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PIOTR TWARDZISZ

DEFINING
‘EASTERN
EUROPE’
A Semantic Inquiry into
Political Terminology
Defining ‘Eastern Europe’
 Piotr Twardzisz

Defining ‘Eastern
Europe’
A Semantic Inquiry into Political
Terminology
Piotr Twardzisz
Institute of Applied Linguistics
University of Warsaw
Warsaw, Poland

ISBN 978-3-319-77373-5    ISBN 978-3-319-77374-2 (eBook)

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-77374-2

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For Sarah
 Preface

This book is mainly about the concept of Eastern Europe.1 Other aspects
considered, the central thrust of this work is to successfully define the key
term. This can be done only when the related term Central Europe is also
taken into consideration. Other terminological variants will serve as
background only. Apparently, Eastern Europe alone is sufficiently ambig-
uous and capacious to fill a volume, or better still, several volumes. The
complex history and abstruse political, geographic and cultural architec-
ture of the region are adequate to propel massive scholarly research and
to stir media interest in this area. The objectively proven complexity of
Eastern Europe matches that which has been subjectively construed by
academic and media discourse engaged in never-ending debates on this
concept.
With almost everything already written about Eastern Europe by his-
torians, sociologists or political commentators, a semantic exploration of
this concept is still needed. Numerous definitions of this category offered
so far have been mostly inconclusive. The goal of this project is to arrive
at a meaningful and lucid definition of Eastern Europe and, by necessity,
that of Central Europe. This mainly linguistic inquiry is vigorously pro-
pelled by a discussion of historical, geographic, economic and cultural
issues, all shaping and blurring these overdefined concepts and the under-
estimated region. Difficulties with defining Eastern Europe are ­augmented

vii
viii Preface

by the interference of Central Europe, which either overlaps with or

eclipses the former, confusing academics and pundits.
In order to properly define Eastern Europe, two unambiguous and suf-
ficiently contrastive definitions will have to be produced. The final defi-
nitional confrontation will have to be between Eastern Europe and
Central Europe. Although it is Western Europe which is the opposite of
Eastern Europe, comparing and contrasting the former with the latter is
rather unrevealing. Their definitions will differ in basically every aspect.
The major difficulty is the terminological confusion generated by Eastern
Europe and Central Europe. It is the clarification of these two that is
necessary in order to remove all definitional problems.
The book is directed at anyone who is interested in matters such as
meaning, lexicology and specialist vocabulary (terminology). Moreover,
scholars dealing with the region’s multiple facets—historians, sociolo-
gists, political theorists and others—can possibly draw some ideas for
their own research.
Chapter 1 sets the stage for an interdisciplinary project in which the
multidimensional concept of Eastern Europe, peppered with stereotypes
of its “otherness”, is explored from various angles. It opens with a discus-
sion of Eastern Europe as a western concept, stemming from academic
and media discourse. Eastern Europe and Central Europe suffer from
being overdefined. Their continued exploitation in academic literature
results in circular and inconclusive definitions, arbitrarily constructed by
scholars. The chapter highlights a certain coincidence. The definitional
confusion over Eastern Europe converges with the general tendency in
favour of semantic indeterminacy, observed in many contemporary lin-
guistic accounts. Instead, semantic determinacy is argued for in this and
other chapters. The necessity for a detailed and rigorous linguistic analy-
sis of Eastern Europe is raised.
Chapter 2 takes the reader through the historical meanders of the
region. Beginning in the early Middle Ages, this historical review skilfully
steers us through the centuries up until the years 1989/1990. Exploring
Eastern Europe’s historical background is a must for anyone engaged in
an interdisciplinary study of the concept. The chapter critically reviews
15 centuries, beginning with the inception of Slavic and non-Slavic set-
tlements in the region. It traces the historical developments of the Middle
 Preface
   ix

