CHAPTER 19
THE MARTYR-BISHOP OF MELANESIA
In the Eton playing-fields—A case of moral courage—Bishop Selwyn and Coley Patteson—Selwyn's work in Melanesia—Wanted a helper!—The helper found—Patteson as skipper and college tutor—As Bishop of Melanesia—Exciting adventures—The kidnappers—The Bishop's death.
THE Duke of Wellington used to be credited with the striking remark, "The battle of Waterloo was won in the playing-fields of Eton." Like many other memorable sayings which have been attributed to great men, this one is now generally believed to be apocryphal. Nevertheless, in its own paradoxical and exaggerated way, it embodies a truth, the truth being that the boy is "the father of the man," and that the victories of after years find their explanation in the qualities of strength and courage and manly endurance which have been worked into the character when life was young. The hero of the following story happens to have been an Eton boy, and one who greatly distinguished himself among his companions in the Eton playing-fields.
And no one who reads the story of his life can fail to see that the schoolboy was the father of the missionary, that it was the same qualities of athletic vigor, of enthusiasm, of moral strength by which Coley Patteson was marked out at Eton College that gained him his place of renown in the history of missions as the apostle and martyr of Melanesia.
John Coleridge Patteson, Coley Patteson, as he was familiarly called, was the son of Mr. Justice Patteson, a distinguished lawyer in his time, and the grand-nephew of the poet Coleridge. As a boy he was especially distinguished for his physical prowess, which raised him ultimately to the coveted position of captain of the Eton Eleven. Once, in the annual match with Harrow at Lord's, it was Patteson who won the game for his school by putting on fifty runs and completely breaking the neck of the Harrow bowling. On another occasion, in a game at Eton, he so persistently defied the bowling of Lillywhite, the famous professional, that the latter became quite irritated and said, "Mr. Patteson, I should like to bowl to you on Lord's ground, and it would be different." It was characteristic of young Paterson’s modesty to reply at once, "Oh, of course; I know you would have me out directly there.”
But this brilliant Eton cricketer had other qualities which do not always accompany athletic distinction. He was a quick and diligent scholar, especially strong in languages, a fact which stood him in good stead when he came to move about in a scattered archipelago, almost every island of which had its own separate dialect. Better still, he was a lad of fearless moral courage.
While up to any amount of fun, ready to sing his song at a cricket or football supper as mirthfully as the most lighthearted of the party, he could not tolerate any kind of coarseness or indecency. At the annual dinner of the Eton Eleven the custom had grown up of allowing rather objectionable songs to be given. After Coley Patteson had passed into the Eleven he was present at a dinner when one of the boys began to sing a ditty of a decidedly questionable character. At once Coley called out, "If that does not stop, I shall leave the room"; and as the singer went on, he jumped up and went out. His next step was to intimate to the captain that unless an apology was made he would leave the Eleven. Knowing that he could not dispense with so brilliant a bat, the captain compelled the offender to apologize; and during the rest of Coley Patteson's time at Eton no more songs of that kind were sung at the annual dinner.
It was while Coley was at Eton, and when he was about fourteen years of age, that a vision of what was to be the great work of his life first dawned upon him. In the parish church of Windsor, one Sunday afternoon, he heard a missionary sermon from Bishop Selwyn of New Zealand, a diocese which at that time included the Melanesian Islands, and he was deeply touched by the Bishop's appeal for help. Not long afterwards in his father's house he met Bishop Selwyn face to face. The Bishop, who was just about to leave England for the South Seas, turned to the boy's mother and said, half in playfulness, half in earnest, "Lady Patteson, will you give me Coley?" From that day forward, deep down in the heart of the lad, there lived the thought of some day joining the heroic Bishop of New Zealand in his pioneer work among the islanders of the Pacific.
But something must now be said about Melanesia and Bishop Selwyn. When the see of New Zealand was first formed the Bishop was entrusted with the care of the innumerable islands dispersed in various groups over the South Pacific. The interest of the Church of England in the islanders, however, had been anticipated by the zeal of other Churches or missionary societies. The Wesleyans were at work in the Fiji Islands, the Presbyterians in the New Hebrides, the London Missionary Society, ever since the time of John Williams, in Polynesia. There still remained farther to the west, and forming a far-off fringe along the south-eastern coast of New Guinea and the north-eastern coast of Australia, the Melanesian or Black Island group, so called because the inhabitants are darker-skinned than the other Pacific races and appear to have a good deal of the negro in their composition.
