Penniless, uninformed, ill at ease with their suddenly acquired partners, but strong in the Lord, the missionaries climbed aboard the brig Thetis, and Captain Janders cried, “Break out the sails!” and the tiny ship flung aloft her nine new sails and began moving slowly toward the open sea. Standing on the port side of the vessel, Abner Hale had the distinct premonition that he would never again see America, and he uttered a short prayer which invoked blessing for all those who lived on that bleak, ungenerous little farm in Marlboro, Massachusetts. If he had been asked at that solemn moment what mission he was setting forth upon he would have answered honestly, “To bring to the people of Hawaii the blessings that I enjoyed on that farm.” It could never have occurred to him—as indeed it never did—that a better mission might be to bring to Hawaii the blessings that characterized the solid white home facing the village common in Walpole, New Hampshire, for although he had said nothing about this to anyone, he could not believe that the levity, the profane music, the novels and the deficiency in grace that marked the Bromley home were in any sense blessings. In fact, he rather felt that in bringing Jerusha onto the Thetis he was somehow saving her from herself.
She was now tugging at his arm and saying, “Reverend Hale, I think I’m going to be sick.” And he took her below and placed her in one of the short berths, where she was to stay for most of the time during the first four months. Abner, to everyone’s surprise, proved a good sailor, for although he constantly looked as if he were about to vomit, he ate ravenously and never did.
It was he, therefore, who led prayers, did the preaching, studied Hawaiian with Keoki Kanakoa, and frequently took care of eighteen or twenty seasick missionaries. Some of them came ungenerously to detest the wiry little man as he moved briskly among their sickbeds, assuring them that soon they would be up like him, eating pork, biscuit, gravy, anything. And yet grudgingly they had to admire his determination, particularly when Captain Janders began to rail against him.
Janders started with his first mate. “Mister Collins, you’ve got to keep that pipsqueak Hale out of the fo’c’s’l.”
“Is he bothering the men?”
“He’s trying to convert ’em.”
“Those monsters?”
“He’s got his dirty little fangs into Cridland. I found the boy weeping last night and I asked him what was wrong, and he told me that Reverend Hale had convinced him that death and eternal hellfire were the lot of everyone on this ship who did not confess and join the church.”
“Maybe he’s right,” Collins laughed.
“But in the meantime we have to run a ship.”
“Have the men complained, sir?”
“No, that they haven’t. Cridland says they sort of like to have the little squirt around. Makes them feel as if someone was interested in ’em.”
“I’ll tell him to stay clear of the men,” Mister Collins promised.
Captain Janders knew precisely when the message was delivered, for two minutes later Reverend Hale, sputtering with rage, was ’tween decks, hammering on the half-circle table. “Do I understand, Captain Janders, that I have been ordered not to go into the fo’c’s’l?”
“Not an order. A request.”
“Then you were partner to this request?”
“I was.”
“And you are consciously setting yourself athwart my efforts to save the souls of these forsaken men steeped in evil and abomination?”
“These are just good ordinary sailors, Reverend Hale, and I don’t want ’em upset.”
“Upset!” Reverend Hale beat the table more loudly, so that all the seasick missionaries could hear the argument, whether they wished to or not. “You call the conversion of an immortal soul to God’s grace upsetting! Captain Janders, there are some aboard this brig who would profit from some upsetting, and I am not referring exclusively to those in the fo’c’s’l.” Thereafter, however, he stayed out of the men’s cramped quarters forward, but he did lie in wait for them as they went about their duties, until Captain Janders had once more to call in the first mate. “Damn it, Mister Collins, now he’s meddling with the men when they’re trying to change sails. Warn him about it.”
This led to further protests from the missionary, which Captain Janders patiently entertained. Finally Hale cried, “I don’t believe you care, Captain Janders, whether you run a Christian ship or not. The men tell me that you issue rations of rum after a storm. That you never try to get them to take the pledge. Obviously, you try to impede me in every way possible.”