Ages: early mediaeval migrations, splits and influxes, two

Christianizations—Catholic and Orthodox—and the birth of the
Habsburg Monarchy. It highlights critical events of the early modern
period up to the nineteenth century. The chapter culminates in a focus on
the critical and dramatic twentieth century.
Chapter 3 deals with definitional difficulties concerning the key term
and its related variants. It starts with terminological and spelling incon-
sistencies resulting from the proliferation of related, though differing,
term variants. From among a wide spectrum of possible alternatives, the
name Eastern Europe is the most frequent in media and academic dis-
course. Apart from the two major rivals, Eastern Europe and Central
Europe, there is a plethora of other terminological compounds (e.g., East
Central Europe etc.), complicating the already tangled conceptual archi-
tecture. Add to this German-language historiography with its own lexi-
con (e.g., Mitteleuropa and others). Moreover, the overarching and
metonymic concept Europe undergoes a detailed analysis. The chapter
addresses numerous voices and opinions on all aspects influencing the
key terms—from geography to politics.
Chapter 4 embraces two kinds of analyses. In one, an inventory of
themes associated with the four most commonly used terms is compiled
and critically reviewed. In the other, an analysis of geographic compo-
nents of the four concepts is conducted. The inventory of associations,
obtained from a close reading of the literature, has been constructed for
each of the four names. The geographic components are sought among
countries which belong to particular regions/concepts. Themes, as under-
stood here, are topics around which a particular key concept evolves in
specialist texts with significant frequency. For Eastern Europe, these are:
backwardness, isms, periphery and others. Central Europe is commonly
characterized by other themes (e.g., culture and heritage, “disappearance”
or “return” to Europe etc.). East Central Europe and Central and Eastern
Europe are also analysed. As neither analysis offers convincing definitions
of the key concepts, further research is needed to pinpoint more basic
defining elements.
Chapter 5 concerns the results of a series of searches conducted using
the Corpus of Contemporary American English (COCA) for the
1990–2012 period. Two genres, academic and conflated journalistic,
x Preface

have been explored in search of, initially, 15 term variants. The detailed
analysis of each key name is divided into two major parts: syntactic func-
tions and themes/associations. Syntactic functions in which the key
names appear also correspond to semantic roles characteristic of these
functions. Those combined with typical themes uncovered in this study
produce a wealth of information about the meanings of the terms in
question. Only two terms, Eastern Europe and Central Europe, are
proved here to demonstrate certain definable differences. Still, their
meanings show massive overlaps. A need for a more rigorous analysis is
evident.
Chapter 6 locates definitional difficulties with the key concepts in the
broader context of traditional and current semantic explorations.
Cognitive accounts underline the open-endedness of semantics and its
borderless continuum with pragmatics. Semantic indeterminacy in gen-
eral, postulated by cognitive semantics, seems to be corroborated by the
view of Eastern Europe as a particularly fuzzy category, full of connota-
tions, which defies definitional rigour and eschews Aristotelian criterial
attributes. Contrary to the seemingly convincing position adopted by
cognitive semantics, the separation of (semantic) meaning from (prag-
matic) interpretation is postulated here. The latter is an important part of
communication, but must be kept clear of meaning as much as possible.
This segregation guarantees a semantic account which is comprehensible
and descriptively manageable. This, in turn, offers the possibility of con-
structing lucid and meaningful definitions of the key concepts.
Chapter 7 spells out why earlier attempts at defining Eastern Europe
and Central Europe have been largely unsuccessful. Encyclopaedic mean-
ing—favoured by cognitive semanticists—and the “problematization” of
meaning are treated with extreme caution. What is sought is semantic
determinacy, discreteness and partial compositionality—and those are
finally found in the key concepts. Eastern Europe and Central Europe are
claimed to designate two different things. Their definitions, with inter-
pretations sidelined, are established by means of “elementary” and “prim-
itive” semantic units that are based on Wierzbicka’s natural semantic
metalanguage (NSM). It is argued that even elusive categories have
definition-­like meanings which can be described using objective and uni-
versal semantic elements, eliminating destructive circularity. An
 Preface
   xi

