A Martyr of the South Seas
The Morning and Evening of Bishop Patteson’s Life
John Coleridge Patteson was born in April, 1827. He was blessed with an upright and good father, and a loving and gentle mother; and thus his early training was calculated to make him the earnest Christian man he afterwards became.
Here is an extract from a letter written from school at the age of nine, which shows that he had faults and failings to overcome just like all other boys:—
“My dear papa, I am very sorry for having told so many falsehoods, which Uncle Frank has told mama of. I am very sorry for having done so many bad things—I mean falsehoods—and I heartily beg your pardon; and Uncle Frank says that he thinks if I stay, in a month’s time Mr. Cornish will be able to trust me again…. He told me that if I ever told another falsehood he should that instant march me into the school and ask Mr. Cornish to strip and birch me … but I will not catch the birching.”
And he did not. He was so frank, so ready to see his own faults, that he was always a favourite. Uncle Frank remarked of him at this same time: “He wins one’s heart in a moment”.
Perhaps one ought to call him a Queen’s missionary, for her Majesty saved him from a serious accident in a rather remarkable manner.
In 1838 when the Queen was driving in her carriage the crowd was so dense that Patteson, then at school at Eton, became entangled in the wheel of the carriage and would have been thrown underneath and run over had it not been for the young Queen’s quick perception. Seeing the danger she gave her hand to the boy, who readily seized it, and was thus able to get on his feet again and avoid the threatened peril.
He was a boy who, when he had done wrong, always blamed himself—not any one else. Thus, when he was twelve, having spent a good deal of his time one term at Eton enjoying cricket and boating, he found his tutor was not at all satisfied with his progress. “I am ashamed to say,” he remarked in writing home, “that I can offer not the slightest excuse: my conduct on this occasion has been very bad. I expect a severe reproof from you, and pray do not send me any money. But from this time I am determined I will not lose a moment.”
In 1841 came the first indication of what his future career might be.
Bishop Selwyn of New Zealand was preaching, and the boy says of the sermon: “It was beautiful when he talked of his going out to found a church, and then to die neglected and forgotten”.
How deep had been the influence on his mind of his mother’s example may be gathered from the letter he wrote at the time of her death in 1842, when he was fifteen years old: “It is a very dreadful loss for us all, but we have been taught by that dear mother who has now been taken from us that it is not fit to grieve for those who die in the Lord, ‘for they rest from their labours’…. She said once, ‘I wonder I wish to leave you, my dearest John, and the children and this sweet place, but yet I do wish it’; so lovely was her faith.”
In 1854 Bishop Selwyn returned to England. During the time that had elapsed since his previous visit, Patteson had been ordained. The bishop stayed with his father a few days, and during that time the feelings which the boy of fourteen had experienced were revived in the man of twenty-seven; and with his father’s consent John Coleridge Patteson entered upon his life work, sailing with Bishop Selwyn for the South Seas in March, 1855.
There he laboured with such energy and success that in 1861 he was consecrated bishop. Many thousands of miles were traversed by him in the mission ship The Southern Cross, visiting the numerous islands of the Pacific known as Polynesia or Melanesia.
Of the dangers that abounded he knew ample to try his courage. On arriving at Erromanga (the scene of Williams’ martyrdom) on one occasion he found that Mr. Gordon, the missionary, and his wife had recently both been treacherously slain by the natives. At another island, as he returned to the boat, he saw one of the natives draw a bow with the apparent intention of shooting him, and then unbend it at the entreaty of his comrades. “But,” remarks the bishop in recording this, “we must try to effect more frequent landings.”
And thus full of faith he laboured on, telling the people of these scattered islands, which besprinkle the southern ocean like stars in the milky way, of the love of Christ.
He was still ready to condemn himself just as he did in his early days. From Norfolk Island, in 1870, he wrote to his sister when he was holding an ordination: “At such times as these, when one is specially engaged in solemn work, there is much heart searching; and I cannot tell you how my conscience accuses me of such systematic selfishness during many long years—I mean I see how I was all along making self the centre, and neglecting all kinds of duties—social and others—in consequence”.