“Reverend Hale,” the captain pleaded, “I’m trying to get this ship to Hawaii. You seem to be trying to get it to Beulah Land.”
“I am,” Hale replied.
“The two ports are incompatible.”
“Not in God’s eyes, Captain Janders. You’ve forbidden me the fo’c’s’l. Now you forbid me talk to the men on duty. Are you also going to forbid me the right to conduct Christian services on Sunday?”
“No, Reverend Hale, I aim to run a God-fearing ship, and when no ministers are aboard, I conduct services myself. Short ones. I’d be pleased to have you carry on for me. I’m in favor of church, at sea or ashore.”
Later, when talking with the first mate, the captain asked, “Why do you suppose it is, Mister Collins, that with all these intelligent young men aboard, and with eleven damned attractive young women, it has to be Hale who is always well enough to eat with us? Why don’t he get sick and his wife come to dinner?”
“Divine providence is sometimes malign, Captain Janders,” the mate replied. But how malign, he was not to know until Reverend Hale preached his first Sunday sermon on the afterdeck. The Thetis rolled so sorely that no other missionary could appear above decks, but there stood Abner Hale, with a heavy Bible in his left hand, preaching into the winds.
“I have chosen for my text James, chapter 4, verse 8: ‘Draw nigh to God, and He will draw nigh to you. Cleanse your hands, ye sinners; and purify your hearts, ye double minded.’ ” And he launched into one of the most violent attacks on the moral dangers faced by sailors that the crew had ever heard, for he charged that all who sailed before the mast were peculiarly tempted, that those who led them were apt to be insensitive brutes, that their employers who remained safe at home in Salem and Boston were determined to corrupt their vessels, and that every port they touched harbored instruments of evil that stay-at-home citizens could only dream of. Abner painted the men before him as the blackest, most evil and forlorn group of reprobates in Christendom, and the men loved it. Throughout his fiery sermon they nodded approvingly, and even Captain Janders and the first mate agreed that except in the part where Abner belabored them individually, he was close to the truth. But the result of his sermon was rather the opposite of what Abner had intended, for throughout the rest of the day the young sailors whom he wanted to reach most—for he felt that Janders and Collins were past saving—strutted with extra swagger as if in sudden realization of the fact that they “were among the evilest human beings known.” They had suspected this for some time, and they derived positive pleasure from being told so by an expert. Only Cridland, a pathetic, undernourished boy with an overpowering sense of guilt, caught anything of Hale’s message, and he appeared red-eyed and perplexed as Abner was about to go below, asking, “What must I do to be saved?” And from his question Abner knew that his sermon had been a success.
“You must pray. You must study the Bible. And you must try to save the souls of your mates in the fo’c’s’l,” Abner explained. He handed young Cridland his own Bible and said, “You may keep this tonight. I brought along eight seamen’s Bibles, and I’ll give you one at Sabbath service but it is only a loan from God to you. Only when you get some friend in the fo’c’s’l to ask for his Bible, will you have started upon your true salvation.”
At supper Captain Janders growled, “The mate says he saw your large Bible in the fo’c’s’l, Reverend Hale. I thought it was understood that you were not to annoy the men down there any more.”
/> “I have kept severely to my promise, Captain Janders, but since I am forbidden entrance into that pit of depravity, I feel sure that you will not object to my sending there, as my messenger better able to discharge my obligations than I myself, the holy word of God. If you wish to throw the Bible out of your ship, do so, Captain, and your name will become imperishable in the roll call of mariners.”
“Please, Reverend Hale, don’t preach sermons down here. I only asked if you had violated your agreement to stay out of the fo’c’s’l.”
“I have never violated an agreement,” Abner cried. “Oh, I shall stay out! Never fear! But by next Sunday, Captain Janders, eight of my Bibles will be down there.”