i­ndependent metalanguage, based on indivisible concepts, guarantees

clarity and objectivity, frequently questioned nowadays.
This text contributes to the ongoing debate on meaning—that is,
meaning as such and the linguistic description of meaning. Recently,
meaning has been turned into a highly problematic issue. This pervasive
phenomenon has been called here the “problematization” of meaning.
The partial goal pursued in this study is to de-problematize meaning as a
field of inquiry in order to allow non-linguists (e.g., historians, sociolo-
gists etc.) to effectively participate in semantic explorations. Therefore, a
reductionist approach to the meanings of Eastern Europe and Central
Europe is adopted here. An unrestricted admission of every piece of
information to a definition unduly overburdens such a definition. As for
the other partial objective, Eastern Europe itself, its definition is provided
against that of Central Europe. Initially, the simplicity and directness of
this definition may have a chilling effect. In the long run, the effects of
this characterization may be constructive. As a result, the controversial
concept may need to undergo semantic modification in the future. The
amelioration of its meaning may, in fact, have already begun.

Warsaw, Poland Piotr Twardzisz

Note

1. The words “Western”, “West”, “Eastern”, and “East” are capitalized only
when they modify “Europe”.
 Acknowledgements

This text is based upon project work supported by the National Science
Centre, Poland, under Grant no. 2013/11/B/HS2/02852. I gratefully
acknowledge this financial support which enabled me to carry out
research from August 2014 to July 2016 and to participate in several
scholarly events. Chapters 2, 3 and 4 are the direct result of my intensive
research conducted at the British Library in London in the summer of
2015. Participation in a few thematic conferences helped me to shape
some of my initial ideas thanks to the feedback I received from numerous
colleagues. Related talks were given at three conferences: EUROPHRAS
2014 (Paris), 9th ICCEES World Congress 2015 (Makuhari) and
BASEES 2016 Annual Conference (Cambridge).
Individual draft chapters have been read and commented on by a few
people. My first reader and indefatigable critic is my wife, Sylwia, whose
remarks have helped me to avoid many mistakes. I am grateful to Michael
Hornsby for his insightful comments on earlier versions of various parts
of this book and his great attention to detail. I would like to show my
greatest appreciation to Sarah Villiers for her constructive comments and,
as always, warm encouragement. I appreciate the feedback offered by
Anders Steinvall whose linguistic expertise has helped me to express
myself better. Also, I would like to offer my special thanks to Markus
Eberharter for sharing with me some of his knowledge of Eastern Europe.

xiii
xiv Acknowledgements

I am particularly grateful for the assistance offered by a few colleagues

from academic institutions in the region: Olena Konstantinova, Rivne
State University for the Humanities, Rivne (Ukraine), Inesa Šeškauskienė,
Vilnius University, Vilnius (Lithuania), Taras Shmiher, Ivan Franko
National University of Lviv (Ukraine) and Máté Tóth, University of
Debrecen, Debrecen (Hungary). They kindly agreed to conduct an infor-
mal “Eastern Europe” survey among their students and colleagues (for
details, see Chap. 6). I would like to express my gratitude to all of them
for their time and enthusiastic response.
Finally, I would like to thank the two anonymous reviewers whose
critical analyses of an earlier version of this book have helped me to cor-
rect or modify many of the points made earlier. Naturally, I bear sole
responsibility for everything that this volume contains.
 Contents

1 Western Perspectives and Vantage Points   1

2 Historical Events and Developments  27

3 Problematic Terms and Concepts  73

4 Dominant Themes and Geographic Components 107

5 Current Data and Statistics 153

6 Meanings and Interpretations 187

7 Semantic Primes and Definitions 219

Index 249

xv
 List of Tables

Table 4.1 The distribution of state names across Central Europe and
Eastern Europe 143
Table 5.1 Frequency of names of different regions 155
Table 5.2 Summary of syntactic functions 180
Table 5.3 Summary of abstract (metaphorical) categories 181
Table 5.4 Summary of themes 183
Table 6.1 The “Eastern Europe” survey: Summary of the results 201

xvii
 1
Western Perspectives and Vantage
Points

While scholars have hailed Eastern Europe1 as “a complicated place”

