The shadows of evening now began to fall on him whose life had hitherto been full of energy, and to whom sickness appears to have been a stranger. He had arrived at the period when early friendships are almost extinct, and the few who survive are dropping into the grave. The year 1827 witnessed the death of Dr. Mason Good. Nearly twenty years had elapsed since he and Mr. Marsden had taken leave of one another; but their friendship had not cooled during that long term of absence; it seems rather to have gained strength with distance and declining years. Dr. Mason Good felt, and gratefully acknowledged, that to the conversations, and yet more to the high example of Mr. Marsden, he owed it, under God, that he was led to seek, through faith in Jesus, that holiness and peace which he found at last, and which shed so bright a lustre on his closing years. He had seen in his friend a living instance of disinterestedness, zeal, and humility combined, all springing from the love of God, and directed for Christ’s sake towards the welfare of man; such as he had never seen before—such as, he confessed, his own Socinian principles were incapable of producing. Far his superior as a scholar and a man of genius, he perceived and felt his inferiority in all that relates to the highest destinies of man; he sat, as a little child, a learner, in his presence; and God, who is rich in mercy, brought home the lessons to his soul.
Nothing, on the other hand, could exceed the respect, almost amounting to reverence, mingled however with the warmest affection, with which Mr. Marsden viewed his absent friend. In every difficulty he had recourse to him for advice; more than once he intrusted the defence of his character and reputation entirely to his discretion. A correspondence of nearly twenty years, a few specimens of which are in the reader’s hand, show the depth of his esteem. Upon his death a fuller tide of affection gushed out; while he wrote thus to the mourning widow:—
“Paramatta, November 9, 1827.
“My dear Mrs. Good,—A few days ago we received two letters from your daughter M—, informing us of the death of your much revered husband. I had seen his death noticed in one of the London papers, but had not received any other information. I feel for all your loss. He was a blessing to the Christian world, and to mankind at large. No one I esteemed more, and his memory will always be dear to me. When I was with you, he and I had many serious conversations on the subject of religion.
“His great talents, united with his child-like simplicity, interested me much. I always experienced the greatest pleasure in his company, as well as advantage; in knowledge I found myself an infant in his presence, but yet at perfect ease. His gentle manners, his mild address, often made me forget to whom I was speaking; and after retiring from his presence I, on reflecting, have been ashamed that I should presume to talk to him as I had done, as if he were my equal. I never could account for the ease and freedom I felt in his company, in giving my opinion upon the various subjects we were wont to converse upon. He was a very learned man, and knew a thousand times more of men and things than I did, excepting on the subject of religion; here I always felt myself at home; and he would attend to what I said with the sweetest simplicity and the greatest openness of mind. In our various conversations on the most important doctrines of the gospel, he manifested a humble desire to know the truth, though he proceeded with great caution. I experienced no difficulty in my own mind in urging the truths of religion upon him, by every argument in my power. I always saw, or thought I saw, the Day-star from on high dawning upon his mind; and my own soul was animated and refreshed whenever the subjects of the gospel engaged our conversation. Perhaps our mutual friend, Dr. Gregory, may remember the observations I made to him, on what passed between your dear husband and myself, respecting religion, and what were my views of the state of his mind at that time; the period to which I allude was when he joined the Church Missionary Society, or intended to join it. I had the firmest conviction in my mind that he would embrace the gospel, and cordially believe to the salvation of his soul. I could never account for that love which I have continued to have for Dr. Good, even here at the ends of the earth, but from the communion of saints. Though the affliction of yourself and your dear daughters must be severe, having lost such a husband and father, yet you cannot sorrow as those without hope; you must be satisfied that the Lord has taken him away from the evil to come; and as he cannot now return to you, comfort one another with the hope that you shall go to him. He finished his course with joy, and the work that had been given him to do; and came to the grave like a shock of corn that was fully ripe. This consideration should reconcile you to the Divine dispensation, and constrain you to say, ‘Not my will, but Thine be done.’ You and your dear husband had travelled long together; few in this miserable world were so happy and blessed as you were for so long a period. Remember all the way the Lord hath led you in this wilderness; recall to mind his mercies of old, and bless his name. I have long wished to see you face to face; but that wish will never be gratified. The day may come when, in another and a better world, we may recount all our travels here below. We are sure that we are fast approaching to the end of our journey, and shall soon arrive at the banks of Jordan. Let us labour, my dear madam, to keep the promised land in view. You have the consolation of your two amiable daughters’ company. I have never thought of Mrs. N. but with feelings of sympathy, and regret for her loss in the death of her excellent husband. How mysterious are the ways of God! We cannot account for them now, but we shall know hereafter. As a father pitieth his own children, so is the Lord merciful unto them that fear him. Mrs. Neale may derive comfort from the Divine promises. There are many made to the widow and the fatherless, and God is never unmindful of his promises. When we arrive in Mount Zion, we shall then be satisfied with all the Divine dispensations, and see cause to bless God for the severest. Give my love to Miss Good; tell her how much I am obliged to her, for the communication she has made to me respecting her dear father....