In spite of their arguments with the difficult missionary, both Captain Janders and Mister Collins were impressed by the fatherly way in which he tended his sick companions. Each dawn he went from one sickbed to another, collecting the night’s slops, hauling them away and bringing fresh water to cleanse lips foul from vomiting. Before breakfast he visited each man and woman and read to them from the Bible. Men who wanted to shave were provided with hot water from the cook’s galley, and women who required fresh linen could indicate to Abner which boxes were to be hauled out and opened. At mealtimes he took to each sick friend those portions of greasy food which had a chance of staying down in retching stomachs. He argued the captain into allowing him to cook up batches of oatmeal gruel for the women. And each evening, no matter how sick the missionaries were, they were hauled out of bed and made to attend divine worship conducted by Abner in the tiny, crowded cabin. If he saw that a man or woman could remain upright only with difficulty, he would conclude his prayer in half a minute and say, “The Lord has marked your presence, Joshua. You had better return to bed.” Then, when the sick had mercifully departed, he would involve the others in long discussions, sermons, prayers, hymns. He was especially fond of one hymn which contained a verse which he held applicable to the Thetis:
He’ll shield you with a wall of fire;
With flowing zeal your hearts inspire,
Bid raging winds their fury cease,
And hush the tempest into peace.
But after the eighth rendition of this hopeful assurance, John Whipple, barely able to stand, said shakily, “Abner, you keep singing that the tempest is going to subside, but it gets worse.”
“When we reach Cape Verde, we reach fine weather for certain,” Abner assured everyone, and as the creaking little ship plunged sickeningly on through the North Atlantic swells, he grew more cheerful and more helpful.
“He’d make a wonderful cook’s helper,” Captain Janders observed to the first mate one night.
“Have you stopped to think what this cabin area would be like without him,” Mister Collins reflected. “Twenty-one sick missionaries on our hands.”
It was therefore not surprising that long before the storm abated, Abner Hale was recognized by all on board as the unofficial father of the mission family. There were men who were older, and men who were wiser, but he was the one to whom all looked for aid and decision. So, when he announced on the fourth Saturday that the storm had sufficiently abated to hold next day’s service topside, and that all who could possibly do so must attend, there was a general effort to drag bruised and smelling bodies back into some semblance of order.
In his own stateroom, Abner kneeled on boxes and assured the four sick women there that when Sunday came, he would do everything required to help them dress and climb topside to worship the Lord. Amanda Whipple agreed, as did the two others, and he laid out their things for them, but Jerusha, after trying to rise, subsided and whimpered, “I cannot even raise my hand, Reverend Hale.”
“I will help you, Mrs. Hale. I have brought you some broth from the meat, and if you will drink this now, by morning you will be stronger.”
Jerusha drank the greasy broth, and only with difficulty kept from throwing it back into the smelly stateroom. “I am so dreadfully ill,” she insisted.
“In the morning you will be better,” Abner assured her, and while she slept he went aloft under the first stars of the voyage. As he was standing by the starboard railing of the brig, two shadowy forms came to him and he heard Cridland say, “I’ve been talking all week with Mason, sir, and he wants a Bible.”
Abner turned in the darkness and saw the indistinct form of a young sailor. “Do you wish to be saved?” he asked.
“I do,” the boy replied.
“What has led you to this decision?” Abner asked.
“I’ve been listening to the older hands speak of a sailor’s life ashore, and I’m afraid,” the boy whined.
“You’re a wise young man, Mason,” Abner said. “The Lord has spoken and you have listened.”
“No, sir, begging your pardon. It’s been Cridland who’s been speaking. He’s made me see the error of my ways.”
“Tomorrow after service, Mason, I’ll hand you your Bible, when Cridland gets his. But it is only a loan from God to you. To keep it, you must get some friend in the fo’c’s’l to acknowledge God and to ask for his Bible.”
“Would you say a prayer for us, Reverend Hale?” Cridland begged.
“The Lord always provides wisdom for those who seek,” Abner replied. And in the darkness he raised his head to the stars and prayed: “Lord, we are afloat on a great ocean in a little boat. The winds and the storms harass us, but we trust in Thee. Tonight we are only three praying to Thee: a young boy on his first voyage, a sailor who seeks guidance, and a beginning minister who has never had a pulpit of his own. Great Father in heaven, we are insignificant in Thine eyes, but guide us in Thy divine ways. For if we are only three tonight, later we shall be more, for Thy wisdom permeates all things and saves all souls.”
