lunteered to take
charge of the new schooner called the _Southern Cross_, just sent out to
him from England. Till then his staff consisted of three men in holy
orders and two younger men who were to be ordained later. One of these,
Joseph Atkin, a native of Auckland, proved himself of unique value to
the Mission before he was called to share his leader's death. But the
Bishop still took upon himself the most dangerous work, the landing at
villages where the English were unknown or where the goodwill of the
natives seemed to be doubtful. This he accepted as a matter of course,
remarking casually in his letters that the others are not good enough
swimmers to take his place. But caution was necessary long after the
time when friendship had begun. In the interval between visits anything
might have happened to render the natives suspicious or revengeful; and
it is evident that, month after month, the Bishop carried his life in
his hand.

The secret of his power can be found in his letters, which are quite
free from heroics. His religion was based on faith, simple and sincere;
and he never hesitated to put it into practice. From the Bible, and
especially from the New Testament, he learned the central lessons, the
love of God and the love of man. Nothing was allowed to come between him
and his duty; and to it he devoted the faculties which he had trained.
His instinct often stood him in good stead, bidding him to practise
caution and to keep at a distance from treacherous snares; but there
were times when he felt that, to advance his work, he must show absolute
confidence in the natives whatever he suspected, and move freely among
them. In such cases he seemed to rise superior to all nervousness or
fear. At one time he would find his path back to the boat cut off by
natives who did not themselves know whether they intended violence or
not. At another he would sit quietly alone in a circle of gigantic
Tikopians, some of whom, as he writes, were clutching at his 'little
weak arms and shoulders'. 'Yet it is not', he continued, 'a sense of
fear, but simply of powerlessness.' No amount of experience could render
him safe when he was perpetually trying to open new fields for mission
work and when his converts themselves were so liable to unaccountable
waves of feeling.

This was proved by his terrible experience at Santa Cruz. He had visited
these islands (which lie north of the New Hebrides) successfully in
1862, landing at seven