(Okey 1986: 17) and not a place “for the tidy-minded” (ibid. 1992: 104),
with the sustained attention it has attracted, its complexity has been on
the rise. The intrinsic semantic complexity of Eastern Europe fits in with
the view of semantics, which provides access to a limitless expanse of
encyclopaedic knowledge (see, e.g., Langacker 1987: 156). In other
words, the semantic description of Eastern Europe and semantic descrip-
tion in general are compatible in fostering descriptive complexity. Some
semantic descriptions have grown to enormous proportions, effectively
obfuscating their target, which is meaning itself. The expected complex-
ity of semantic description does not help with sorting out the definitional
maze of the key concept. It further obscures its meaning. The project
undertaken here endeavours to reduce, if not remove, this intricacy.
There is relatively little of Eastern Europe in Eastern Europe itself.
There is more of it in Western Europe, or in the West, generally. The
point is that the discussion and analyses presented in this book mirror the
kind of debate about Eastern Europe conducted in the West, metonymi-
cally speaking. Thus, we can talk of some form of westernization of
Eastern Europe (see Sect. 7.2). Defining Eastern Europe, which is our
ultimate goal, heavily depends on the vantage point assumed when

© The Author(s) 2018 1

P. Twardzisz, Defining ‘Eastern Europe’,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-77374-2_1
2 P. Twardzisz

designing the definition. Naturally, the choice of such vantage points is

practically limitless. Therefore, to make this project manageable, we will
adopt the metonymic cover term of the western vantage point, which
constrains the multiplicity of dispersed views.
The dissemination of western academic and media discourse on Eastern
Europe has been carried out mostly in/through English. The almost
exclusive use of this language carries the danger of entrapment, which
results from locating the entire discussion within the confines of the
English language (cf. Wierzbicka 2014). This language is characteristic of
Anglo-Saxon culture, which is external to Eastern European culture. The
fundamental premise of this project is that the concepts of Eastern Europe
and Central Europe will be examined from the western viewpoint. This,
in turn, subsumes two types of western discourses—western media and
western academic discourses—conducted in the English language. The
exploitation of Eastern Europe by these discourses may result from the
general assumption that Eastern Europe is a western idea. Conversely, the
belief that Eastern Europe is a western idea may be provoked by its pro-
liferation in western public discourse, or, as Pick (2000: 11) puts it, in
“the consciousness of the West”.
There are numerous scholarly publications devoted to the topic of
Eastern Europe. The problem of this concept is that it is not undefined or
underdefined, but that it is overdefined. The majority of scholarly publi-
cations in the fields of history, political science, regional studies or inter-
national relations theory provide some definitions of this term. These
definitions, rather than being unanimously accepted, are concocted by
particular authors to serve the goals of their own publications. Virtually
every historical or political study of Eastern Europe begins with a pro-
posed definition or some outline of the region in question. It has to be
stated that the accounts referred to here are not linguistic investigations
and therefore they do not aim at providing a detailed terminological anal-
ysis of the key concept. Nevertheless, they all deal in one way or another
with it, and their authors feel the urge to provide some account of the
term which they make the pivot of their studies. In general, this defini-
tional tug-of-war should not be surprising, as such “terminological
debates” tend to be “infertile” for historians (cf. Berend et al. 2013: 6).
For linguists, especially those who treat semantics seriously, such
 Western Perspectives and Vantage Points 3

­ efinitional incongruities, though also common, constitute the motiva-

d
tion to act. What is meant here by “acting” is an attempt to rectify the
mind-­boggling definitional chaos.

