We used to go down every morning to the sea to bathe in a little sheltered cove, almost surrounded by high rocks, where there was no danger of a visit from a shark. Here my father had built a small hut in which Maud and I might dress. The native girls dispensed with any such accommodation, and while we were content to swim about in the bay, they would boldly strike out a long distance from the land. Even when the wind blew strong on the shore, and the surf came rolling in, they would dash through it, now diving under a huge breaker, now rising to its foaming summit, and playing about as securely as if they were on the dry land.
Two mornings after the chief had paid us a visit we went down as usual to bathe, when we saw a large fleet of canoes, propelled by paddles, gliding over the smooth water of the lagoon towards the passage which communicated with the open sea. On first seeing them we were about to hurry home, fearing that they might be enemies, but Lisele quieted our alarm, by telling us that they were her father’s fleet, starting on his proposed expedition. They were curious looking vessels. Each consisted of two long narrow canoes placed side by side, but at some distance from each other, and united by strong beams, on which a platform or stage was erected, thus making one vessel. The rowers sat with long paddles on either side, while on the deck stood the warriors in their war-paint and feathers, and flourishing their lances and whirling their clubs, inciting each other to the deeds of valour, or rather of cruelty, which they intended to perform. Instead of a mast in the centre, there was a triangle with the ends fixed on either side, on which the mat-formed sail extended on a long yard ready to be hoisted.
As they glided by the sound of the wild shouts and shrieks they uttered reached our ears.
“May my poor father be protected,” said Lisele to me, as we watched them. “Once I should have thought what we see very fine, and should have sung and clapped my hands with joy. Now that I know how wicked it is to go and fight and kill other human beings, I feel inclined to weep with sorrow.”
“We must pray for your father, Lisele,” I said, “that God will turn his heart and make him see the crime of warfare.”
“Yes, yes; that is my comfort,” she answered.
When the canoes reached the outlet from the lagoon the sails were hoisted, and at a rapid rate they glided away over the ocean, while Lisele, Maud, and I, knelt down on the sand and prayed, not that God would give the victory to the chief, but that He would turn his heart and make him to know the truth.
As we were leaving the beach we saw another canoe coming round a headland through the lagoon, which she had entered by a further off passage. Had the strange canoe been a little sooner she would have encountered the fleet, and very likely have been stopped and compelled to accompany the war party. Her appearance caused us some anxiety. If she had heathens on board, they might land and rob us, or cause us even more serious annoyance. We continued to watch her, as we knew that we should have plenty of time to escape and give warning at the village before she could come to shore. At length we discovered a flag flying from the end of her yard, and great was my joy to see that on it was worked a dove with the olive branch of peace—I consequently hoped that a missionary might be on board coming to visit us. We waited therefore for the arrival of the canoe. We could distinguish, however, as she drew near, only natives on her deck. They all were in the dress adopted by Christian converts—in shirts and trousers.
The canoe soon ran up on the beach, when a native stepped on shore with a letter in his hand. He told me that he had been sent by Mr Hilton, a missionary stationed on an island about fifty miles off. Mr Hilton was very ill, and entreated my father to come and see him; for, believing that he should not recover, he was anxious to commit his motherless children to his charge. We accordingly conducted the messenger up to the house.
The letter caused my father much grief and perplexity. He sorrowed to hear of his friend’s illness, and felt anxious to go to him, and yet he was unwilling to leave my mother and us for so long a time, when the settlement might possibly be annoyed by heathens. Still he knew that he could with confidence leave the instruction of the people to Nanari, who would also protect my mother and us to the best of his power. He sent for Nanari, and spoke to him on the subject.