Florence prayed fervently that God would allow them to sight Marau Sound soon. Once night fell, it would be too dangerous to venture near the reef that surrounded the sound, and they would have to spend the night out on the treacherous ocean. Her prayers were answered when a break in a rainsquall allowed Northcote to find his bearings and maneuver the Evangel through the reef and into the shelter of the sound. That night and all the next day the wind howled, and huge waves crashed on the reef. But the following morning, conditions were a little better, and they decided to set out once again.
It was still a rough journey of twenty-eight hours, but as the sun rose on the second morning out from Marau Sound, they spotted the outline of Rennell Island on the horizon. As they got closer to the island, Florence noticed that there was no sign of habitation along the coast. Northcote explained that on his previous visits he had noticed this too. Everyone on the island seemed to live out of sight in the bush.
It was 5:30 in the afternoon before the Evangel sailed into a wide, sheltered bay on the south side of the island. Within minutes three canoes were launched from the shore, and strong arms were soon paddling them out to meet the boat. The first canoe to reach them contained Temoa, a teenage boy who had attended school at One Pusu. He was overjoyed to see the missionaries and invited everyone to come ashore immediately.
Florence was grateful for the opportunity to get off the boat and once again put her feet on dry land. She found Rennell Island one of the most beautiful spots she had seen in the Solomon Islands. The water was the clearest blue, and the beach consisted of fine, white sand that sloped up to a fringe of coconut palms. Florence took a deep breath and thanked God for getting them there safely.
Everyone Florence met seemed very friendly. Some of the children were scared at first, but curiosity about Florence’s sun umbrella soon won them over. Before long they were racing up and down the beach using the umbrella like a sail.
Temoa had taught the natives they met some English words, which everyone was eager to try out on the missionaries.
Soon a man, whom Temoa said was the chief, came running down the beach. As he got closer, Florence noticed that he was covered in fine, blue tattoos and wore a bark cloth around his waist.
“Welcome,” the chief panted when he reached them. “Kungava’im you welcome. Come see’im village.”
Florence looked to Temoa questioningly.
“Good idea,” Temoa said, approving the chief’s suggestion.
“Housey no long way, come housey!” the chief insisted. Then he ran up the side of a steep cliff like a mountain goat. He stopped and laughed. “Missy, come housey come,” he called to Florence.
Florence did not follow him straight up the side of the cliff. Instead she followed the track that wound its way up to where the chief was standing. By the time she reached him, she was out of breath. But the chief kept running on in front of her yelling, “Housey no long way.”
Finally they reached a clearing, in the middle of which stood a structure with open sides and a single layer of leaves for a roof. Florence wondered what kind of protection the structure afforded when the monsoon rains whipped through, but she smiled at the chief. She walked around in the house but couldn’t see a single possession in the place, not a cooking utensil nor a pot nor a stool. The only things the people appeared to own besides their bark clothes were tomahawk-like axes, which each man wore tied to a belt around his waist. Since there was nothing else to admire at the village, Florence headed back to the beach. The whole way back, the chief chatted to her in a mixture of pidgin English and the Rennell Island dialect. Florence could understand bits of what he said, and she understood when he told her how welcome the teachers would be on the island.
By the time the chief and Florence arrived back at the beach, the rest of the missionary group had unloaded the supplies from the Evangel and started clearing land for a small house.
Two days later the house was completed and the three native missionaries were ready to begin their new mission. As Florence said good-bye to them, she was sure that the next time she saw the three men they would have wonderful stories to tell. However, it was not to be.
Three days after the Evangel sailed away from Kungava and Rennell Island, the chief led a group of warriors who swept down on the new missionaries’ house. They clubbed Thomas, Tommy, and Andrew to death and stole the supplies they had brought with them.
Florence did not hear of the killings for another two months, and when she did learn of them, she was devastated. Yet she clung to the hope that the three men had not died in vain. In a letter home, she wrote, “To human eyes this tragedy seems like defeat, while really it is a victory deferred. Some day the martyr’s blood will reap a martyr’s harvest.”
The following year, in June 1911, another missionary was martyred. This time it was one of the European missionaries from Australia. Fred Daniels lived at Malu, but he traveled to the small village of Ailamalama on the eastern side of Malaita to help the local Christians there. Fred had been there for only four days when he was shot in the chest while singing the closing hymn at a church service. His murder, added to the three deaths on Rennell Island, rocked the mission, but no one was ready to retreat. In fact, Northcote went to New Zealand to recruit more workers. While he was there, he married Jessie Gibson and brought her back to join him on the Evangel.
Threats and rumors of violence followed on all of the islands of the Solomons, and Christians began to take refuge wherever they could. After seven local Christians were murdered in the tiny school at Cherith, the remaining students escaped to Nongosila, farther along the eastern coast of Malaita. When Florence heard of the incident she traveled to Nongosila to stay with the students and comfort them in their distress. A month later a missionary couple returning from furlough were able to take her place.