“I am yours, very sincerely,”
He was still subject to the persecutions of “unreasonable and wicked men,” and was again compelled to vindicate his conduct in a pamphlet, which issued from the press at Sydney, in 1828. Transmitting a copy to his friend, the Rev. Josiah Pratt, he says: “I consider myself a proscribed person these last few years. All the charges against me are contained in this pamphlet. My public offences, my illegal acts, the charges against me for inflicting torture to extort confession, for which I have been condemned unheard, and suffered as guilty. What an ungodly world may think or say of me, is of little moment; but I do not wish to lose the good opinion of my Christian friends, and fall in their estimation.” He returns to the subject in his correspondence with other Christian friends; for the apprehension that in him the cause of religion might seem to have received a wound, lay heavy on his mind. “I should feel much,” he says, writing to Mr. D. Coates, “if the cause of religion should suffer in my personal conduct; but I hope it will not. I hope I have said enough to satisfy the Christian world that I am clear in this matter. To justify my public conduct, was an act due to my family and to all my Christian friends, as well as the general interests of religion.” Nor was it merely the breath of slander that assailed him: he mentions in a private letter to the Rev. Edward Bickersteth, an act of grievous wrong inflicted by the British government. “I and my family were all struck off the public victualling books in the latter part of Governor Macquarie’s administration, without any compensation. The Rev. R. Cartwright and the Rev. William Cooper, with their families, were also struck off from the public stores at the same time. They have both had their claims settled since governor Darling arrived. One received 700l., and the other more than 800l.; but I have received nothing. My claim is equally just, had I only served the same period as my colleagues, though I have served nearly twenty years longer than either of them. I can only attribute this act of injustice to some hostile feeling in the colonial office. Governor Darling has always shown me every attention I could wish.”
Yet he uttered no protest; he raised no clamour for redress. “I mention this circumstance to you,” he adds, “confidentially: when the truth of my case is laid before the public, perhaps my superiors may think differently of my conduct, and do me common justice.” Whether he obtained redress we are not informed. The occurrence shows the depth and bitterness of those hostile feelings, which we can trace to no other cause on his part than his boldness in rebuking vice, and his fidelity to the cause of his Lord and Master.
The year 1830 found Mr. Marsden once more upon the ocean. For neither increasing years nor the vexations through which he had passed damped his ardour in the missionary cause. His mind was stedfastly fixed on the progress of the gospel in New Zealand, and there he was anxious once more in person to assist in carrying on the work. He felt that his time was growing short, and hastened, “before his decease,” to “set in order the things which were wanting.”