1.1 The Linguistification of Eastern Europe

The amount of literature concerning different aspects of Eastern Europe
is impressive. Even a fragmentary review of this output would result in a
bulging volume. Numerous historians, economists, sociologists, political
theorists, culture and literature scholars and others have contributed
enormously to the general field of Eastern European (and/or Slavic) stud-
ies. There are also authors who seem to steer away from this concept or
mention it only in passing. For example, it may be puzzling that the
comprehensive lexicon of key concepts in international relations (Griffiths
et al. 2008) does not list the term Eastern Europe at all. In fact, it does
not provide an entry for Europe. The closest it gets is the morphological
root (and another proper name) Euro and another proper name the
European Union. Eastern Europe is mentioned in several different entries
as background information only. One might also wonder why Margaret
Thatcher, in her (2011) 900-page memoire volume, mentions “eastern
Europe” (spelled with a lower-case e) only on two occasions. The late
British prime minister, who was in office from 1979 to 1990, witnessed
the most critical events happening in this part of the continent and still
did not devote much space to any discussion of those in her book. An
expert on Eastern Europe, Christopher Hill, mentions the name only
twice in his (2003) book, although he makes specific references to coun-
tries such as the Czech Republic or Czechoslovakia, East Germany,
Hungary, Poland, Romania and Slovakia.
There is some disagreement among scholars about the amount of lit-
erature on Eastern Europe written by East European authors. For
instance, Marc (2009: 25) expresses the opinion that “so little of the
­literature on Eastern Europe has been written by Eastern Europeans
themselves”. A different opinion is expressed by Ann Applebaum in the
introduction to her (2013) book. She enumerates several local authors
who have greatly contributed to the political history of Eastern Europe
4 P. Twardzisz

and, to a minor extent, to general histories of the region. Among the

names listed are Andrzej Paczkowski, Krystyna Kersten, Norman
Naimark, Peter Kenez, László Borhi, Bradley Abrams, Mary Heimann,
Karel Kaplan and others. What probably lies at the core of these two
apparently opposing views is the undisputed fact that not much of the
literature on Eastern Europe has been written by East European scholars
in English. In order to plough through local archives, a solid knowledge
of regional languages is necessary and many non-East European scholars
may not be linguistically competent to do so. This requirement can be
satisfied by East European researchers. However, they may not always
have the sufficient command of English to publish their findings in the
academic lingua franca.
The study of the concept of Eastern Europe involves a detailed analysis
of its components, namely Eastern and Europe. The former seems to be
sufficiently problematic to eclipse the latter. The relativity of the geo-
graphic location has been the target of some deliberations. According to
one account, any place in Europe can be either in the south or north, east
or west, depending on “the point of observation”, which “can easily be
relativized” (Hroch 2000: 22–3). In order to overcome such relativism,
Hroch proposes that we “select an objective observation point and thus
determine a centre” (p. 23). It is important to note that north and south
do not attract so much attention as east and west. For some reason, the
former, though also stigmatized in certain contexts (e.g., the rich north
and the poor south), do not stir such heated academic debates. It is the
latter, east and west, that cause so much controversy. For Huntington,
north and south are unproblematic, as they “have universally accepted
fixed reference points in the poles” (2002: 29; fn. 47). However, east and
west are “confusing and ethnocentric” (ibid.), without any such reference
points as the other two.2 Between these two, west is definitely less
­controversial or “less difficult to define”, though “not necessarily more
logical” (Rollo et al. 1990: 2). It is the adjective east, or Eastern, that is
rather unsettling when combined with the term Europe.
Different authors express roughly the same doubt. For instance, Ágh
(1998: 2) states that “[t]he question about the Eastern borders of Europe
remains somewhat open”. In a similar vein, Huntington (2002: 158)
asks: “But where is Europe’s eastern boundary?”. Not only does
 Western Perspectives and Vantage Points 5

