A Voyage round the World / A book for boys

by William Henry Giles Kingston

It was surprising how delicate and attentive the islanders were to us—I will not call them savages. They devoted the end of one of the canoes for our accommodation, and raised over it an awning with mats, that we might be shaded from the heat of the sun, which was at times excessive. They selected the most delicate and the best-dressed food for us, and always served us first. Their habits were cleanly, and they were always kind and courteous towards each other, as they were especially to us. Now, as all this was so different to what I had fancied the natural character of the inhabitants of the islands in this part of the Pacific, I could not but suppose that their Christianity had produced the change. Had I known that the immediate ancestors of these very people, and, indeed, some of the men on board, had been cannibals and savages of the worst description, I might have been still more astonished. Oh, it is a glorious thing to know what a mighty change pure, simple Christianity will work in the heart of man, vile and deformed as sin has made it! Cousin Silas often used to remark, that the world was a very useful book, if we could but read it aright; and, thanks to him, I learned many important lessons from it. No lesson was more important than that which taught me the great change which the doctrines of Christianity, under the influence of the Holy Spirit, produce on men of the most savage natures. It confirmed and strengthened my faith in the power of the gospel; and I wish that all my young friends would read the accounts which they may find of the labours of missionaries in those and other hitherto benighted regions, and they will, if I mistake not, find the same result produced on their hearts which I experienced in mine. However, I must continue my narrative.

We had brought with us our fishing-hooks and lines, and whenever the breeze was moderate, we used to throw them out, and seldom passed an hour without catching some fish. This afforded a pleasant and wholesome change to our diet, and economised our provisions. Our progress was slow, and we were unable to ascertain how long the voyage was likely to last. Hitherto we had enjoyed only the finest weather; the wind had always been favourable, and even the strongest breeze which had wafted us along had only covered the ocean with a brisk ripple.

I mentioned that one of the missionaries spoke a few words of English. So great was his desire to acquire a further knowledge of the language, that all day long he was engaged in learning it from one or other of us. He first obtained a large vocabulary of substantives. These he noted down in a pocket-book which he cherished with great care, and then he began upon verbs. These are more difficult to obtain, when neither master nor pupil understands the other’s language. However, by dint of various signs, he obtained a good number, of which he began very soon to make use. We got on talking by degrees, till we really did understand each other very fairly. By degrees we gleaned from him the following narrative:—

He and his companions belonged to an island in the neighbourhood of Otaheite, all the inhabitants of which, from the teaching of some missionaries, had embraced with joy the Christian faith. From living in a state of constant warfare, no one for a moment knowing if his life was safe from the assaults of his fellow-islanders, they had all become peaceable and contented, life and property being as secure as in any part of the world. The missionaries had taught them many useful arts, and had introduced into the island many vegetables, and a variety of fruits, with some few animals; so that they had now a constant and ample supply of all the necessaries of life.

Highly valuing all the blessings they enjoyed, they heard that there were some islands lying far away to the west, the inhabitants of which were still ignorant savages. Some of their people had occasionally visited them in trading-vessels, and some of their canoes had, it was said, formerly gone there occasionally. At all events, they believed that the inhabitants understood their language. If, then, some of their people had ventured so far for the sake of gain, much more did it behove them to go there for an object inestimably more important—the salvation of the souls of a number of their fellow-creatures. A daring chief undertook to head an expedition, and six native preachers volunteered to go and settle with their wives and families among the heathen islanders, and to convey to them faithfully the gospel of salvation.

Two large canoes were fitted out, strengthened for the voyage, and stored and provisioned. The whole population of the island assembled on the beach to bid their countrymen farewell, and to offer up their prayers for their safety. They knew somewhat of the dangers they must encounter, perhaps not all of them, but they had counted the cost, and had they been greater than those of which they did know, they would not have been deterred from the attempt. With a fair breeze the two canoes set sail, and glided on over the smooth sea, towards the far-distant group of islands. Day after day they sailed on; no land greeted their sight, but they believed that they were on the right course, and fearlessly committed themselves to the care of a merciful Providence. They knew that however they might be directed, it would be for the best.

For many days the two canoes kept together, and the crews encouraged each other; their voices raised in hymns of praise being wafted afar across the waters, as they joined in chorus, and sang alternately with each other. At length dark clouds were seen gathering in the horizon, light scud flew across the sky, the sea began to rise—the canoes laboured much—soon they were pitching violently into the quick-coming seas: still they were skilfully managed, and the wind allowed them to keep their course. Gradually, however, they drifted further and further apart. Night came on, but the tempest did not abate. Several of the people were kept continually bailing, for, in spite of all their care, the sea constantly broke over them, and from the straining of the canoe many a leak was formed. No one who endured them, could ever forget the horrors of that night. “Had we been as we once were,” continued the missionary, “we should have resigned ourselves to our fate, and perished; but we knew that it is the duty of Christians to strive to the last, trusting in the arm of Him who is all-powerful to save, and while prepared for death, never abandoning hope. The morning at length came. The other canoe was nowhere to be seen. In vain we stood up and strained our eyes on every side, as we rose to the top of a sea; not a sign of her could we perceive. Still we trusted that our friends might have been preserved. That day the gale blew as furiously as before; but in the evening it moderated, though the sky was covered with clouds, and we knew not whither we were drifting. For several days we drifted on, ignorant of our position. Every morning, when daylight returned, we looked out eagerly for our friends, but we never saw them again. We live in hope that they may have been preserved. All is for the best.

