Solomon Islands by G. F. JONES

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Dec 24, 1914

Solomon Islands

By G. F. JONES

G. F. JONES

SINCE my last report our work here has been going forward as well, perhaps, as we could expect.

A few days ago a passing cutter gave the news that no steamer would arrive as usual, that the traders refused to sell more food, that the planters were putting their men to plant sweet potatoes, and that one of the large companies had just put its men on a ration of one biscuit each for a morning meal, etc. We are, however, clearing ground, and going ahead with the erection of our native schoolhouse. These strange rumors without definite particulars have not slackened our hands, for we expect such things nowadays, and they only spur us on to greater activity.

We have decided to take up mission work in the Marova Lagoon, nothing preventing. Although the districts there are far apart, we shall be able to use the same language throughout. The Viru district, where we are starting, is perhaps the smallest in our territory, but there are cogent reasons why we have been led to Viru first. These people, although few in number, have shown the greatest desire to have us with them, and have been quite enthusiastic in clearing ground and in putting up our schoolhouse; and as I watch them at work I am reminded of the scripture, “Thy people shall be willing in the day of thy power.” They work as if they knew all about the third angel’s message, and are very happy and pleasant. These savages with painted faces put many of us to shame by their willingness and good spirit. The ground is full of great hardwood trees, from three to five feet in diameter, which they tackle with jollity. Now and then one of these giant trees falls; then there is the loudest and most weird screaming ever heard, renewed every few minutes for the sake of encouraging one another as the cutting goes on. Then another and another monster falls, interlacing each other on the ground, until I wonder where and how they are to be disposed of, for they are not so easily burned as are most trees. This is by no means a small undertaking, but willing hands and stout hearts, with the help of the Lord, can accomplish it. “Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord.” We hope that some of these young people, trained as teachers and workers, will be able to reach others of the same tongue.

How relieved and happy we shall be when we are able to speak to them in their own language. It would be difficult to express in words the loneliness that comes over us at times through our inability to do so. But we know that time will remedy all this.

The effects of fighting and exterminating and of devastating diseases, are seen everywhere.

We are still living on the “Advent Herald,” which is now moored to the wharf belonging to Mr. Stratham, a planter and trader of Viru, who is now in Sydney. As the little cabin is rather hot to sleep in, we are sleeping on the floor of his store. Our boxes and goods are stored in a shed across the river, and we shall be glad when we can use some of the meager comforts they contain. But we are not worrying about ordinary comforts; we are too thankful for the blessing of health and such things as we have. This quiet harbor for our boat will provide not only a school for the willing natives, but also a school of preparation for ourselves, which is necessary in order that we may learn the language and become acquainted with the people, and thus be prepared to do efficient work in the more populous districts of the Marova Lagoon.