One hesitates to dwell further on this miserable episode. But I must relate how my heart bled for some poor Islanders also, whom that Captain had on board. They knew not a word of English, and no one in the vessel knew a sound of their language. They were made to work, and to understand what was expected of them, only by hard knocks and blows, being pushed and pulled hither and thither. They were kept quite naked on the voyage up; but, when nearing Sydney, each received two yards of calico to be twisted as a kilt around his loins. A most pathetic spectacle it was to watch these poor Natives,—when they had leisure to sit on deck,—gazing, gazing, intently and imploringly, upon the face of the Sun! This they did every day, and at all hours, and I wept much to look on them, and not be able to tell them of the Son of God, the Light of the world, for I knew no word of their language. Perhaps they were worshippers of the Sun; and perhaps, amid all their misery, oh, _perhaps_, some ray of truth from the great Father of Lights may have streamed into those darkened souls! When we arrived at Sydney, the Inspecting Officer of the Government, coming on board, asked how these Islanders came to be there. The Captain impudently replied that they were “passengers.” No further question was put. No other evidence was sought. Yet all who knew anything of our South-Sea Island Traders were perfectly aware that the moral certainty was that these Natives were there practically as Slaves. They would be privately disposed of by the Captain to the highest bidder; and that, forsooth, is to be called the _Labour_ Traffic. About midnight we came to anchor in Sydney harbour. The Captain condescended to say, “I will not drive you ashore to-night, but you must be off by daylight.” His orders might have been spared. It was too great a relief to get away from such coarseness and profanity. As we came to anchorage, I anxiously paced the deck, gazing towards the gas-lighted city, and pleading with God to open up my way, and give success in the work before me, on which the salvation of thousands of the Heathen might depend. Still I saw them perishing, still heard their wailing cry on the Islands behind me. I saw them groaning under blinding superstitions, and imbruing their hands in each other’s blood, and I felt as if crushed by the awful responsibility of my work and by the thought of all that hung upon its success or failure. But I felt also that there must be many of God’s dear people in Sydney who would sympathize with such work and help me, if only I could get access to them. At the same time, I knew not a soul in that great city; though I had a note of introduction to one person, which, as experience proved, I would have been better without.