“What do we find in him? All that he was; all that we believed.... You can feel the deep joy it is to feel this day by day pressed home to one’s conviction ... to find that it was not any mere fancy, any imaginary greatness or goodness, with which memory and friendship had invested him in absence, but that he was in his simple unvarnished reality, more than all he (Mr. Abraham) had thought and trusted to and reverenced for these nine years past—the entire renunciation of self and all belonging to him in comparison with the duty and the object of the present moment is so shown forth in his daily life, so transparently open to all who have eyes to see and hearts to receive the witness of such an example, that one must be dead and dull indeed not to feel continually the all-pervading power of such a life.... One feels that he is the one man to pioneer the way and lay foundations.... My husband owns that he cannot gainsay or resist the wisdom with which he speaks, though he is thankful to find the Judge quite joins with him in his feeling that a drag-chain rather than a spur is needed on his favourite Melanesian Mission; and is disposed to watch his widening schemes in that direction with a zealous regard for this country, which must after all be the real battlefield in behalf of the coloured race, and also with anxiety for the personal health and safety of the Bishop himself, which they all feel is certainly risked in each one of these voyages.... I do not wonder at the hold these islands have upon him, after hearing his stories of his intercourse with them, and especially about the boys he had here last summer.”
The Abrahams were both amused and impressed by the quiet way in which the Bishop walked “through any mention of State interference and ecclesiastical law apart from Church authority.” They saw at once how determined he was to make the Church of New Zealand independent and self-governed, and to make it realize its responsibility for the education of the people. In his discussion on these subjects he went on to thoughts of the Church at home and of the work of Bishops there, and said that at home too the clergy must take education into their own hands by doing the work, and that there should be an “episcopate of £500 a year bishops, given to hospitality and not clothing flunkeys in purple.”
Abraham wrote his first impressions of St. John’s College, to Dr. Hawtrey, the headmaster of Eton.
“The Bishop and myself are the only persons in the colony almost who possess libraries; and the taste for such things has to be created, as at present a mere utilitarian idea of education prevails. Perhaps for the purposes of the settlers here and the clergy a practical education is the best suited, and I must confess that I quite quail before the attainments of some of my scholars, who will make most valuable missionaries among natives and round a sea girt isle. Only conceive what a thoroughly αὐταρκης man will be formed out of a boy who at the age of nineteen knows more divinity than most boys at Eton in the Sixth Form, who is thoroughly acquainted with French and Maori ... is a good musician and able to teach the natives singing—a good mathematician and able to sail the Undine from hence to the New Hebrides and back, taking sights and managing rigging.... Of course none of them are scholars in our sense of the words; they devote too little time to scholarship, having to pay for their support by bodily work, so that two hours a day, four times a week is all a boy gets of school. He is either printing, or farming, or weaving, or digging, or making shoes, etc., the rest of his time. Altogether it is a strange life we lead here. I am sure I never realized it before I came, but I will try to put you in possession of our principle; and when I say our, I mean the Bishop’s—for only his vast head and noble heart could conceive and execute so complicated a plan.
“The first generation of converts to Christianity is passing rapidly from this scene, and the middle-aged folk now are very nominal Christians indeed. They have abandoned cannibalism certainly, and the horrors of frequent war, thank God, but their moral and religious state is very questionable. The old chief close by us is a heathen, and he and many of his people point to the bad lives of the Christian people as their stumbling block.... The fact is that they are not educated. The Bishop was told by the missionaries that it was impossible and visionary to attempt to break through their habits. His faith was too great to allow him to leave it unattempted, and his perseverance too strong to be easily deterred or baffled. He established the college, to which he draws as many as he can afford, which is only fifty. He first has a native school for children (it stands about a hundred yards from this; his house and the chapel is between us). There are twenty or twenty-five of these little brown mice, living in a wooden Swiss-like cottage, with a master (a candidate for Holy Orders) and an assistant, one of the scholars, to look after them. They learn English, arithmetic, singing, writing and scripture—dig in the garden, make and mend their clothes which are not extensive. When they are thirteen or fourteen they are drafted off into the labour departments (to which twenty-five more belong and live in different houses, under the superintendence of the students) and become either bakers or cooks, weavers or shoemakers, carpenters or farmers, etc., attending school half the day, and working the other half at their trade. All these working departments the Bishop is well able to superintend. He might have made a capital farmer, or a good carpenter or a weaver or a printer.
“At 7 a.m. we all meet in chapel. At 2 p.m. hall, we all dine together. There is an upper table for the clergy and the ladies; the different departments dine together, presided over by their foreman, at different tables—plain, good, wholesome fare. From 4 to 6 school or work—at 6 tea in hall—7 chapel.... The attachment of the natives to the Bishop is wonderful. They thoroughly appreciate his care for them.”
