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Chapter One.

A Missionary Station in an island of the Pacific described.—The girls’ school superintended by Mrs Liddiard, her daughter Mary, and Little Maud.—Mary Liddiard’s narrative.—Introduce to my readers Lisele, the chief’s daughter, one of our pupils.—My mother explains the Gospel to her.

“Praise God, from whom all blessings flow,

Praise Him all creatures here below,

Praise Him above ye heavenly host,

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”

These words were ascending from the lips of a number of dark skinned girls assembled round a fair haired English lady in a building thickly thatched with the leaves of the sugar cane, beneath the shade of a grove of tall cocoanut trees, in one of the many far off beautiful islands of the wide Pacific. The building, erected by the natives after their own fashion, was the school-house of a missionary station lately established by Mr Liddiard, and the lady was his devoted wife. It stood upon a platform of coral-stone, raised about two feet from the ground, while the roof projected a considerable distance beyond the walls, and was supported by stout posts formed of the bread-fruit tree, tightly bound to the rafters by ropes of sinnet.

After the conclusion of the hymn of praise—a sound unwonted in that long benighted region, whose groves had hitherto echoed only with the shouts and wild laughter of the savage heathens, as they performed their barbarous rites, and the shrieks and groans of their victims—the pupils grouped themselves round Mrs Liddiard on the mats with which the floor was spread.

They were of various ages; some were children, others full grown young women. All kept their eyes fixed on her attentively, as if anxious to understand every word she said. Some were clothed in light cotton dresses, their black hair neatly braided and ornamented with a few sweet scented wild flowers, while others were habited in garments of native cloth, formed from the paper mulberry tree.

By the side of Mrs Liddiard sat, on low stools, two young girls, whose light complexions contrasted with that of their dark skinned sisters. Though she spoke in the native language, the two English girls understood her perfectly, and appeared to be as attentive as their companions, and anxious to set a good example to the rest. One of them, with black hair, called little Maud, who seemed to be about eleven years old, had a grave expression of countenance; the other, Mrs Liddiard’s daughter Mary, was very like her mother, with light hair and blue eyes, full of animation and intelligence.

On one side of the house the ground sloped away down to a beach seen between the Pandanus and cocoanut trees, of fine white sand fringing a calm lagoon of the deepest blue, beyond which appeared a long line of foaming breakers, ever dashing against a coral reef, which extended parallel with the coast as far as the eye could reach. On the other side rose the steep sides of a range of rocky and picturesque mountains, clothed to their summits with the richest and densest foliage, numberless creepers climbing up the trees, and hanging from branch to branch, while here and there, amid openings of the forest, several sparkling cascades came rushing down from the far off heights, now falling in sheets of glittering foam, now dashing from ledge to ledge, and at length making their way into the lagoon.

Near the girls’ school-house was a building of considerably larger dimensions, and of much greater height, with numerous windows and a porch. It was the mission chapel erected by the native Christians. At a short distance from it was Mr Liddiard’s residence, a neat cottage with a broad verandah in front, partaking more of the European style than any of the other edifices.

Under the shade of the trees were numerous huts, inhabited by the converts, who had left their former homes and gathered round their pastor. Among them was a hut somewhat larger than the rest, which had been built by the zealous native teacher Nanari, who had come from a distant island to bring the glad tidings of salvation to the people; and undaunted by the opposition of the heathens, had long laboured alone, until the arrival of Mr Liddiard, under whom he now acted as catechist and assistant.

Notwithstanding the unceasing exertions and prayers of Nanari, aided by his faithful wife, and of Mr and Mrs Liddiard, comparatively few of the natives had as yet been gathered into Christ’s fold. The greater part of the island was inhabited by fierce heathens, who still carried on frequent wars against each other; and angry with their countrymen for having abandoned the faith of their forefathers, constantly threatened them and the missionaries with destruction.

In spite of the dangers which surrounded him, Mr Liddiard continued dauntlessly to labour to win souls to Christ, knowing well in whom he trusted; and that although it might not be allowed to him while on earth to see the fruit of his toils, yet that a rich harvest would some day be reaped.

The missionary’s life was not an idle one. When not engaged in preaching the gospel or in giving instruction to his converts, he was compelled to work with his hands to obtain his daily food, and he and Nanari, with the young men who had become Christians, were engaged in the taro grounds or in their gardens, attending to the cultivation of the bread-fruit tree, yams, casavas, sweet potatoes, and other vegetables. He had also built his own house, and manufactured his furniture, and had every day some manual work to perform besides being engaged in studying the language and translating the Bible and other works, for the instruction of the natives. Thus, from morning till night, he and his wife were actively employed. Although Mary and little Maud could now give them some assistance in household matters, the young girls themselves required instruction, which also occupied a portion of their time. Maud was not their own child, though they had educated her, for she was friendless and destitute, and they loved her as a daughter.