Bishop Selwyn very wisely resolved that, to prevent overlapping of missionary effort and consequent confusion of the native mind, he would confine his attentions to these Melanesians, and he entered into his labors among them with all the ardor and heroism of the true pioneer. Like his future colleague Coleridge Patteson, he was a distinguished athlete. He had rowed in the first Inter-University Boat Race in 1829, and was further a splendid pedestrian and a magnificent swimmer. In his work in Melanesia all these powers came into full play. There was nothing of the conventional bishop about his outward appearance or manner of life. His usual way of landing on an island was to take a header from a boat which lay off at a safe distance, and swim ashore through the surf. When hard manual work had to be done, he was the first to set the example. If dangers had to be met, he did not hesitate to face them. If hardships had to be borne, he bore them cheerfully. Once, for instance, when an inhospitable chief refused him the shelter of a hut, he retired to a pig-sty and spent the night there in patience and content. How versatile he was may be judged from an instance like the following. On one occasion he had undertaken by request to convey to New Zealand in his missionary schooner a Melanesian chief's daughter and her attendant native girl. The pair were dressed according to the ideas of propriety which prevailed in the islands, but were hardly presentable in a British colony. The Bishop spent much of his time on the voyage in manufacturing to the best of his ability out of his own counterpane two petticoats for the dark maidens. And so attractive did he make the garments, with their trimmings of scarlet ribbon, that the girls were as delighted to put them on as the Bishop was anxious that they should do so.
One of the great difficulties of the work in Melanesia sprang from the endless varieties of dialects which were employed. Bishop Selwyn conceived the plan of persuading native youths from the different islands to come with him to New Zealand to undergo there a course of instruction and training which would fit them for Christian work among their own people when they returned. But if this plan was to be carried out efficiently there was need of assistance, and such assistance as was required was by no means easy to find. The man wanted must be possessed of physical hardihood, ready and fit to "rough it," as the Bishop himself did while cruising among the islands. But he must also be a man of culture and character, to whom the difficult task of educating the native youths could be safely entrusted.
In search of such a helper as this Bishop Selwyn eventually paid a visit to England. Thirteen years had passed since he had stirred the missionary instinct in young Patteson's soul by saying to his mother in his hearing, "Will you give me Coley?" Neither the Bishop nor the boy had forgotten the incident. But Coley meanwhile had passed through Oxford and become curate of Alfington, in the parish of Ottery St. Mary. His mother was dead, his father now an old man in poor health. A strong sense of filial love and duty had hitherto kept him from the thought of leaving home so long as his father was alive. But Bishop Selwyn came to see Sir John Patteson and Coley, and set the claims of Melanesia before them in such a way that both father and son realized that they must not hesitate to make the needful sacrifice of affection. That sacrifice was soon made. When the Bishop sailed again for his far-off Pacific see, Coleridge Patteson stood beside him on the deck as his devoted follower and brother missionary.
As Patteson knew that his work would largely consist in sailing about among the islands, he applied himself busily throughout the long ocean voyage not only to the task of mastering the native languages under the Bishop's tuition, but to a careful study under the captain of the art of navigation. He soon became an expert shipmaster, so that he was able by and by to navigate the Southern Cross, the little missionary schooner, on her various voyages through dangerous seas.
Arriving in New Zealand, he speedily had a taste of the kind of life that was in store for him. His immediate work lay in the College which had been established for the native youths, but he had to be ready, just as Bishop Selwyn himself was, to turn his hand to any kind of duty. In one of his letters he tells how, as the two were superintending the landing of their goods from a vessel by means of carts, the tide being very low, three of the horses got into water which was rather deep for them, and were in danger of being drowned. In a moment the two missionaries had their coats off and their trousers rolled up, and had plunged in to the rescue, splashing about in the muddy water in full view of the crowd on the beach. "This is your first lesson in mud-larking, Coley," remarked the Bishop, as they emerged at length wet and dirty, and laughing at each other's appearance.