Huntington ask about Europe’s eastern limit, but he also provides an

answer to this question. In his own words, the answer to this question is
“Europe ends where Western Christianity ends and Islam and Orthodoxy
begin” (ibid.). He also quite confidently delineates the actual borderline
that separates western civilization on the east from non-western civiliza-
tion, tracing its origin to “the great historical line that has existed for
centuries separating Western Christian peoples from Muslim and
Orthodox peoples” (ibid.). We can tentatively assume that the borderline
drawn by Huntington can be understood as the borderline of Eastern
Europe on its eastern end. Europe’s border on the east is needed on con-
dition that Europe is recognized as a separate continent. There is a geo-
graphic view under which Europe and Asia are collapsed into one
continent, Eurasia, rather than being two separate continents. This joint
variant offers some solution to the above borderline dilemma. It creates
another problem, though. The new problem is of a political, cultural or
civilizational nature. The term can be contested by those who consider
themselves European rather than non-European and do not want to be
seen as a mere extension of a larger entity (cf. Hupchick 1994: 46).
Drawing on the political-historical-economic literature, this study
examines the language used to write about Eastern Europe. By analysing
various specialist texts, a holistic characterization of the term Eastern
Europe, compared with Central Europe, will be drawn. A thorough anal-
ysis of Eastern Europe—as a linguistic entity (noun, proper name, term
etc.) surrounded and affected by other linguistic entities—should result
in empirical descriptions of its linguistic behaviour in specialist written
discourse. These synthesized descriptions should clarify roles and func-
tions performed by the term Eastern Europe and its co-term Central
Europe in specialist discourse. This, in turn, should lead to rigorously
designed definitions of the key terms. Of course, numerous other
­definitions will be reviewed and analysed. Their shortcomings will be
exposed and addressed.
Though an interdisciplinary project, this study focuses on the linguis-
tic aspect of the concept of Eastern Europe and its “rival”—Central
Europe. Almost everything in and about Eastern Europe constitutes a
bone of contention. The very name Eastern Europe is debatable. There
are many contested territories around the globe, but their names remain,
6 P. Twardzisz

by and large, undisputed. Paradoxically, the name Eastern Europe has

been debated in academic circles, though hardly anyone can firmly state
where exactly Eastern Europe is located. So, both the name of the region
and the semantic content of this name have been deliberated on and off.

1.2 Conceptual and Geographic

Indeterminacy
Thus far, no satisfactory—that is, consistent and meaningful—definition
of Eastern Europe has been provided, especially when compared or con-
trasted with Central Europe. This, however, does not seem to be a prob-
lem for scholars in various related fields, where a multitude of definitions
is considered to be normal. In fact, the possibility of arriving at a satisfac-
tory definition is commonly questioned by non-linguists. The lack of
clear defining criteria may be perceived as a problem presumably only by
linguists. Also, for linguists, definitions and meanings constitute a prob-
lematic distinction (cf. Riemer 2010: 76). These two are commonly com-
bined and/or confused in semantic accounts. Strictly speaking, the
definition of a word does not have to constitute a word’s meaning.
Definitions are based on words and, because of this, are easier to con-
struct using words, while meanings are nebulous, concept-like experi-
ences, which are hard to pin down by means of words. In later chapters,
numerous instances of definitions found in the literature will be consid-
ered. On their basis, difficulties in arriving at a commonly acceptable
definition will be diagnosed. The goal of sharpening the definition of
Eastern Europe parallels the desire to pin down its meaning(s).
The contemporary tendency to expand semantics beyond its classic
territory has made meaning seem to be indeterminate (cf. Langacker
1998: 660). There are many arguments apparently supporting the seman-
tic indeterminacy of Eastern Europe. So far, no one has successfully com-
piled a complete list of countries which constitute the region. Queries
over the very name, the character and the boundaries of Eastern Europe
proliferate specialist discourse. Questions about the geographic begin-
ning and end of Eastern Europe and its overlaps with other regions and
subregions are multiplied (cf. Heenan and Lamontagne 1999: vii).
 Western Perspectives and Vantage Points 7

