we can see from his words, and built carefully on the
foundation of native character. He took away no stone till he could
replace it by better material. He was never content merely to destroy.

Another set of critics are roused by the extravagance of some missionary
meetings and societies: their taste is offended or (we are bound to
admit) their sense of humour roused. It was time for Dickens to wield
this weapon when he heard Chadbands pouring forth their oily platitudes
and saw Mrs. Jellybys neglecting their own children to clothe the
offspring of 'Borrioboola Gha'. Such folly caught the critic's eye when
the steady benevolence of others, unnoticed, was effecting work which
had a good influence equally at home and abroad. Against the fanciful
picture of Mrs. Jellyby let us put the life-story of Charlotte Yonge,
who, while discharging every duty to her family and her village, in a
way which won their lasting affection, was able to put aside large sums
from the earnings of her pen to supply the needs of the Melanesian
Mission.

Let us remember, too, that much of the bitterest criticism has come from
those who have a direct interest in suppressing missions, who have made
large profits in remote places by procedure which will not bear the
light of day. Patteson would have been content to justify his work by
his Master's bidding as quoted in the Gospel. His friends would have
been content to claim that the actual working of the Mission should be
examined. If outside testimony to the value of his work is wanted, one
good instance will refute a large amount of idle calumny. Sir George
Grey, no sentimentalist but the most practical ruler of New Zealand,
gave his own money to get three native boys, chosen by himself, educated
at Patteson's school, and was fully satisfied with the result.

But this simple regular life was soon to be perturbed by new
complications, which rose from the European settlers in Fiji. As their
plantations increased, the need for labour became urgent and the
Melanesian islands were drawn upon to supply it. In many ways Patteson
felt that it was good for the Melanesians to be trained to agricultural
work; but the trouble was that they were being deceived over the
conditions of the undertaking. Open kidnapping and the revival of
anything like a slave trade could hardly be practised under the British
flag at this time; nor indeed did the Fiji settlers, in most cases, wish
to do anything unfair or brutal. It was to be a matter of contracts,
voluntarily signed by the workmen; but the Melanesian was not educated
up to the point where he could appreciate what a contract meant. When
they did begin to understand, many were unwilling to sign for a period
long enough to be useful; many more grew quickly tired of the work,
changed their mind and broke their engagements. As the trade grew, some
islands were entirely depopulated, and it became necessary to visit
others, where the natives refused to engage themselves. The trade was in
jeopardy; but the captains of merchant vessels, who found it very
lucrative, were determined that the supply of hands should not run
short. So when they met with no volunteers, they used to cajole the
islanders on board ship under pretence of trade and then kidnap them;
when this procedure led to affrays, they were not slow to shoot. The
confidence of the native in European justice was shaken, and the work of
years was undone. Security on both sides was gone, and the missionary,
who had been sure of a welcome for ten years, might find himself in face
of a population burning with the desire to revenge themselves on the
first white man who came within their reach.

Patteson did all that he could, in co-operation with the local
officials, to regulate the trade. There was no case for a crusade
against the Fiji planters, who were doing good work in a humane way and
were ignorant of the misdeeds practised in Melanesia. The best method
was to forbid unauthorized vessels to pursue the trade and to put the
authorized vessels under supervision; but, to effect this in an outlying
part of the vast British Empire, it was necessary to educate opinion and
to work through Whitehall. This he set himself to do; but meanwhile he
was so distressed to find the islanders slipping out of his reach, that
in the last months of his life he was planning a campaign in Fiji, where
he intended to visit several of the plantations in turn and to carry to
the expatriated workers the Gospel which he had hoped to preach to them
in their homes.

But before he could redress this wrong he was himself destined to fall
a victim to the spirit of hostility evoked. His best work was already
done when in 1870 he had a prolonged illness, and was forced to spend
some months at Auckland for convalescence. In the judgement of his
friends his exertions had aged him considerably, and the climate had
contributed to break down his strength. Though he was back at work again
before the end of the summer he was far more subject to weariness. His
manner became peaceful and dreamy, and his companions found that it was
difficult to rouse him in the ordinary interchange of talk. His thoughts
recurred more often to the past; he would write of Devonshire and its
charms in spring, read over familiar passages in Wordsworth, or fall
into quiet meditation, yet he would not unbuckle his armour or think of
leaving the Mission in order to take a holiday in England.

In April 1871, when the time came for him to leave Norfolk Island for
his annual cruise, his energy revived. He spent seven weeks at Mota,
leaving it towards the end of August to sail for the Santa Cruz group.
On September 20, as he came in sight of the coral reef of Nukapu, he was
speaking to his scholars of the death of St. Stephen. Next morning he
had the boat lowered and put off for shore accompanied by Mr. Atkin and
three natives. He knew that feeling had lately become embittered in this
district over the Labour trade, but the thought of danger did not shake
his resolution. To show his confidence and disarm suspicion he entered
one of the canoes, alone with the islanders, landed on the beach and
disappeared among the crowd. Half an hour later, for no apparent reason,
an attack was started by men in canoes on the boat lying close off the
shore; and before the rowers could pull out of range, Joseph Atkin and
two of the natives had been wounded by poisoned arrows which, some days
later, set up tetanus with fatal effect. They reached the ship; but
after a few hours, when their wounds had been treated, Mr. Atkin
insisted on taking the boat in again to learn the Bishop's fate. This
time no attack was made upon them; but a canoe was towed out part of the
way and then left to drift towards the boat. In it was the dead body of
the Bishop tied up in a native mat. How he died no one ever knew, but
his face was calm and no anguish seems to have troubled him in the hour
of death. 'The placid smile was still on the face: there was a palm leaf
fastened over the breast, and, when the mat was opened, there were five
wounds, no more. The strange mysterious beauty, as it may be called, of
the circumstances almost make one feel as if this were the legend of a
martyr of the Primitive Church.'[41]

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