“We thought that when the gale abated, and the sea grew calm, and the sun came out, our sufferings would have an end; but they only then began. Our stock of water was becoming less and less. Many of our provisions had been so damaged by the sea, that they quickly decayed. The sea became calm as the lagoon inside a coral isle; the sun burst forth with intense heat; our thirst grew excessive. Our island was plentifully supplied with water, and we had always been accustomed to an abundance; yet now we dared not drink more than the shell of a small nut could hold at a time. Carefully we husbanded the precious fluid; we had learned to know its value. At last the time came when not a drop remained. Every calabash was examined over and over again—the last drop was drained out. We sat down, and looked mournfully at each other. Our thirst increased. We dipped our heads in salt water—we continually sprinkled each other over with it; but that did not convey coolness to our parched tongues. ‘We must die,’ exclaimed some one. ‘No, no,’ answered one of our missionary brethren; ‘we will pray without ceasing—we will trust in God. He will send us relief when we least expect it.’ That very evening a flight of sea-fowl flew close to the canoe. We were able to knock over several. Their blood assisted to quench our thirst; their flesh, too, revived our strength. The next day several fish were caught; but it was not food we wanted. ‘Water! water! water!’ was the cry from old and young alike. Still a day passed away—there was no sign of land—no sign of rain. The next day came; intolerable was the thirst we endured by noon. In vain we strained our eyes through the hot, quivering atmosphere; the sky was blue and pure as ever; not a speck could we discern in the horizon. We had hoped that we might reach the group of islands to which we had been bound; we accordingly kept, as we believed, a direct course for it. Another morning broke. During the night, our sufferings had been intense. Could we survive through another day? We stood up to glance round the horizon. Directly before us arose, as if sprouting out of the water, a line of palm and cocoa-nut trees! How eagerly we plied our oars to reach the island on which they grew! How thankfully our voices sang the morning hymn, and uttered our accustomed prayers! We rapidly neared the spot. We might have run close by it in the night without seeing it. We paddled round to find a spot on which to land. Tantalising indeed was it to see the ground where we might hope to gain life and strength, and yet not be able to place our feet on it. At last an opening appeared in the surrounding reef, we ran in, and, hauling up our canoe, hurried off in search of water. No water could we find, but the strongest climbed some of the cocoa-nut trees, and quickly threw down a supply of their refreshing fruit. Oh, how delicious and cool was the milk which they afforded us! Still, pure water was what we most wanted; but though we searched in every direction, and dug down as deep as we could with our rough wooden tools, not a drop could we find.

“We remained here a week hoping for rain, but it came not. The juice from the cocoa-nuts restored our strength. We collected all we could gather for our voyage. Once more we resolved to trust ourselves to the sea. We embarked, and hoisting sail, stood away on our former course. No land appeared in sight. Many days passed away. Our supply of cocoa-nuts was almost exhausted. Again death by thirst stared us in the face. Oh, how carefully we husbanded the few precious nuts which remained! They at last were exhausted. The hot sun again arose, and we had no liquid with which to quench our thirst. The burning rays of the bright luminary struck down on our heads with intense force. ‘Water! water! water!’ we repeated as before. Some almost gave way to despair. ‘We have before been preserved, why give up all hope now?’ said others. In the evening a small cloud was seen to rise out of the sea. It spread wider and wider. There was no wind. It advanced toward us. Fast from it fell a thick shower of pure, sweet water. On it came, we opened wide our mouths, we spread out our hands. Oh, how gratefully it moistened our parched lips! We stretched out our sail and all our garments, and let the precious streams we thus gathered run into our gourds and pots. All that evening the rain came down in a continuous fall, and every moment we were occupied in collecting it, till all our receptacles were full to the brim,—not a shell did we allow to remain empty: and then we poured it down our throats in a full, refreshing stream. Scarcely were we satisfied when the rain ceased—the dark cloud blew onward—the stars shone forth brightly from the clear sky, and we pursued our course.

“The next island we came to was barren—no water, and no nuts; we must have perished had we been cast on it. Then we reached another with some inhabitants on it. We understood, in part, their language. Their ancestors had, they believed, been cast on it wandering as we were across the ocean. Their canoe had been destroyed, and they had remained there without wishing to depart. They had been driven forth from their native isles by cruel wars, in which the greater number of their kindred had been destroyed. They received us in a friendly manner, and invited us to remain with them. They had heard nothing of the Truth. The gospel-message had never reached their ears. From consulting with them we were convinced that we had been driven so far out of our course that we should never reach the islands of which we were in search. Here, however, was work for us to do, pointed out clearly by the finger of God. We told the islanders, to their joy, that we would remain with them; and by degrees we opened to their wondering ears the glorious tidings we had brought. Astonished, they heard, but did not refuse to listen. Some speedily believed. The news we brought was of a nature their hearts had long yearned for; it spoke of rest from toil—rest from suffering—rest from sin. Others, in time, accepted the truth with thankfulness. Every day we preached, and every day some one acknowledged himself a sinner, and sought redemption through Him alone who can give it. At length our glorious work was accomplished. We gave them books; we taught them to read. We told them that we must depart to try and reach our own homes. They entreated that one of our number would remain with them. It was resolved that one should remain to guide them aright. We drew lots. He on whom the lot fell, without a murmur, with his wife and family, joyfully remained—though he well knew that he could never hope again to see the land of his birth, and many dear to him there. But I am making my story longer than I intended.