J O U R N A L.
1886.
Friday, 9th July.—The weather seaward looked very threatening as we stood on the Pier at the Settlement in readiness to embark. All the Melanesians, boys and girls, to the number of about 50 had already gone off to the ship which lay tossing and tumbling at her anchorage as if anxious to be let free. A considerable number of Norfolk Island friends were on the Pier, in addition to most of the Members of the Mission, to bid us Farewell and wish us God speed. Many thoughtful little mementos, too, found their way into our hands from our warm-hearted and well wishing friends. The process of shaking hands took some time in execution, but one could not but feel the absence of many who were unavoidably absent on the occasion. My own little ones were the last to bid me good-bye, and poor little Walter (my youngest son) was very tearful. Shortly after, we were all in the boat, and “let go” was called out. The landing was very smooth, and we got out with very little difficulty. Besides the Captain, Mr. Turnbull and myself were the only passengers. It was close upon 5 o’clock p.m. when we got on board, and some of the passengers had already begun to feel the motion of the ocean. After things were put into some order and the shore boat dismissed with Captain Bates and the Norfolk Island crew, the command to “heave away” was given, and then I saw for the first time the steam winch at work. Before many minutes the anchor was in its place in the bows of the ship, and the long process of raising the anchor in old days, performed by manual labour, reduced to a minimum. We slipped quietly down the leeside of the island, and had ample time to get into some amount of order and readiness for a very dirty, rough night. Opposite the Mission, the boys ashore had lit a large bonfire, and we could hear their shouts, borne seaward by the raging gale. As night closed in the sky became very dark and lowering, and we knew full well what we were to expect. We had dinner while still under the lee of the island, but before the meal was finished, we were knocking about in the heavy head gale. Of course any where but at Norfolk Island, where there is no certain shelter, it would be approaching madness to put to sea with such a crowd of people in a small ship on a night like this, but here there is no help for it. Perhaps had we not got away as we did, we might have been detained another week, from the uncertainty of wind changes and the insecurity of the anchorages. All night it blew very heavily, with a nasty head sea. Of course, the wind being very strong and dead ahead, we made little or no progress, and were in fact hove to. Most of the passengers spent a very unpleasant night, and the poor little children, of whom we had four on board, suffered like the others. The poor boys in the schoolroom had a disagreeable time, owing to the large amount of cargo on board, in addition to their own luggage. The Southern Cross, however, is a magnificent sea boat, although slightly lively, and being at sea was, to me at least, the worst of the evils we experienced that first night. Mr. Turnbull is a good sailor, and he and I were alone in the saloon. Poor old Manekalea I invited also to sleep there, on account of his blindness, and I asked Silas Kema to sleep there and look after him. Poor fellow, his sight seems quite gone, but he is wonderfully patient and resigned. I think now he begins to feel that there is no hope of his ever seeing again, and he begins to try and help himself and get about alone a great deal more than before. The loss of so young, active, and intelligent a Teacher must be much felt in the district of Ysabel, formerly under his charge.
Saturday, 10th.—The wind had abated little, if any, this morning, and the vessel was making little or no headway. It rained a good deal throughout the day, and that allayed both wind and sea by evening. Very few of the boys appeared on deck, and I myself was quite hors de combat. Mr. Turnbull kindly offered to read prayers in English for me in the Evening, and I managed the Mota with a few who were able to attend. These first days on board ship are very trying, one feels quite out of it altogether, and the sea legs are somewhat long in returning when one has been ashore for any length of time. Towards evening the weather moderated a little, but there was very little life about the ship. These unhappy days when one is the victim of mal de mer leave a very unsatisfactory impression behind them, and if any recollection is left, it is always painful. I was not actually seasick myself, but I felt uncomfortable enough for a time, and did not care for ship’s fare.