Mr. Abraham’s presence made it easier for the Bishop to move about his diocese, now that he had one whom he could thoroughly trust to leave in charge at Auckland. When some little time after his return from the Synod the new mission ship, the Border Maid, arrived with Bishop Tyrrell on board, he started in it for another voyage to the Pacific, taking back with him four boys who had been brought over to school by Captain Erskine in the Havannah. Two of the boys were to be landed at Erromango, where some years before Mr. Williams, a member of the London Missionary Society, had been murdered. There the Bishop was very cautious about landing, though the boys assured him “No fight, no fight.” When the chiefs came down to meet him, he landed and went two miles inland with the boys to their home. There he knelt down and said prayers with them, bidding them tell their friends what they were doing, and what it meant. The boys wept when he parted from them on the beach. Other boys, who had been at Auckland, were visited on their islands. On one island, Neugone, Samoan teachers were working and had built a chapel in which Selwyn preached in Samoan to a large congregation. They earnestly desired a permanent minister, but it was not possible yet to give them one, though not long after Selwyn was able to place Mr. Nihill there. Five boys were brought away for training. One young chief was most anxious to come, and wept bitterly when his father would not allow it. The Bishop comforted him by promising to call for him next time. The most anxious moment of the voyage is described in a letter from the Bishop of Newcastle to a friend:
“The greatest danger to which we were exposed arose from the natives at the Island of Malicolo. Only one ship is known to have visited this harbour before and the natives did not know one word of English or of the language of the other islands. Numbers collected on the shore as we entered the harbour and as we wanted to replenish our water we at once communicated with them.... The place shown by them as the best for obtaining water, proved so inconvenient, that the Bishop of New Zealand and myself rowed along the shores of the harbour to find, if possible, a more convenient stream or pool. We found one more accessible and returned after an absence of two hours to the ship. Whenever we left the ship, we always gave directions to the chief mate to allow a few natives to come on board at a time, if they came in their canoes, and wished to see the ship, and seemed quiet and friendly. On our return the mate told, us that they had allowed one or two small parties to come on board, but that afterwards so many came and looked so questionable, armed with their clubs and spears, that he thought it prudent to refuse permission to them to come on deck. The Bishop of New Zealand still thought it important to procure some water, so we arranged that we should not both go in the boats as the place we had selected as the best for obtaining water, while I remained in charge of the ship. At dawn the boats went with casks to fetch the water. I was left in the ship with the mate and one sailor, and two or three of the native boys from the other islands. Within an hour after the boats had left the ship, two or three canoes came off to the ship, filled with huge men, most of them were armed with their clubs and bows and spears. In the first canoe the chief man was such a ferocious looking ruffian that I at once determined he should not come on board. Later, five or six other canoes came off to the ship, and there must have been at least fifty of these huge men in them, many armed. Every now and then one more forward than the rest would take hold of the ship and plant his foot on a slight projection, so that one spring would bring him on deck. No sooner had he planted his foot and looked up, than he saw me just over him directing him very calmly but decidedly to get back into his canoe. All this time the native boys from the other islands who were on board were in the greatest terror.... After two hours the men in the canoes consulted together, evidently came to the conclusion that it was no use to try any longer, and began to move off.... Next came the most anxious hour that I have ever passed. When the canoes had moved off a little way, they stopped and every eye was directed towards the two boats of the ship which were lying off the shore, where the water was being fetched from a pool about a quarter of a mile inland. The men in the canoes consulted together, then changed their places, filling the two largest canoes with those who were evidently the greatest fighters, and these two canoes paddled towards the boats.... The danger was lest the two canoes should reach the two boats and overpower the two men before the Bishop of New Zealand came down with his body of men from the water-pool. I called to the mate and asked whether we could render any assistance? ‘None my Lord.’ I paced the deck a few seconds and then asked again, have we any means of self-defence in the ship? The answer was, ‘None.’ This information did not disconcert me; I felt it a duty to inquire whether anything could be done, and if anything could have been suggested should at once have set about it. But the thought that something fatal might happen on shore brought with it a sickening feeling of reckless disregard as to what might happen to myself. I therefore paced the deck and rendered the only aid I could render—that of fervent prayer to Almighty God.... I saw soon the canoes reach the boats: I saw two of the natives in one of the boats; I heard a noise and a shout from the shore—I could not trust my eyes when I thought I saw the boats move from the shore rowed by our own men—I gave the telescope to the mate and eagerly asked whether he could see the men in the boat and the Bishop with them. He looked and answered, ‘Yes, they are all there—and his Lordship steers the first boat.’ The Bishop on reaching the shore with his band of water carriers, had seen one of the ship’s boats waiting to receive them, surrounded by natives, who were brandishing their clubs round the boy left in charge and making all sorts of threatening gestures, while he sat unmoved only quietly resisting their efforts to take the oars from him. The Bishop and his water-bearers made their way steadily onward to the water’s edge. He said, ‘Go on,’ and they walked into the water lifting their casks higher and higher as they advanced. As they approached the boat the natives made off.”
This adventure illustrates the firm and courageous way in which Selwyn met the difficulties and risks that attended these voyages, and the personal ascendency which he gained over the islanders by his courage and demeanour. Bold and fearless, he yet thought for everyone, prepared for every contingency and knew how to choose the right persons to trust.
The Border Maid brought back from this voyage thirteen scholars from six different islands, amongst them two who had gone away with the Bishop and now returned after visiting their homes. The Maori scholars at the College went out to meet the long file of black boys on their arrival, and there were many greetings and much shaking of hands. Three weeks afterwards, on All Saints’ day, both a confirmation and a baptism service were held in the College Chapel. The Bishop writes in his diary that
“The candidates clothed in white robes represented people speaking ten languages, gathered from one fifth part of the world’s circumference, from east and west, and one-tenth part from north and south.”
The voyages to the Islands had to be frequent as the scholars could not stand the New Zealand winter and had to be taken back to their islands during the cold months. Their education was continued during the voyage. The hammocks in which they slept in the hold were rolled up during the daytime, and the hold became a schoolroom, where the same work hours as at the College were followed. In 1852 the Bishop, who was anxious to secure Christian wives for his young men, was able to his great delight to bring back two girls from the Islands. During the voyage he himself made dresses for them out of a patchwork quilt, and on reaching Auckland proudly brought them up the beach, one on each arm, dressed in the garments he had made out of the quilt, ornamented with scarlet bows. His voyages gave him opportunities for showing kindness to other missionaries. This year he took out with him a Presbyterian teacher with his wife, a horse and much baggage and landed them at their mission station.