They looked very disappointed and whispered to each other, "Missi has forgot!"
"Forgot what?" inquired I.
"Missi," they answered, "you promised that when the vessel came you would give each of us a biscuit."
"Oh," I replied, "I did not forget; I only wanted to see if you remembered it?"
They laughed, saying, "No fear of that, Missi! Will you soon open the cask? We are dying for biscuits."
At once I got hammer and tools, knocked off the hoops, took out the end, and then gave girls and boys a biscuit each. To my surprise, they all stood round, biscuit in hand, but not one beginning to eat.
"What," I exclaimed, "you are dying for biscuits! Why don't you eat? Are you expecting another?"
One of the eldest said, "We will first thank God for sending us food, and ask Him to bless it to us all."
And this was done in their own simple and beautiful childlike way; and then they did eat, and enjoyed their food as a gift from the Heavenly Father's hand. (Is there any child reading this, or hearing it read, who never thanks God or asks Him to bless daily bread? Then is that child not a white Heathen?) We ourselves at the Mission House could very heartily rejoice with the dear Orphans. For some weeks past our European food had been all exhausted, except a little tea, and the cocoanut had been our chief support. It was beginning to tell against us. Our souls rose in gratitude to the Lord, who had sent us these fresh provisions that we might love Him better and serve Him more.
The children's sharp eyes had read correctly. It was not the Dayspring. Our brave little ship, as I afterwards learned, had gone to wreck on 6th January 1873; and this vessel was the Paragon, chartered to bring down our supplies. Alas! the wreck had gone by auction sale to a French slaving company, who cut a passage through the coral reef, and had the vessel again floating in the Bay,—elated at the prospect of employing our Mission Ship in the blood-stained Tanaka-traffic (= a mere euphemism for South Sea slavery)! Our souls sank in horror and concern. Many Natives would unwittingly trust themselves to the Dayspring and revenge would be taken on us, as was done on noble Bishop Patteson, when the deception was found out. What could be done? Nothing but cry to God, which all the friends of our Mission did day and night, not without tears, as we thought of the possible degradation of our noble little ship. Listen! The French Slavers, anchoring their prize in the Bay, and greatly rejoicing, went ashore to celebrate the event. They drank and feasted and reveled. But that night a mighty storm arose, the old Dayspring dragged her anchor, and at daybreak she was seen again on the reef, but this time with her back broken in two and for ever unfit for service, either fair or foul. Oh, white winged Virgin, daughter of the waves, better for thee, as for thy human sisters, to die and pass away than to suffer pollution and live on in disgrace!