The Story of John G. Paton; Or, Thirty Years Among South Sea CannibalsPaton, John Gibson
Religion
The Story of John G. Paton; Or, Thirty Years Among South Sea Cannibals
Paton, John Gibson
Missions -- Vanuatu; Paton, John Gibson, 1824-1907
My heart rose to the Lord in trembling prayer! The wave came rolling on;
every paddle with all their united strength struck into the sea; and
next moment our canoe was flying like a sea-gull on the crest of the
wave towards the shore. Another instant, and the wave had broken on the
reef with a mighty roar, and rushed passed us hissing in clouds of foam.
My company were next seen swimming wildly about in the sea, Manuman the
one-eyed Sacred Man alone holding on by the canoe, nearly full of water,
with me still clinging to the seat of it, and the very next wave likely
to devour us. In desperation, I sprang for the reef, and ran for a man
half-wading, half-swimming to reach us; and God so ordered it, that just
as the next wave broke against the silvery rock of coral, the man caught
me and partly swam with me through its surf, partly carried me till I
was set safely ashore. Praising God, I looked up and saw all the others
as safe as myself, except Manuman, my friend, who was still holding on
by the canoe in the face of wind and sea, and bringing it with him.
Others ran and swam to his help. The paddles were picked up amid the
surf. A powerful fellow came towards me with the pot of flour on his
head, uninjured by water! The Chief who held on by the canoe got
severely cut about the feet, and had been badly bruised and knocked
about; but all the rest escaped without further harm, and everything
that we had was saved. Amongst friends at last, they resolved to await a
favorable wind and tide to return to their own homes. Singing in my
heart unto God, I hired a man to carry the pot of flour, and soon
arrived at the Mission Station.
Supplying the wants of our dear friends, Mr. and Mrs. Mathieson, whom we
found as well as could be expected, we had to prepare, after a few hours
of rest, to return to our own Station by walking overland through the
night. I durst not remain longer away, lest my own house should be
plundered and broken into. Though weak in health, my fellow-Missionaries
were both full of hope, and zealous in their work, and this somewhat
strange visit was a pleasant blink amidst our darkness. Before I had
gone far on my return journey, the sun went down, and no Native could be
hired to accompany me. They all told me that I would for certain be
killed by the way. But I knew that it would be quite dark before I
reached the hostile districts, and that the Heathen are great cowards in
the dark and never leave their villages at night in the darkness, except
in companies for fishing and suchlike tasks. I skirted along the
sea-shore as fast as I could, walking and running alternately; and, when
I got within hearing of voices, I slunk back into the bush till they had
safely passed, and then groped my way back near the shore, that being my
only guide to find a path.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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