But Patteson's special task was, as he put it himself, "to rove about the Melanesian department," and for several years he spent half of his time at sea. Fortunately he was a good sailor, and in every way worthy to be the skipper of the Southern Cross. He took thorough delight in his work, enjoying its romantic aspects, but still more feeling the privilege of carrying the Gospel of Christ to men and women who had never heard it before, and who needed it very sadly. On his early cruises he was accompanied by the Bishop, and their most frequent method of landing at any island to which they came was to plunge into the sea in light suits which they wore for the purpose, and make for the crowd of armed natives who were sure to be standing on the beach. Sometimes they were in danger, but firmness and kindness and tact carried them through, and in not a few cases they were able to persuade a chief to allow his son, or some other promising youth, to return with them to New Zealand to join the other young men who were receiving at the College the elements of a Christian education.
So friendly was their reception for the most part, that Patteson was inclined to scoff at the notion of describing these gentle-looking people as savages at all. "Savages are all Fridays," he wrote, "if you know how to treat them." But at times he was inclined to carry his confidence in them too far, and it was well for him in those early days that he had the Bishop at hand, who had learned by experience the need for perpetual caution. For there were plenty of real savages in Melanesia, and now and then there came sharp reminders of the fact. At one island, where they were received with every sign of friendliness and conducted to the chief's long hut, they saw hanging from the roof a row of human skulls, some of them black with soot, others so white that it was evident they had been quite lately added to the collection. In another place, while passing through some bush, they came upon the remains of human bodies, relics of a recent cannibal feast. Occasionally, too, as they swam away from what had seemed to be a friendly crowd, an arrow or two whizzed past their heads, showing that they had left some ill-disposed persons behind them. One island that they visited in safety they knew to have been the scene some time before of a deed of blood of which the crew of a British vessel were the victims. Their ship had struck upon the reef, and when they got ashore the natives killed the whole ship's company of them, nineteen in all. Ten of these the cannibals ate on the spot; the remaining nine they sent away as presents to their friends.
A voyage over, and the chief fruits of the cruise gathered together, in the persons of a number of bright lads who had been persuaded to become scholars, Patteson would settle down for some months to play another role, that of a college tutor, but under circumstances very different from any that the name is apt to suggest. He had to teach his pupils everything, not only reading, writing, arithmetic, and the elements of Christian truth, but how to sweep their rooms and make their beds, how to print and weave and saw and build. Lessons in school over, his old proficiency at cricket became useful once more, and the former captain of the Eton Eleven might be seen patiently coaching his young barbarians, until they caught something of the English skill and enthusiasm in the great English game.
At length after six years of strenuous apprenticeship to the work of a pioneer missionary in the Pacific, there came a great change in Coleridge Patteson's position. Bishop Selwyn had long been convinced of the necessity of forming Melanesia into a separate diocese, and had come to recognize not less clearly the pre-eminent fitness of Mr. Patteson to occupy the new see. The representations he made to the home authorities on this subject were successful, and in 1861 Coley Patteson became Bishop of Melanesia at the early age of thirty-three.
His elevation made little difference, however, either in the general character of his work or in his manner of doing it. He cruised about among the islands as before—dressed commonly in an old flannel shirt, and trousers somewhat the worse for wear—a handy costume for one who had constantly to do a good deal of swimming and wading. His voyages as Bishop, at the same time, were on a wider scale than any he had attempted formerly, for he felt his larger responsibilities, and tried to reach even those islands which had hitherto been regarded as inaccessible.
Several times he had very narrow escapes. Once in particular, when he had gone ashore at a place where the natives made a show of friendship, he discovered from their conversation and gestures as soon as they had him in their power that it was their deliberate intention to kill him. The reason, he found afterwards, was that one of their friends had been murdered by a white trader, and with a savage sense of justice they felt that they were entitled to this white man's life. The Bishop knew that humanly speaking he had no chance of mercy, but he begged permission to be allowed to pray, and kneeling down he committed his soul to God. The natives did not understand a single word that he uttered, but the look they saw in his face as he knelt so impressed and overawed them that they said to one another, "He does not look like a murderer." And as soon as he was done, with many signs of courtesy they conducted him back to the beach again and bade him farewell.
