Still we set our bell a-ringing every day after dinner—intimating our readiness to give advice or medicine to all who were sick. We spoke to them, so soon as we had learned, a few words about Jesus. The weak received a cup of tea and a piece of bread. The demand was sometimes great, especially when epidemics befell them. But some rather fled from us as the cause of their sickness, and sought refuge from our presence in remotest corners, or rushed off at our approach and concealed themselves in the bush. They were but children, and full of superstition; and we had to win them by kindly patience, never losing faith in them and hope for them, any more than the Lord did with us!
As on Tanna, all sicknesses and deaths were supposed to be caused by sorcery, there called _Nahak_, on Aniwa called _Tafigeitu_. Some Sacred Man burned the remains of food such as the skin of a banana, or a hair from the head, or something that the person had even touched, and he was the disease-maker. Hence they were kept in a state of constant terror, and breathed the very atmosphere of revenge. When one became sick, all the people of his village met day after day, and made long speeches and tried to find out the enemy who was causing it. Having fixed on some one, they first sent presents of mats, baskets, and food to the supposed disease-makers; if the person recovered, they took credit for it; if the person died, his friends sought revenge on the supposed murderers. And such revenge took a wide sweep, satisfying itself with the suspected enemy, or any of his family, or of his village, or even of his tribe. Thus endless bloodshed and unceasing intertribal wars kept the people from one end of the Island to the other in one long-drawn broil and turmoil.
Learning the language on Aniwa was marked by similar incidents to those of Tanna, related in Part First; though a few of them could understand my Tannese, and that greatly helped me. One day a man, after carefully examining some article, turned to his neighbour and said,—
“Taha tinei?”
I inferred that he was asking, “What is this?”
Pointing to another article, I repeated their words; they smiled at each other, and gave me its name. On another occasion, a man said to his companion, looking towards me,—
“Taha neigo?”
Concluding that he was asking my name, I pointed towards him, and repeated the words, and they at once gave me their names. Readers would be surprised to discover how much you can readily learn of any language, with these two short questions constantly on your lips, and with people ready at every turn to answer—“What’s this?” “What’s your name?” Every word was at once written down, spelled phonetically and arranged in alphabetic order, and a note appended as to the circumstances in which it was used. By frequent comparison of these notes, and by careful daily and even hourly imitation of all their sounds, we were able in a measure to understand each other before we had gone far in the house-building operations, during which some of them were constantly beside me.
One incident of that time was very memorable, and God turned it to good account for higher ends. I often tell it as “the miracle of the speaking bit of wood;” and it has happened to other Missionaries exactly as to myself. While working at the house, I required some nails and tools. Lifting a piece of planed wood, I pencilled a few words on it, and requested our old Chief to carry it to Mrs. Paton, and she would send what I wanted. In blank wonder, he innocently stared at me, and said,—
“But what do you want?”
I replied, “The wood will tell her.” He looked rather angry, thinking that I befooled him, and retorted,—