Show Me the Sky - Nicholas Hogg [38]
On the tilting deck Rev. Lilywhite led a short, salt-sprayed service, investing our care in ‘He who holds the wind in his fist’. As we prayed for providence to deliver us beyond the Cape of Good Hope, men scrambled and dangled in the rigging, wrestling sails and ropes from the gathering wind.
19 December 1834
After only two nights of tumbling sleep, rocked from my dreams by the warring waves, I can stand upon the deck without fear of falling over, for the temper of the Cape has abated quicker than both passengers and sailors could have hoped.
Capt. Drinkwater reminded Rev. Lilywhite that we still had fathoms of sea to sail before the port of New Holland, and that a thanking of the Lord should be attended with further petitions for a safe passage. Thus once more the rev. gathered us above deck to acknowledge ‘He who makes the waves and blows the wind’. On completion of the prayer, the Rev. Stevens, in a moment of broken protocol between himself and the senior reverends, added a few words for the brave sailors: ‘lest we forget those who labour for our lives without thanks’. The Rev. Lilywhite audibly snorted, walking away mumbling words beneath his breath that I doubt complimented the deckhands sweating for his safe voyage.
20 December 1834
It is not Fijian custom to speak ill of those who cannot hear to defend themselves, but much of the lesson this morning with Rev. Stevens was spent discussing the Rev. Thomas and his peculiarities.
An unkempt and shambling man, often with more dinner down his cassock than upon his plate, he certainly does not believe that ‘cleanliness is next Godliness’. Regardless, his appearance is a trite observation compared to what he considers faith. Though capable of repeating the scriptures word for word, it is a fiery sentence that the love of God inhabits when orated by the Rev. Thomas. His services are popular with the sailors because he chooses to dwell upon those passages coloured with sex and murder – of which there are many. At times I wonder if he is preaching the word of God, or the riddles of Satan. But just when his sermon has turned a blue sky black, he will transform the message into a lightning strike of the Lord, as though faith were a thunderbolt clutched in his fist, ready to be thrust into the chest of any who dare not believe.
26 December 1834
Christmas Day passed in a most joyous manner, with each and every voice on-board the Caroline singing in unison, no cloud between our song and Jesus Christ in Heaven.
The forecastle, usually strictly reserved for ship matters and the telescope of the capt., was turned into a pulpit for the Rev. Lilywhite, perched above us in his garb of black like a landed raven. He thanked the Lord once more for the fair weather, and acknowledged that it was by His grace alone we were afloat, no matter how hard the seaman toiled – this was followed by a significant pause and noticeable look to the Rev. Stevens.
Beyond the waves to Fiji, he concluded with a prayer for my people: ‘O Lord, see fit that the blackened souls of Fiji may be enlightened, and that where there is misery in ignorance of your name, we might bring joy.’
Will it make his mission more difficult when the Rev. Lilywhite and his colleagues discover that our lives are not lived in perpetual fear and woe? How will my brothers and sisters behave when told that naked flesh is shame, that the glory of their body is a sin before the eyes of the Lord, that to lay with the wife of another man is a broken commandment, and that only God has the right to spill the blood of another?
1 January 1835
‘A new year is upon us,’ announced the Rev. Stevens this morning, before enquiring