Relieved of her responsibilities at Nongosila, Florence returned to Australia to visit the new mission house located on Wynyard Street in Sydney. The place was just what the South Sea Evangelical Mission needed—a central location where goods could be ordered, correspondence sent out all over the world, and potential missionary candidates interviewed. The mission house was a joint venture with the China Inland Mission, and both mission groups shared the cost of running the place.
Florence was impressed with the workers who staffed the various mission stations throughout the Solomons and wrote several newsletters telling of the trials they were enduring in the islands.
In 1913 Florence once again returned to the Solomon islands and spent time at Baunani, eighteen miles northwest of One Pusu. A mission boarding school was now located there, and boys came from all over Malaita, the south coast of Guadalcanal, and San Cristobal to study there. One of the students in the school with whom Florence was particularly impressed was Andrew Ambuofa, Peter’s nephew. He was a strong Christian and in line to lead his tribe.
Neither Florence nor anyone else was particularly alarmed when Andrew had a slight fever one Tuesday night. By the following morning, however, Andrew was dead. Everyone was stunned, and the other students from Malu insisted that his body should be taken back to their village to be buried.
Two men from Malu and six students offered to row a whaleboat carrying the coffin along the coast back to Andrew’s home village. They set out at three o’clock that day. At eleven o’clock the following morning, three of the crew stumbled back into Baunani with a terrible tale to tell. A rip current had overturned the whaleboat, and since they were the only three who could swim, they headed for shore to get help. Meanwhile, the other five members of the crew clung to the upturned boat. Sharks circled the three as they struggled to get to shore, and crocodiles waited for them in the sand dunes. The three of them survived the ordeal and, as soon as they regained some strength, set out running for Baunani.
Another boat was immediately dispatched to search for the others, but no trace of them or the whaleboat could be found. This latest tragedy reminded everyone of just how much danger they all faced daily in the Solomon Islands.
Despite such setbacks, the work of the mission went on, and Florence continued to divide her time between the Solomon Islands and her support role in Australia.
In November 1913 Florence’s youngest nephew, Norman, came to visit his brother Northcote in the Solomon Islands. Norman was a dentist and had a flourishing dental practice in Sydney, but when he saw the needs of the Solomon islanders, he decided to sell everything and join the South Sea Evangelical Mission. Florence was delighted to think that yet another member of her extended family was joining the mission.
In August 1914, just as World War I was erupting in Europe, Norman set out for the Solomon Islands. He went to serve at Baunani, where he relieved Clara Waterston, the missionary who had been serving there, so that she could return to Malu. Clara had been working with several Kanaka Christians to translate the Gospel of Mark into the Malu language. When Norman arrived, she was correcting the final proofs of the translation, of which the British and Foreign Bible Society had agreed to print one thousand copies. After she returned to Malu, Clara kept up her translation work, and soon Malu Christians had the entire New Testament in their language.
Just before Christmas 1914, Florence received word that her sister Emily had died. Although Emily’s death was expected, as she had been ill with heart problems for many years, it was still a terrible blow to Florence to lose the sister who had been like a second mother to her. Florence could not help thinking back to the days when they sailed to England from New Zealand and Emily had to take charge of all the children when their mother became ill. What a wonderful job she had done, telling them stories and making up games for them to play. How long ago it all seemed now.
Florence and her two nephews and niece, Northcote, Norman, and Kathleen, who all served with the mission in the Solomon Islands, gathered to share their grief and mourn Emily’s passing, They then pressed forward with the work of the mission, which they knew Emily would have wanted them to do.
Northcote had been telling Florence for some time now about the limitations of the Evangel, not that Florence really needed to be told. She knew that the vessel was too small to sail in rough weather and that Northcote and his crew could not reach the eastern coastlines of many of the islands during the monsoon season. Florence sent out a letter explaining the situation, and money for a new boat began to pour in.
With the money in hand, Florence returned to Australia to oversee the building of the new boat, which was to be a ketch-rigged yacht. The vessel would be seventy feet long and seventeen feet wide and would weigh thirty tons. The increased size and weight meant that it would have more deck space and two deck cabins.
While she was in Australia, Florence also oversaw the construction of a new mission house sixty-six miles outside of Sydney. The house was located in a quiet spot at Katoomba, in the Blue Mountains, and Florence knew it would be an ideal retreat for missionaries home on furlough. The bracing mountain air and majestic views would be a welcome change from the disease and stifling heat of the Solomon Islands.
As the year progressed, Florence was glad that both of these projects were under way. With World War I raging in Europe, building materials were in short supply and getting more expensive by the month, but Florence had been able to purchase enough materials in advance to ensure that both projects would be completed.
While World War I pushed up prices at home, it also stirred up more interest in missions. Soon Florence and her volunteer assistants found themselves mimeographing two thousand copies of Northcote’s quarterly mission newsletter, which they addressed and stamped and mailed out all over the world.