He was much grieved by the accounts which reached him of the terrible war which was being fought between France and Germany in 1870. “What can I say,” he writes, “to my Melanesians about it? Do these nations believe in the gospel of peace and goodwill? Is the sermon on the mount a reality or not?”
Yet he had troubles closer at home than this even. The trading ships were coming in numbers to the islands, and carrying off the natives either by guile or by force to Fiji and other places where labourers were wanted.
Notwithstanding the anxieties which beset him on this account, the good bishop continued to work as hard as ever, and very happy he was about his people.
On Christmas Eve, 1870, he writes: “Seven new communicants to-morrow morning. And all things, God be praised, happy and peaceful about us.” He wrote of the large “family” of 145 Melanesian natives he had around him; at another time he spoke of his sleeping on a table with some twelve or more fellows about him; and people coming and going all day long both in and out of school hours!
In August, 1871, he baptised 248 persons, twenty-five of them adults, all in a little more than a month, and he rejoiced in the thought that a blessed change was going on in the hearts of these people.
He had never experienced such cheering success before, and, though his friends were endeavouring to persuade him to take rest and change for his health’s sake, he determined to labour on while there was so much need for his exertion and such blessed results followed.
The desire to believe on the part of some of his people was very touching. One of them said to him: “I don’t know how to pray properly, but I and my wife say, ‘God make our hearts light—take away the darkness. We believe that You love us because You sent Jesus to become a man and die for us; but we can’t understand it all. Make us fit to be baptised.’”
Some, of course, were not so enlightened as that. After the kidnapping traders had been harrying the islands, one of the chiefs said that, if the bishop would only bring a man-of-war and get him vengeance on his adversaries, he would be exalted like his Father above.
There was indeed serious cause for the anger of the natives. One of them related how he had been out to a vessel with his companions, and a white man had come down into the canoe and presently upset it, seizing him by the belt. Happily this broke, and he swam under the side of the canoe and finally got on shore, but the other three were killed—their heads were cut off and taken on board, and their bodies thrown to the sharks. The assailants were men-stealers, who killed ruthlessly that they might present heads to the chiefs.
Five natives from the same island were also killed or carried off, and thus when the bishop visited them they were in a state of sullen wrath.
On the 20th of September, 1871, Bishop Patteson came to Nukapu. The island is difficult of approach at low water, and the little ship, The Southern Cross, could not get close in. So the bishop went off to the shore in a boat and got into one of the canoes, leaving his four pupils to await his return. They saw him land, and he was then lost to sight.
About half an hour later the natives in the canoes, without the least warning, began shooting their arrows at the poor fellows in the boat, and ere it could be taken out of bowshot one of them was pierced with six arrows, and two of the others were also wounded.
They were full of fears about the bishop, and, notwithstanding the danger, determined to seek for him. They had no arms except one pistol which the mate possessed.
As they made their way towards shore a canoe drifted out, and lying in it, wrapped in a native mat, was the body of Bishop Patteson.
A sweet calm smile was on his face, a palm leaf was fastened upon his breast, and upon the body were five wounds—the exact number of the natives who had been kidnapped or killed.
So the good bishop died for the misdeeds of others. The natives but followed their traditions in exacting blood for blood, and their poor dark minds could not distinguish between the good and the bad white men.
Two of those who were with the bishop in the boat, and had received arrow wounds, died within a week, after much suffering.
One of them, Mr. Atkins, writing of the occurrence on the day of the martyrdom, says:—
“It would be selfish to wish him back. He has gone to his rest, dying, as he lived, in the Master’s service. It seems a shocking way to die; but I can say from experience it is far more to hear of than to suffer. There is no sign of fear or pain on his face, just the look that he used to have when asleep, patient and a little wearied. What his mission will do without him, God only knows who has taken him away.”
Three days after, in celebrating the Holy Communion, Mr. Atkins stumbled in his speech, and then he and his companions knew the poison in his system was working. “Stephen and I,” he said, “are going to follow the bishop. Don’t grieve about it … It is very good because God would have it so, because He only looks after us, and He understands about us, and now He wills to take us too and it is well.”
