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"Alas, Viriamu!" was the cry in every Christian Polynesian island for many a day; and well it might be, for, in spite of the shortcomings of a poorly-educated ministry and a tropical and feeble race, there are few who ever turned more men from darkness to light, from cannibal fury to Christian love, than the Martyr of Erromango, John Williams, one of the happiest of missionaries, in that to him was given the martyr's crown, in the full tide of his success and hope.
They listened eagerly, and their attachment to the missionary was expressed in a song sung in what they called a "heavenly dance" of the ladies in his honour, when he had remained with them long enough to plant the good seed of a growing church. "Let us talk of Viriamu, Let cocoa-nuts glow in peace for months; When strong the east winds blow, our hearts forget him not.
Let us greatly love the Christian land of the great white chief. All victors are we now, for we all have one God. No food is sacred now. All kinds of fish we catch and eat, Even the sting-ray. The birds are crying for Viriamu, His ship has sailed another way. The birds are crying for Viriamu, Long time is he in coming. Will he ever come again? Will he ever come again?"
Williams, in her silent English sorrow, was made the centre of a multitude of frantic mourners. "Aue kriamu, aue Viriamu, our father, our father! He has turned his face from us! We shall never see him more! He that brought us the good word of salvation is gone! Oh, cruel heathen, they knew not what they did. How great a man they have destroyed!"
Just as this was thoroughly arranged, in about the fourth year of his mission, Williams suffered from a malady which seemed to him and his companion, Mr. Threlkeld, to necessitate his return home. The information was received by the islanders with something like despair. Old King Tamatoa came to him and said, "Viriamu, I have been thinking you are a strange man.
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