Sunday, 11th.—The weather more moderate. I conducted Morning Prayer both in English and Mota, and generally our passengers were getting over their indisposition. It was not a very profitable day however to me, for I could not settle to anything: our Service hours on Sunday, at sea, are English Mattins at 9 o’clock a.m. and Evensong at 7 p.m. Mota 11 a.m. and 7.30 p.m. Our daily hours for meals are 8 a.m. breakfast, 12 noon lunch, 5 p.m. dinner. On Sunday this is slightly changed, and we dine at 1, and tea at 5 p.m. At anchor, too, the English Morning Service is postponed to 10 a.m., and all the sailors are enabled to attend. Usually only one watch can be present while the vessel is at sea. This year we have a crew composed entirely of Englishmen. We have generally had previously a strong admixture of foreigners. The steward, indeed, is a German, but he has been with us so many voyages, speaks and reads English so well, that one quite forgets his nationality. The crew are a very nice, quiet, well-behaved set of men, and all look so respectable. I believe the Captain has many applications for billets on board the Southern Cross, she being a popular vessel now-a-days, besides, a trip in her is a paying affair, for I am told that sometimes the men realize from £10 to £30 and £40 by the sale of curios alone. The great collector on board now is John Brown the boatswain, and he has accumulated quite a museum, which he meditates taking to England for sale next year. Brown is an old Island Trader, and knows all the specialities of the trade and what will captivate the native taste. Penny whistles and half-penny looking glasses, I believe, are the line this trip. There is very keen competition too on board when the curio fields are reached, chiefly at Santa Cruz and some of the Solomon Islands. Sunday passed away somewhat profitlessly, and evening once more closed over a day past and gone. I did not give the sailors a Sermon, but reserved my efforts for the Melanesians, many of whom were able to attend. I naturally chose the subject of the Gospel as the basis of my remarks, viz: the recovery of the lost sheep and the piece of money, which I applied to the condition of the heathen to whom we were going, and our duty as seekers of those who were still wandering upon the mountains and upon every high hill, with none caring for them or seeking them out. We had some singing after the service, and the termination of the day at least was pleasant, and I hope profitable. One’s thoughts naturally wandered away back to Norfolk Island, and one thought of the quiet peaceful Sunday evenings there, and the love of those we had left. The vessel was much more at her ease this evening, and we could undress and rest in bed with more comfort.
It was a great pleasure to me from this time forward, to see the boys dropping into the cabin one by one to say their prayers, unbidden but none the less welcome.
Monday, 12th July.—This morning the wind has moderated very considerably, and the sea is going down. The vessel moving along much more gently and easily, sometimes towards our destination. Life on board is almost utterly devoid of interest or excitement. There is little or nothing stirring, and out of our element we feel restless and not fit for much. We begin now however, to fall into ship-shape ways, and things begin to look a little straighter than they did. The boys are divided into sets of cooks, and have to take their turn in order to cook and keep the schoolroom clean. The Melanesians have three meals a day, and they are supposed to look after their own food, the cook giving directions as to what he wants doing. After the misery and prostration of mal de mer have passed off, the boys get very lively, and do not easily again succumb.
In the evening we had music. Brown the boatswain has a most ingenious instrument called, I think, the “Cabinetto,” which plays almost any tune; a piece of perforated paper is turned over a sort of key-board, like a mouth organ, by means of a handle, and the closed notes are kept silent, while the open ones speak according to the length of the perforation. Its tone is somewhat harsh, but the music is very correct, and there is plenty of it. Brown bought this instrument, which cost him some £15 or £16, for the special amusement of his young Melanesian friends. The girls never seem to tire of turning the handle, and the more it is turned the better the owner seems pleased. Forward there is a very good concertina, exceptionally well played by one of the sailors, a banjo played by another, and a tin plate beaten by a third makes a very fair tambourine. Altogether, the hour between 5 and 6 p.m. is very lively with strains of music and other enlivenments. The boys most thoroughly enjoy the music, and are very attentive and enthusiastic listeners, breaking in with a good chorus when they happen to know any of the pieces played. At 7 p.m. English Prayers, a shortened form of Evensong with a hymn, and afterwards full Evensong in Mota with a good deal of singing. We have many nice voices on board this time, and the singing is exceptionally good. Owing to the crowded state of the schoolroom, service is held in the saloon, which is inconveniently small for the large number who attend. The girls who hitherto have been prevented from attending, by reason of sea-sickness, this evening put in a very fairly large appearance. Most Melanesian ladies are bad sailors, and some never get over the inconveniences of the uncongenial sea element.
Tuesday, 13th July.—The weather this morning was somewhat finer, but still a good deal unsettled. We have failed as yet to get hold of the S.E. Trades, but are living in hopes that a favourable breeze will soon waft us onward to our destination. The great excitement this morning was the smoke of a steamer, which at first we wildly imagined must be the vessel expected from Sydney to meet us at Norfolk Island, giving us chase. However, wiser heads, by the direction of the ship’s head and the course of the smoke, made it out to be the Rockton or some steamer from Fiji towards New Caledonia. Whatever ship it may have been, the excitement all ended in smoke. Beyond this, we have had nothing stirring all day. The moon at night dispersed the clouds, and the concertina forward enlivened the monotony of the evening. And so has passed another day, leaving little record of any work done.