“K.G. AND COSTER.”
Some Anecdotes About Lord Shaftesbury
“And where shall we write to?” asked one of the costermongers.
“Address your letter to me at Grosvenor Square,” replied Lord Shaftesbury, “and it will probably reach me; but, if after my name you put ‘K.G. and Coster,’ there will be no doubt that I shall get it!”
This conversation took place at the conclusion of a meeting which had been held by the costermongers. They had met to talk about their grievances, and Lord Shaftesbury had attended the gathering and promised to help them, telling them to write to him if they required further assistance.
The noble Knight of the Garter was not only interested in the costermongers themselves, but in their animals too.
At one time the costers had used their donkeys and ponies shamefully, had overworked and underfed them; but gradually they were made to see how much better it was to treat their animals well. With a good Sunday rest and proper treatment, the donkeys would go thirty miles a day comfortably; without it, they could not do more than half.
So, as Lord Shaftesbury had been kind to the costers and taken such interest in their pursuits, they invited him to a special meeting, at which they presented him with a splendid donkey.
Over a thousand costers with their friends were there, when the donkey, profusely decorated with ribbons, was led to the platform. Lord Shaftesbury vacated the chair and made way for the new arrival; and then, putting his arm round the animal’s neck, returned thanks in a short speech in which he said:—
“When I have passed away from this life I desire to have no more said of me than that I have done my duty, as the poor donkey has done his—with patience and unmurmuring resignation”.
The donkey was then led down the steps of the platform, and Lord Shaftesbury remarked, “I hope the reporters of the press will state that, the donkey having vacated the chair, the place was taken by Lord Shaftesbury”.
Let us turn for a moment to the beginning of his life, and see how it was that Lord Shaftesbury was induced to devote himself so heartily to the good of the poor and oppressed.
Maria Mills, his old nurse, had not a little to do with this. She was one of those simple-minded humble Christians who, all unknowingly, plant in many minds the good seed which grows up and brings forth much fruit.
She was very fond of the little boy, and would tell him the “sweet story of old” in so attractive a manner that a deep impression was made upon his heart. The prayers she taught him in childhood he not only used in his youth, but even in old age the words were often upon his lips.
When he was a schoolboy at Harrow came the turning point in his life.
He saw four or five drunken men carrying a coffin containing the remains of a companion; and such was their state of intoxication that they dropped it, and then broke out into foul language.
The effect this had upon the youth was so great that he resolved to devote his life to helping the poor and friendless.
There was plenty of work for him to do. Children in factories and mines required to be protected from the cruelties to which they were subjected; chimney sweeps needed to be guarded from the dangers to which they were exposed; the hours of labour in factories were excessive; thieves required to be shown a way of escape from their wretched life; ragged schools and other institutions needed support.
These and numerous other matters kept Lord Shaftesbury hard at work during the entire of his long life, and by his help many wise alterations were made in the laws of the country.
“Do what is right and trust to Providence for the rest,” was his motto; and he stuck to it always.
Lord Shaftesbury brought before Parliament a scheme for assisting young thieves to emigrate; and the grown-up burglars and vagabonds, seeing how much in earnest he was, invited him to a meeting. To this he went without a moment’s hesitation.
The door was guarded by a detachment of thieves, who watched to see that none but those of their class went in.
Lord Shaftesbury was in the chair, and the meeting commenced with prayer. There were present over two hundred burglars and criminals of the worst kind, besides a great number of other bad characters.
First of all the chairman gave an address; then some of the thieves followed, telling quite plainly and simply how they spent their lives.
When Lord Shaftesbury urged them to give up their old lives of sin one of them said, “We must steal or we shall die”.
The city missionary, who was present, urged them to pray, as God could help them.
“But,” said one of the men, “my Lord and gentlemen of the jury (!), prayer is very good, but it won’t fill an empty stomach.”
It was, indeed, a difficult problem how best to aid the poor fellows; but Lord Shaftesbury solved it. As a result of the conference three hundred thieves went abroad to Canada to begin life anew, or were put into the way of earning an honest living.
