English ship, the master of which
had left him here sick. Captain Fuller believing his tale, and well
pleased to obtain the services of one who might prove useful as an
interpreter, consented to receive him among the crew. Our ship's
company gave him at first the name of Tar, and hence he soon became
known among them as Tom Tar. He proves an amusing, and seemingly a
good-natured fellow till he is angered, and then he will cast off his
clothes, and seizing a billet of wood or whatever comes to hand, will
flourish it, threatening the lives of all near him, exhibiting his body
covered with strange devices, appearing, as he is still, the fierce,
vindictive savage. He comes from an island called New Zealand, where
the inhabitants are terribly fierce, and undoubted cannibals. I asked
Taro whether he had ever eaten any of his fellow-creatures. He nodded,
laughing, and I doubt not, from the expression of his countenance, that
he had often done so, and would not hesitate in again indulging in such
a practice. Though living so long among men professing to be
Christians, he is still a heathen in all his thoughts and ways. I asked
him one day how this was. His answer was simple: "They say and do just
what heathen man say and do. They no pray to their God; they no care
for their God; they no love their God. Why should I?"

Taro spoke the truth; I felt abashed. How can we expect the heathen to
become Christians, when those who call themselves so show so little
regard to the religion of Christ? I see the same sad shortcoming on
shore. Christians do not strive to bring honour to the name of Christ.

For three weeks and more we traverse the Pacific, keeping bright
look-out by night and day for rocks and reefs.

"Land on the starboard bow," is the cry. We haul up for it. As the
ship rises and falls on the long, slow swell, now the trees appear
partly out of the water, now they disappear looking thus at a distance
like a fleet at anchor. There are cocoa-nut palms, pandanus trees, and
many shrubs, growing on a low island, fifteen feet at most above the
level of the sea, some twelve miles long, and not a quarter of a mile
wide, with a deep blue lagoon inside. This is one of those wonderful
coral islands of which I have read, formed by minute insects working
upwards from rocky foundations amid the ocean, and ceasing their work
when they have reached the surface. The waves have torn off masses and
thrown them up so as to