We were ready before dawn, but had to walk a couple of miles along the coast to the point where the Jubilee was lying, and there found a native teacher, with his family and all their goods, waiting to be taken on board; and as there was only one tiny boat, it was 11 A.M. ere we sailed. Outside the reef there was a good deal of sea on, and we were both very sick all day, and could not get near Nairai. We spent a wretched night; for though there is a small cabin, it is so very stuffy that we prefer just lying on deck and making the best of it. At dawn we were still off the coast of beautiful Koro. We neared Nairai in the afternoon, but the wind fell, and we could not make the difficult passage through the reef, which is six miles from the island; so we had a second night lying on the deck, vainly seeking for a soft plank, and longing for the mats of the native houses. Happily the night was faultlessly lovely, and every cloud and star was mirrored in the glassy ocean. We lay watching the Southern Cross and the Great Bear; and Venus sank as Jupiter rose, casting long reflections of sparkling light. It does seem strange to look up night after night and see the old familiar stars, remembering how very nearly we are standing sole to sole,—at least we are within a week’s run of New Zealand, which is the exact antipodes of Britain. You see we have gained twelve hours on you, and often think of you as just sitting down to breakfast when we are turning in for the night! The singing at evening prayer on deck was actually pretty,—the Fijian teachers and the Rotumah crew having nice voices. Our captain (Martin by name) comes from Heligoland. His opinion of life in Fiji is not high. “Ay! it _is_ the country for makeshifts!” As the mention of our crew being Rotumans probably conveys no definite idea to your mind, I may as well mention that Rotumah is a little independent island lying by itself about three hundred miles to the north of Fiji, which is the nearest inhabited land.[32] It is a volcanic isle, with several long-extinct craters, now clothed with rich vegetation. It has a population of about four thousand; but owing to the strong propensity of the people for a seafaring life, a large proportion of these are generally absent. They are a small race, and of a clear copper colour. The story of how the first tidings of Christianity were carried to this isle by Tongan teachers,—of the vigorous hold which the new faith quickly took—of the virulent persecution that ensued—of the strongly rooted determination with which the converts held their ground, so that, when first visited by a white teacher, it was found that half the population were already professed Christians, who eagerly hailed his coming,—this story, I say, is one of the most remarkable episodes in the progress of Christianity in any part of the world. So I looked on these Rotumah men with especial interest as representatives of this people.