One of the subjects which occupied a great deal of Lord Shaftesbury’s attention was the condition of the young in coal mines and factories.
At that date children began to work in mines at the age of four or five, and large numbers of girls and boys were labouring in the pits by the time they were eight. For twelve or fourteen hours a day these poor little toilers had to sit in the mines, opening and shutting trap doors as the coal was pushed along in barrows. All alone, with no one to speak to, sitting in a damp, stifling atmosphere, the poor children had to stay day after day; and if they went to sleep they got well beaten. Rats and mice were their only companions, and Sunday was the only day on which they were gladdened by the daylight.
It was a shocking state of existence, nor did it grow better as the children got older.
Then they had to drag heavy loads along the floors of the mine. When the passages were narrow the boys and girls had a girdle fastened round their waists, a chain was fixed to this, and passed between their legs and hooked to the carriage. Then, crawling on hands and knees through the filth and mire, they pulled these trucks as cattle would drag them, whilst their backs were bruised and wounded by knocking against the low roof.
Girls and women were made to carry heavy weights of coal. Children stood ankle deep in water, pumping hour after hour, and their work was sometimes prolonged for thirty-six hours continuously; so that it was no wonder the children died early, that they suffered much from disease, and led cheerless, wretched lives.
Against such cruelties Lord Shaftesbury was constantly warring; and his warfare was not in vain.
Quite as badly off were the little chimney sweeps. Boys were kidnapped, and sold to cruel masters, who forced them to climb high chimneys filled with soot and smoke. If they refused, a fire was perhaps lighted below, and they would thus be forced to ascend. The consequence was that many terrible accidents happened, resulting in the deaths of these poor little fellows, whilst numbers died early from disease.
Lord Shaftesbury roused the country to a sense of the wrong that was being done to the chimney sweeps, and Bills were passed in Parliament for their protection.
Not only children, but men and women also, needed to be defended from wrong and overwork.
Lord Shaftesbury visited the factories to see how the labourers were actually treated; and this is one of the things that came under his notice.
A young woman whilst working in a mill at Stockport was caught by the machinery and badly injured. When the accident happened she had not completed her week’s work, so eighteenpence was deducted from her wages!
Horrified at such treatment Lord Shaftesbury brought an action against the owners of the factory, and obtained £100 for the woman.
For shorter hours and better treatment of factory hands the earl struggled in and out of Parliament; and, though the battle was long and fierce, it ended in victory.
Such labour took up much time, and brought many expenses to the good earl. It brought him, too, plenty of enemies; for most of his life was devoted to striving to make the rich and selfish do justice to the poor and downcast.
He not only gave his time, but his money too; and oftentimes, though the eldest son of an earl, and later an earl himself, he hardly knew where to turn for the means to keep his schemes going.
One day a lady called on him, and, telling a piteous tale of a Polish refugee, asked him for help. Lord Shaftesbury had to confess he had no money he could give; then he suddenly remembered he had five pounds in the library: he fetched the bank note, which formed his nest egg, and presented it to her.
One of Lord Shaftesbury’s greatest works was the promotion of ragged schools.
To these schools, established in the poorest neighbourhoods of the metropolis, came the street arabs, the poor and abandoned, and received kindness and teaching, which comforted and civilised them. The outcasts who slept in doorways, under arches, and in all kinds of horrible and unhealthy places, were the objects of this good man’s care; and ways were found of benefiting and starting afresh hundreds of lads who would otherwise have become thieves or vagabonds in the great city.
When he was over eighty years old he was still striving for the good of others. So much was his heart in the work that he remarked on one occasion: “When I feel age creeping on me, and know I must soon die—I hope it is not wrong to say it—but I cannot bear to leave the world with all the misery in it”.
The dawn came for him in October, 1885, when in his eighty-fifth year this veteran leader was called to his rest.
For convenience I have spoken of him throughout as Lord Shaftesbury; but it may be well to mention that till he was fifty years old he was known as Lord Ashley. Through the death of his father he became Earl of Shaftesbury in 1851.