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.
Unfortunately, I had not with me a copy of the Resolution of the Missionaries, commissioning me to plead their cause and to raise funds for the new Mission Ship. Again and again I had earnestly requested it, but the Clerk of the meeting, pressed by correspondence, or for some other reason, gave me instead that note of introduction, which proved more of a hindrance than a help in launching my work; except that it threw me more exclusively on the guidance of my Lord, and taught me to trust in Him, and in the resources He had given me, rather than in any human aid, from that day till the present hour.
That friend, however, did his best. He kindly called with me on a number of Ministers and others. They heard my story, sympathized with me, shook hands, and wished me success; but, strangely enough, something “very special” prevented every one of them from giving me access to his pulpit or Sabbath School. At length, I felt so disappointed, so miserable, that I wished I had been in my grave with my dear departed and my brethren on the Islands who had fallen around me, in order that the work on which so much now appeared to depend might have been entrusted to some one better fitted to accomplish it. The heart seemed to keep repeating, “All these things are against thee.”
Finding out at last the Rev. A. Buzacott, then retired, but formerly the successful and honoured representative of the London Missionary Society on Rarotonga, considerable light was let in upon the mysteries of my last week’s experiences. He informed me that the highly esteemed friend, who had kindly been introducing me all round, was at that moment immersed in a keen Newspaper war with Presbyterians and Independents. He had published statements and changes of view, which charged them with being unscriptural in belief and practice. They, of course, were rigorously defending themselves. This made it painfully manifest that, in order to succeed, I must strike out a new course for myself, and one clear from all local entanglement.