He dismissed the two sailors and stood for a long time watching the stars and waiting till the midnight hour heralded the first Sabbath on which a substantial number of the missionaries could attend formal service. As the holy day crept across the meridian of night, Abner prayed that the Lord might make this day one of special significance. Then he went below and whispered to his unnerved wife, “My dearest companion, you would not believe what has happened. Tonight two sailors came voluntarily requesting evening prayers. The spirit of God is beginning to permeate this forsaken ship.”
“That’s wonderful, Reverend Hale,” his wife whispered, lest they waken the three other couples who had been sick most of the evening.
“And tomorrow our family will celebrate its first holy service,” Abner sighed. “But I forget. It’s already Sunday. I studied where the tarpauling is to be hung. We’re going to have a very handsome church, Mrs. Hale, on the bosom of the deep.”
“I won’t be able to go up the stairs, Reverend Hale, but I’ll pray with you,” she whispered.
“You’ll be well enough,” he assured her, and he crept into the short narrow berth beside her.
But in the morning she was no better, and the sight of little Amanda swaying back and forth on the piled boxes made her more ill, so that when Abner returned from checking all his charges he found his wife not dressing, but lying in bed pale and exhausted. “I’m awfully sorry, Reverend Hale,” she sighed, “but I’ll have to miss service this morning.”
“Not at all,” he protested cheerily. “I’ll help you.”
“But I’m sure I can’t stand,” she protested.
“Now, Mrs. Hale …” And he forcibly brought her slim legs down onto the boxes and caught her in his arms when she proved unable to maintain her balance. “Some breakfast will strengthen you. Then we’ll have service. You’ll see the sun. And you’ll be fine.”
In trying to get out of the little heaped-up stateroom she almost fainted, weakness and nausea combining to make her deathly ill, but again Abner helped her and maneuvered her through the canvas opening and on into the cramped and smelly cabin, where Keoki Kanakoa was spreading a breakfast consisting of cold suet beef, mashed beans and watery rice, left over from the night before. Jerusha closed her eyes w
hen the sodden food was placed before her and kept them closed as Abner asked one of the older ministers to bless the day. Then Keoki prayed in Hawaiian, to familiarize the missionaries with the language, and the meal was begun.
Jerusha could manage a little hot tea and one bite of suet beef, but the clammy lard in the latter revolted her, and she rose to leave, but Abner’s firm hand caught her wrist and she heard him saying, “A little longer, Mrs. Hale, and you’ll conquer it.” So she sat in agony as the cold lard slipped down into her stomach and nauseated her whole body.
“I’m going to be sick!” she whispered.
“No,” he said insistently. “This is our first meal together. This is the Sabbath.” And she fought her rising illness, with the smell of food and two dozen people crowding in upon her nostrils.
She was pale when the meal ended, and staggered toward her berth, but Abner refused to let her go, and with his strong hold on her arm, marched her up the stairs and onto the gently sloping deck, where a canvas had been hung to form a rude chapel. “Our first worship as a family,” he announced proudly, but the entire family was not to participate, because one of the older ministers took one look at the slanting deck, rushed to the railing, relieved himself of his breakfast, and staggered white and gasping back to his berth. Abner stared at him as he left, interpreting the poor man’s involuntary actions as a personal rejection of God. He was especially irritated because several of the sailors, who were idling the Sunday morning away by hanging on ropes to catch their first glimpse of the mission family, laughed openly as the distraught minister threw up his breakfast.
“There’ll be more,” one of the sailors predicted ominously, and his mates laughed.
Services were conducted by Abner, as the only one who was likely to be able to finish them, and the family, resting comfortably under canvas strung from the mainmast, sang as cheerfully as circumstances permitted, the fine old Sunday hymn of New England:
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