He perceived, too, with mingled feelings, that New Zealand was about to undergo a great change. His efforts to induce the chiefs to unite under one head or sovereign elected by themselves, had totally failed. Shunghie had been slain in battle, and his ambitious projects of gaining a New Zealand throne by conquest were at an end. War was the natural condition of all the Maori tribes, and this, rendered more deadly, though possibly less ferocious, by the introduction of fire-arms, was fearfully thinning their numbers from year to year. They were subject, too, to periodical returns of a terrible scourge, a disease resembling the influenza, which cut off multitudes. On the whole, it was calculated, that not more than a hundred thousand Maories now survived; while twenty years before, when the island was first visited, the numbers were at least two hundred thousand. It was evident that they could not long maintain their independence as a nation. European ships began to crowd the Bay of Islands. English settlers were already making their way into their choice and fertile lands. To minds less sagacious than Mr. Marsden’s, the result could be no longer doubtful—New Zealand must become an English colony. He foresaw the necessity, and, though at first with reluctance, cordially acquiesced in it, even for the sake of the Maories themselves. His concern now was to prepare them for a measure which must sooner or later take place. Everything was in a lawless state; the progress of the missions was greatly interrupted, and his presence was once more highly necessary. His own anxiety was great, first on behalf of the missions which had so long been the especial objects of his care; and then for New Zealand at large that the policy of Great Britain should respect the rights of the native tribes and pledge itself to their protection.
On his arrival in New Zealand, in March, 1830, he was greeted before the ship had cast anchor by the Messrs. Williams and others of the missionary band, who hastened on board, and expressed their joy at his unexpected appearance among them. It was a critical moment, for they were in greater anxiety and difficulty than they had experienced at any former period of the mission. The natives were at open war, and but a day or two before a great battle had been fought on the opposite beach of the Bay of Islands, in which about fourteen hundred had been engaged. The alleged cause of the war was the misconduct of an English captain who had offered indignities to some native women on board his vessel. One tribe espoused his cause, while another came forward to avenge the insult. Six chiefs had fallen in the battle, and a hundred lives were lost; several whaling vessels were lying in the Bay, and their crews as well as the missionary stations, were in the utmost peril from the revenge of the victorious tribe, which now lay encamped at Keri-Keri.
There was not an hour to be lost. Mr. Marsden crossed the bay with Mr. Henry Williams early the next morning, to visit the camp as a mediator. The chiefs, many of whom from different parts of the island, had formerly been acquainted with Mr. Marsden, all expressed their gratification at meeting him again. After conversing with them on different points connected with proposals of peace, the two friendly mediators crossed over to the camp of their opponents, and entered at once on the subject of their mission. They spoke to them of the evils of war, and more particularly of the civil war in which they were engaged. “They heard all we had to say with great attention, and several of them replied to the different arguments we had used. They contended that we were answerable for the lives of those who had fallen in the battle, as the war had been occasioned by the misconduct of the captain of a vessel one of our own countrymen; they wished to know what satisfaction we would give them for the loss of their friends who had been slain. We replied that we could give them no satisfaction, that we condemned his conduct, and were sorry that any of our countrymen had behaved so badly, and that we would write to England and prevent his return.” This the savages requested that Mr. Marsden would not do; they longed for his return, that they might take their own revenge. Mr. Marsden then proceeded to inform them that he had had an interview with the chiefs on the other side, who were willing to come to terms of peace, and wished him to assist in settling their quarrel. This information was received in a friendly way by the greater part: one or two still wished to fight. The mediators now returned to the beach, which they found covered with war canoes and armed men. A war council was held, and the Rev. Henry Williams stated the business upon which they had come amongst them. The natives listened attentively. Many of the chiefs gave their opinion in turn, with much force and dignity of address. These orations continued from an early hour in the morning, till the shades of evening were closing. It was finally agreed that the mediating party should proceed the next morning to the opposite camp and repeat what had taken place. After a long discussion, it was concluded that two commissioners from each party should be appointed, along with Mr. Marsden and Mr. Williams, to conclude the terms of peace. Having now urged all that was in their power to bring about a reconciliation, they walked over the ground where the battle had been fought; a dreadful scene under any circumstances, unutterably loathsome, where cannibals were the contending parties. “The remains of some of the bodies that had been slain were lying unconsumed on the fires; the air was extremely offensive, and the scene most disgusting. We could not but bitterly lament these baneful effects of sin, and the influence of the prince of darkness over the minds of the poor heathen.”
The next day was Sunday, it was spent by Mr. Williams at the camp, for it was not considered safe at present to leave the savage warriors, whose angry passions smouldered. Mr. Marsden proceeded to the station, and preached to the infant church. Never was the gospel of Christ placed in finer contrast with the kingdom of darkness, and the appalling tyranny of the god of this world. Mr. Marsden’s pen thus describes the scene as he sketched it upon the spot: