That afternoon Abner Hale, twenty-one, married Jerusha Bromley, twenty-two, whom he had known two weeks and four days, and on the next morning the young couple, accompanied by fourteen barrels of missionary goods, set out for Boston and the hermaphrodite brig Thetis, 230 tons, bound for Owhyhee.
The mission party assembled for the first time on August 30, 1821, in a brick church on the Boston waterfront. When Abner and Jerusha entered, John Whipple saw them and gasped with surprise at the beauty of the young woman who stood hesitantly in a fawn-colored coat and a pale blue poke bonnet that neatly framed her dancing brown curls and flashing eyes.
“Amanda!” he whispered to his wife. “Look at Abner!”
“Is that Abner?” the tiny bride from Hartford asked. “You said …”
“Hello, Abner!” Whipple called softly. When the couples met, Whipple said, “This is my wife, Amanda.”
“This is Mrs. Hale,” Abner replied, and they proceeded to meet the other nine mission couples.
Of the eleven young men convened in the church, all were under the age of twenty-eight, and nine were less than twenty-four. One had been married for two years, another for almost a year. The remaining nine had been married much as Abner and Jerusha. Friends had dispatched hastily written word pictures of unmarried girls of known piety, and weddings had been abruptly arranged, usually on the first meeting between the young people. Of these nine hurried marriages, only John Whipple and his tiny cousin Amanda had known each other for more than four days before banns were announced. Of the remaining eight couples, six, when it came time to sail, had not yet relaxed sufficiently for husband and wife to call each other by their first names, and that included Reverend and Mrs. Hale.
Few pilgrims have ever set forth upon great adventure with clearer directions than those promulgated by the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions in the little brick church. Tall, godlike Eliphalet Thorn, drawing upon his hard years in Africa, said bluntly, “Brothers, you are about to immerse yourselves in one of the most difficult of all ventures, mission work in a pagan land. You are severely admonished to abide by these rules. First, all property is to be held in common. You are a family, and as a family you will receive from us here in Boston regular supplies which belong to no man or woman, but to the family in general. If you who are farmers raise fruit and sell the surplus, the proceeds belong to the family. If you who are good seamstresses sew clothing and sell it to the sailors in Owhyhee, the returns belong to the family. You are a family in Christ, and it is as a family that you own your houses, your lands, your schools and your churches.
“Second, you are abjured from interfering in the government of the islands, for you must constantly repeat to yourselves the injunction of our Lord as found in Matthew: ‘And they brought unto him a penny. And he saith unto them, Whose is this image and superscription? They say unto him, Caesar’s. Then saith he unto them, Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s; and unto God the things that are God’s.’ You are specifically abjured from participating in government. You are sent not to govern but to convert. You are directed to accomplish two divine missions: bring the heathen to the Lord and civilize him. How he governs himself is his concern. How he learns to know Christ and the alphabet is your concern, for remember that until he learns to read, he cannot know the Bible and God’s redeeming word. Therefore, to speed this worthy end we are sending with you three full fonts of type, and you are to put into the language of Owhyhee the Holy Bible and such other learning as the Owhyheeans are capable of mastering. Provide them with a written language, and they will glorify the Lord.
“Third, there is an inborn inclination on the part of all New England men to trade, and I suspect from the natural abilities which I have found among you as I have studied your careers, that many of you would do conspicuously well in business, but you have been called to serve the Lord, and it is to this business that you must attend. You will receive no salary, and you are expected to earn none. Your sole job is to serve the Lord, and if you do this with all your ability, you will have no vain and idle time for business pursuits.
“Finally, you are to lift up the heathen step by step until he stands with you. Within the passage of years the schools you build must be taught by him, and before you leave the scene, the pulpits you erect and from which you deliver the word of God must be filled by him. You are setting forth to save immortal souls for the harvest of God.”
After Reverend Thorn had taken up questions concerning medical practices to be followed, an elderly, white-haired minister who had worked in many parts of America and in Ceylon spoke briefly. “Brothers in God,” he said simply, “you are not entering upon a limited mission. You are to aim at nothing less than the complete regeneration and salvation of a society. If children now die, they are to be saved. If minds are now ignorant, they are to be enlightened. If idols flourish, they are to be supplanted by the word of Jesus. And if a road is mired and useless, it is to be paved and made straight. If there is among you any man or woman with a hundred capacities, he will find in Owhyhee full outlet for all of them. Spend yourselves in Christ so that in later years it may be said of you, ‘They came to a nation in darkness; they left it in light.’ ”
ON THE LAST DAY of August the mission family was introduced to the ship on which they would live during the six months required for the slow passage to Hawaii. Reverend Thorn led them from the brick church, where they had engaged in morning prayers, onto the dock where a large three-masted ship lay anchored while her cargo of whale oil was being unloaded.
“That’s a substantial ship,” Jerusha observed to some of the other women. “A person shouldn’t get too seasick on that,” she added hopefully.
“That’s not the mission ship,” Reverend Thorn corrected. “Yours lies ahead.”
“Oh, no!” one of the women gasped as she saw the squat and ugly little brig Thetis. It looked scarcely large enough for a river boat.
“Are we sailing in that?” Abner asked shakenly of John Whipple.
“It says Thetis,” Whipple replied dourly.
The brig was almost the smallest two-master that could successfully round Cape Horn at the farthest tip of South America. It was seventy-nine feet long, twenty-four feet wide, and drew only a dozen feet when loaded. Jerusha, upon inspecting it more closely from the quay, confided to Amanda Whipple, “It looks as if it might sink if twenty-two missionaries step aboard.”
“You’re free to inspect the Thetis,” a rough voice called, and for the first time they met Captain Retire Janders, a rugged forty-year-old master with a circle of sandy beard that framed his clean-shaven face from one ear, down the jaw line, under the chin and up to the other ear, making him look like a ruddy-faced boy peering through a hedge.
As Reverend Thorn led his family aboard he introduced each couple formally to Captain Janders. “The captain has been instructed to look after you on this long and tedious voyage,” Thorn explained. “But his first job is to run his ship.”
“Thank you, Reverend,” Captain Janders growled. “Sometimes folks don’t understand that a brig at sea ain’t like a farm in Massachusetts.” He led the missionaries forward to where a hatch stood open, and deep in the bowels of the brig they could see their boxes and books and barrels. “It’s impossible, absolutely and forever impossible for anybody to touch anything that’s down in that hold before we get to Hawaii. So don’t ask. You live with what you can store in your stateroom.”
“Excuse me, Captain,” young Whipple interrupted. “You pronounce the name of the islands Hawaii. We’ve been calling them Owhyhee. What is their accurate name?”
Captain Janders stopped, stared at Whipple and growled, “I like a man who wants to know facts. The name is Hawaii. Huh-va-eee. Accent on second syllable.”
“Have you been to Hawaii?” Whipple asked, carefully accenting the name as it should be.
“You learn well, young man,” Captain Janders grunted. “I’ve sure been to Hawaii.”
 
; “What’s it like?”
The captain thought a long time and said, “It could use a few missionaries. Now this hatchway aft is where you come up and down from your quarters,” and he led the twenty-two down a dark, steep and narrow flight of stairs so that each wife thought: “If the boat rolls I’ll never be able to manage this.”
They were little prepared for what Captain Janders now showed them. It was a gloomy, grimy, ’tween-decks area twenty feet long—less than the length of four grown men—and fifteen feet wide, out of which a substantial portion had been stolen for a rough table shaped in the form of a half-circle, through the middle of which rose the brig’s mainmast. “Our public living area,” Captain Janders explained. “It’s a mite dark at present but when a stout storm comes along and rips away our sails, we’ll take that extra suit from in front of the portholes, and things’ll be a bit lighter.”
The missionaries stared numbly at the minute quarters and Jerusha thought: “How can twenty-two people live and eat here for six months?” But the real astonishment came when Captain Janders kicked aside one of the canvas curtains that led from the public quarters into a sleeping area.
“This is one of the staterooms,” Janders announced, and the missionaries crowded their heads into the doorway to see a cubicle built for dwarfs. Its floor space was exactly five feet ten inches long by five feet one inch wide. It had no windows and no possible ventilation. The wall facing the canvas was formed by the brig’s port side and contained two boxed-in bunks, each twenty-seven inches wide, one atop the other. One of the side walls contained two similar boxed-in bunks.
“Does this mean …” Amanda Whipple stammered.
“Mean what, ma’am?” Captain Janders asked.
“That two couples share each stateroom?” Amanda blushed.
“No, ma’am. It means that four couples fit in here. One couple to one bunk.”
Abner was stunned, but Jerusha, faced with a problem, moved immediately toward the Whipples, seeking them as stateroom partners, only to find that little Amanda was already telling the captain, “The Hales and the Whipples will take this room, plus any other two couples you wish to give us.”
“You and you,” the captain said, arbitrarily indicating the Hewletts and the Quigleys.
The others moved on to receive their assignments while the first four couples, knocking elbows as they stood, started making decisions which would organize their lives for the next six months. “I don’t mind an upper bunk,” Jerusha said gallantly. “Do you, Reverend Hale?”
“We’ll take an upper,” Abner agreed.
Immanuel Quigley, a small, agreeable man, said at once, “Jeptha and I will take an upper.”
Practical Amanda suggested: “On the first day of each month those on top come down below. What’s more important, the bunks along this wall seem longer than these. John, climb in.” And when Whipple tried to stretch out, he found that whereas Amanda was right, and the bunks running along the wall of the ship were nine inches longer than the others, both were too short.
“Those who start with the shortest bunks,” Amanda announced, “will switch to the longer ones on the first of each month. Agreed?”
And the eight missionaries formed their first compact, but long after it was forgotten, the one that Abner was about to suggest would mark the missionaries. Looking at the seven distressed faces in the little room he said, “Our quarters are not large and there will be many inconveniences, especially since four among us are females, but let us remember that we are indeed a family in Christ. Let us always call each other by true family names. I am Brother Hale and this is my wife, Sister Hale.”
“I am Sister Amanda,” the saucy little girl from Hartford promptly corrected, “and this is my husband, Brother John.”
“Since we are only now met,” Abner countered soberly, “I feel the more formal appellation to be the more correct.” The Hewletts and Quigleys agreed, so Amanda bowed courteously.
“How’s it look?” Captain Janders called, shoving his head through the canvas opening.
“Small,” Amanda replied.
“Let me give one bit of advice, young fellow,” Janders said, addressing Whipple. “Stow everything you possibly can right in here. Don’t worry about having space to stand. Pile it bunk-high, because it’s going to take us six months to get out there, and you’ll be surprised how grateful you’ll be to have things.”
“Will we get seasick?” Jerusha asked querulously.
“Ma’am, two hours after we depart Boston we hit a rough sea. Then we hit the Gulf Stream, which is very rough. Then we hit the waters off the coast of Africa, which are rougher still. Finally, we test our brig against Cape Horn, and that’s the roughest water in the world. Ma’am, what do you weigh now?”
“About a hundred and fifteen pounds,” Jerusha replied nervously.
“Ma’am, you’ll be so seasick in your little stateroom that by the time we round Cape Horn, you’ll be lucky if you weigh ninety.” There was a moment of apprehensive silence, and Abner, feeling a slight rocking of the ship, was afraid that he was going to start sooner than the rest, but the captain slapped him on the back and said reassuringly, “But after we round the Horn we hit the Pacific, and it’s like a lake in summer. Then you’ll eat and grow fat.”
“How long before we get to the Pacific?” Abner asked weakly.
“About a hundred and fifteen days,” Janders laughed. Then he added, “I’ll send a boy in here with a screwdriver. Cleat your trunks to the deck. You don’t want ’em sloshing about in a heavy sea.”
When the missionaries saw the boy in their cramped stateroom, they were both amused and delighted, for he was so tall he had to bend over. “It’s Keoki Kanakoa!” John Whipple cried. There were hearty greetings as the massive Hawaiian explained, “The American Board is sending me home to help Christianize my islands. I’m working for Captain Janders only because I like ships.”
When the tiny cabin was finally packed, no floor was visible; there was no place to sit; there was only one solid layer of luggage upon the other, and four bunks so close together that the toes of one missionary couple were only eighteen inches away from the toes of the next pair.
Early on the morning of Saturday, September 1, in the year 1821, the mission family assembled on the wharf. Gaunt, God-stricken Reverend Eliphalet Thorn conducted service, crying above the sounds of the port, “Brothers in Christ, I command you not to weep on this joyous day. Let the world see that you go forth in fullness of spirit, joyously to a great and triumphant duty. We who send you upon this mission to far lands do so in joy. You who go must evidence the same exaltation, for you go in the spirit of Jesus Christ. We will sing the mission song.” And in a clear voice he started the anthem of those who venture to far islands:
“Go, spread a Saviour’s fame:
And tell His matchless grace
To the most guilty and depraved
Of Adam’s numerous race.
“We wish you in His name
The most divine success,
Assur’d that He Who sends you forth
Will your endeavors bless.”
Reverend Thorn then spoke his final word of encouragement: “I have personally helped in the selection of each man in this group, and I am convinced that you will be adornments to the work of Jesus Christ. In storms you will not grow weary, in disappointments you will not question the ultimate triumph of your cause. Through your administration the souls of millions yet unborn will be saved from eternal hellfire. I can think of no better parting hymn than the one which sent me forth on such a mission some years ago:
‘Go to many a tropic isle
On the bosom of the deep
Where the skies forever smile
And the blacks forever weep.’
You are to still that weeping.”
Another minister issued a long prayer, not much to the point, and the service should have been ended on this high religious plane, with each of the twenty-two missionaries attentive to
Reverend Thorn’s injunction that they show no sadness, but the elderly wife of one of the supervising ministers, upon looking at the pretty young brides about to depart, and knowing that some would die in childbirth in Hawaii and others would waste away and others would lose their grip on reality because of back-breaking work and insufficient food, could not restrain her motherly emotions, and in a high piping voice she began one of the most truly Christ-like of all church hymns. Its old familiar strains were quickly picked up, and even Reverend Thorn, unable to anticipate what was about to happen, joined lustily in:
“Blest be the tie that binds
Our hearts in Christian love;
The fellowship of kindred minds
Is like to that above.”
All went well in the first verse, and also in the second, but when the singers came to the succeeding thoughts, one after another began to choke, and at the end all the women in the audience were weeping:
“We share our mutual woes;
Our mutual burdens bear;
And often for each other flows
The sympathizing tear.”
Reverend Thorn, his voice strong and clear to the end, thought ruefully, “Women ought not be permitted to attend leave-takings,” for in the general sobbing that now overtook the congregation he witnessed the collapse of his plans for an orderly departure. Instead of triumphant testimony, the morning had become a sentimental shambles, the victory of common human love over black-coated respectability.
Nevertheless, and not by plan, the morning did end on a note of high religious emotion, for Jerusha Hale unexpectedly moved forward and in her fawn-colored coat and lively poke bonnet stood before Reverend Thorn, saying in a clear voice so that all could hear, “I speak to you not as my Uncle Eliphalet, nor as Reverend Thorn of Africa, but as an officer of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions. We place our futures in your hands. The eleven men here take no money with them, only those things required for life on a savage island. It would not be proper for me to take worldly wealth, either, and so I turn over to the Board the small inheritance I received from my loving aunt. It was to have been spent on my marriage, but I have married the work of the Lord.” And she handed Reverend Thorn a packet containing more than eight hundred dollars.