On another occasion, in connection with a later cruise, a sad incident took place at the island of Santa Cruz. The natives here showed no signs of opposition when he landed, but after he had returned to his boat and pushed off, a shower of arrows was discharged from the beach. The Bishop, who was at the stern, unshipped the rudder and held it up as a shield to try to ward off the deadly shafts. In spite of his efforts three of the party, all of them Christian young men, were transfixed. Fortunately the arrows were not poisoned, as Melanesian arrows often were, but Patteson had great difficulty in extracting them. In one case he found it quite impossible to draw out the arrowhead from a man's wrist, and was obliged to pull it from the other side right through his arm. This poor fellow took lock-jaw, and died in a few days, after dreadful agonies of pain.
For ten strenuous years after his consecration as Bishop, Patteson sailed to and fro among the Melanesian Islands. Sometimes, through illness and weakness, brought on by the constant strain, he was in great suffering; but he never ceased to rejoice in his work. At last, however, a dark shadow fell across his path, a shadow which deepened to the awful tragedy of his death.
The traders of the Pacific had discovered that it was more remunerative to kidnap natives, clap them under hatches, and sail with them as virtual slaves to the plantations of Queensland or Fiji, than to busy themselves in collecting sandal-wood or copra for the legitimate market. Not a few of them had entered into this unscrupulous and vile traffic, which soon produced an unpleasant change all over the islands in the attitude of the natives to white men.
Worse still, some of these kidnappers used Patteson's name as a decoy. Coming to an island where he was known and trusted, they would tell the people that the Bishop was on board and wanted to see them. In some cases they even went the length of making an effigy of him, dressed in a black coat and holding a Bible in his hands; and this they placed in a position where it could be seen by those ashore. When the unsuspecting blacks came off in their canoes and climbed on board, they were quickly tumbled down into the hold among the other miserable wretches who were imprisoned there.
These were the malign influences which led to the murder of Bishop Patteson. He is the Martyr of Melanesia, but it was the kidnapping traders more than the ill-used natives who were responsible for his death.
It was on a day of September, 1871, that the Southern Cross stood off the coral reef of the island of Nukapu. Several canoes were seen cruising about, apparently in a state of some excitement. The Bishop entered the schooner's boat and pulled towards the reef, but the tide was too low for the boat to get across. At this juncture two natives approached, and proposed to take the Bishop into their light canoe and paddle him over the reef to the shore. He at once consented. The boat's crew saw him land safely on the beach, but after that lost sight of him.
For about half an hour the boat had been lying-to and waiting, when from several canoes, which had gradually been drawing near, a shower of arrows fell upon the crew. They pulled back immediately in great haste, and were soon out of range, but not till three persons had been struck with poisoned arrows, two of whom, the Rev. Joseph Atkins and a Christian native, subsequently died.
When the tide rose high enough to make it possible for the boat to cross the barrier reef, it was dispatched from the schooner, in the hope of getting some intelligence about the Bishop. As the men pulled across the lagoon towards the shore two canoes put off to meet them. One cast off the other and went back, the one which was left drifting towards them as they approached.
As it came near they noticed what looked like a bundle lying in the bottom, and when they drew alongside they saw that this was the dead Bishop, lying there with a calm smile on his upturned face. His body was wrapped in a native mat, and over his breast there lay a leaf of the cocoa-nut palm, with five knots tied in the long sprays. What those mysterious knots meant was partly explained when the mat was unwrapped and five deadly wounds, inflicted with club, spear, and arrows, were discovered on the body.
It was afterwards learned that five Nukapu natives had been stolen by the kidnappers. The islanders doubtless looked upon them as having been murdered, and so their nearest relatives, exercising the old tribal right of exacting "blood for blood," had stained their weapons one by one in the blood of the white Bishop, who was thus called upon to lay down his life for the sins of his own unworthy fellow-countrymen.
The people of Nukapu have long since repented of their crime. On the spot where the Bishop fell there now stands, by their own desire, a simple but impressive cross with this inscription upon it:—
In Memory of
John Coleridge Patteson,
Missionary Bishop,
Whose life was here taken by men for whom he would
Gladly have given it.
The authoritative source for Bishop Selwyn's life is the biography by Rev. H. W. Tucker, and for Bishop Patteson's, The Life of fan Coleridge Patteson, by Miss C. M. Yonge (Macmillan and Co.). Mention should also be made of Bishop Patteson, by J. Page (S. W. Partridge and Co.), which is an excellent popular narrative.