To return to the school-house I have described. I should say that I was the Mary I have mentioned, the missionary’s daughter. I will tell more about little Maud by-and-by. We used to act as assistant teachers to my mother. As soon as the address she had given was over we went among the girls to answer any questions they might put to us, or to help in their tasks.

“Malay,” said a girl at the further end of the room, near whom I had seated myself (‘Malay’ was the name the natives always called me). “I wish to know if your God always sees you.”

“Yes, indeed, He does,” I answered. “He sees and knows everything I think and say and do.”

“Then I would rather not lotu,” she said. “Because I don’t think that the gods of my people know what they do, or what they think or say, and I am very sure that I shall wish to do many things which might displease them. Not long ago I laughed and jeered at them, and I am sure that they did not find me out.”

The term “lotu,” I should explain, is used by the natives to signify changing their religion, or becoming Christians.

“But our God, Jehovah, is above all gods. He made the world and all the human race, and He therefore knows everything that you and all heathen people do and say and think. The darkness is no darkness with Him, and the day and night to Him are both alike,” I answered. “But come to mother, Lisele, and she will explain the matter to you more clearly than I can do.”

Lisele was the daughter of a heathen chief, who was very well disposed towards the Christians; and although he would not lotu himself, he allowed Lisele, who was very intelligent, and possessed an inquiring mind, to attend the school. She was about two years older than I was, and I think any one who had seen her dressed in her costume of native cloth of the finest texture, with a wreath of white flowers in her raven hair, would have thought her very pretty. She was as yet imperfectly instructed in Christian truth, and possessed of high spirits and an independent will—a mere child of nature. It was evidently necessary to treat her with the greatest caution to prevent her running away from us and rejoining her former heathen associates.

Lisele, taking my hand, came and sat down at my mother’s feet, and I then put the question that she had asked me. “Yes, indeed, Lisele,” said my mother. “Jehovah not only sees all you do, and hears all you say, but knows every thought which is passing through your mind, and if you think anything that is wrong, and utter even a careless word, He is grieved at it. He is so pure and holy that even the bright heavens are not clean in His sight; and were He to treat us as we deserve, when we indulged for a moment in an evil thought, or departed in the slightest degree from the truth, He might justly punish us; but He is merciful, kind, and long-suffering, and thus He allows sinners to continue in life, to give them an opportunity of repenting and turning to Him.”

“Then there would be no use for my father and all the chiefs and people whom I know to lotu, for they have done over and over again all sorts of things which you have told me Jehovah hates,” remarked Lisele.

“My dear Lisele,” said my mother, taking her hand, “Jehovah has said in His holy Book, that He will receive all who turn from their sins and come to Him in the way He has appointed, through faith in His dear Son; and He also tells us that the blood of Jesus His Son ‘cleanseth from all sin.’ Likewise He says, ‘Though your sins be as scarlet they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson they shall be as wool.’ Believe this blessed promise yourself, Lisele, and tell your father that though Jehovah knows all the murders he has committed, and every crime he has been guilty of, if he will but turn from them and trust to the perfect sacrifice which Christ offered up on Calvary when He was punished, by dying that cruel death on the cross instead of us, then all will be forgiven and blotted out of God’s remembrance. ‘The blood of Jesus Christ,’ I repeat, ‘cleanseth from all sin.’”

The Indian girl stood with her eyes open, gazing at my mother, and lost with astonishment at what she had heard.

“But surely we must do something to gain this great favour from God. We must labour and toil for Him. We must pay Him all we have in recompense for the bad things we have done, that have offended Him so much,” she exclaimed.

“No! we poor weak creatures have nothing to do. We could do nothing to make amends for the ill we have done, to blot out our sins; and all the wealth we possess could not recompense God, for all things are His. But the debt has been paid for us by Jesus, he became our surety, and when we go to Him, and trust to Him, and pray to Him, as He is now seated at the right hand of God, He acts the part of our advocate, and pleads for us with God, urging that He Himself paid the debt, and, therefore, that we have nothing to pay and nothing to do. God in His mercy has promised a free and full pardon to all who trust to Him. ‘Pardon for sin is the gift of God,’ and the King who makes the present requires nothing in return but gratitude and love and obedience.”

“I think I understand,” said Lisele.