Uncertainties surrounding geographic labels such as Eastern Europe,

Central Europe or East-Central Europe and others, appended to any-
where in Europe as long as it is east of something, are commonly invoked
in academic literature (Rollo et al. 1990: 1). Associations, connotations
and themes generated by the key concept are complex, detailed and inter-
related. The concept of Eastern Europe seems to be a shining example of
semantic indeterminacy if we consider the ways in which it is presented
in academic and media discourse. The more complex the issues Eastern
Europe is associated with, the more blurred a concept it appears to be.
The tentative assumption of the semantic indeterminacy of Eastern
Europe inscribes itself in the more general trend to perceive meaning as
indeterminate.
Eastern Europe has always been subconsciously indeterminate. Its
conceptual fuzziness has become anecdotal, as has been repeated in
numerous modified versions of the same joke placed somewhere in
Transcarpathia. The joke is about an old man who tells the story of his
life, and roughly goes like this: he was born in the Austro-Hungarian
Empire, grew up in Czechoslovakia, got married in Hungary, later worked
in the Soviet Union and finally retired to Ukraine. When praised for his
active and mobile life, he replies that he in fact never ever left Mukachevo
(or Uzhorod), or whatever other place name used in a given version of
this joke (cf. Garton Ash 1999: 379; Stroschein 2012: 71). The message
is clear: Eastern Europe is a complicated place. Given this, the complex
term Eastern Europe itself deserves a book, to paraphrase Mel’čuk (1981:
57).
The semantic indeterminacy of Eastern Europe results from the role of
perception in academic and media discourse on Eastern Europe.
Historians dealing with the region are mostly western academics who
delineate this part of Europe based on their own and other western schol-
ars’ perceptions. It remains to be added that not only the attributes pep-
pering academic discourse are based on perceptions. It is the very terms
Eastern Europe or Central Europe that reflect perceptions rather than
objective features. The following quotation clearly shows this point: “the
terms ‘Central’ and particularly ‘Eastern’ Europe have been used to
describe subjective perceptions rather than objective geographical reali-
ties” (Webb 2008: x). Conceptual indeterminacy also stems from the
8 P. Twardzisz

conviction that there are better and worse instances of a given category
(see Chap. 6 for details3). The perception of Europe as a graded category
has resulted in various interesting findings. One intriguing thesis has
been put forth in Marc (2009: 53), who proposes that “Orthodox
Christianity in general seems ‘more Slavic’” and “the Slavs of Central
Europe …. are somehow ‘less Slav’ than those further east”. Categorizations
of various entities as more and/or less European, Slavic or Eastern ones
result in increasingly blurred concepts, which further obliterate the
already fuzzy categories.
Geography is not helpful in determining the meaning of Eastern
Europe either. As soon as geographic factors are considered, a potential
definition of Eastern Europe becomes even more unclear. For example,
the argument that Eastern Europe is eastern, because it is located in the
east of Europe, is often contested. The usual points raised are the location
of Greece and Finland, which are easterly, and are never thought of as
Eastern European states. In some accounts, Prague belongs to Eastern
Europe, although it is west of Vienna, which is decidedly not part of
Eastern Europe. These classic arguments are meant to prove that Eastern
Europe is not a geographic term, but a political and cultural concept.
This, in turn, further demonstrates the fuzziness of the concept Eastern
Europe, which is consonant with the overall idea of semantic indetermi-
nacy. Claims against the geographic character of Eastern Europe are
countered with arguments for its geographic status. In their strong
­version, Eastern Europe is a geographic term designating a region in
Europe—and nothing else.
Under the “only-a-geographic-term” view, Eastern Europe’s geophysi-
cal features and geopolitical location are discussed by many authors. Its
lack of “access to the open seas” and the influence of the River Danube
on “the region’s socioeconomic development” have been noted in Gökay
(2001: 1–2). It is also a region which has been at the mercy of others and
which “has never had the luxury of controlling its destiny” (Bunce 1992:
242). In a detailed descriptive passage, Eastern Europe’s regional profile
is outlined in the following way:

The region’s approximately 140 million people speak even more languages
than the number of countries involved …. All the people of the region can
 Western Perspectives and Vantage Points 9

be considered in a fundamental sense to be Europeans, …. The Renaissance,

the Reformation, … all had their reflections and impacts in the region, but
they were not generated there. …, the region did not participate directly in
the unique Russian historical trajectory either. Even though the Soviet
Union dominated Eastern Europe over most of the post-World War II era,
historically the region was not subject to direct Russian control. (Stokes
1998: 15; italics added)

As a complicated place, Eastern Europe is a region which “is maintaining

and restoring its character” (Ágh 1998: 38). Contrasted with the western
part of Europe, it is a region which “remained agrarian until World War
II” (Berend 2009: 5). It is also seen as a region which is separate and/or
different from Russia, or “from the ‘East par excellence,’” (Szűcs 1983;
after Berend 2009: 5). Eastern Europe is also perceived as clustering more
regions, which is often seen as unfortunate due to their powerful neigh-
bours with imperialistic desires. These territories are described as “sand-
wiched” between their neighbours and acquired “at least partly by the
grace and favour of Europe’s Great Powers” (Bideleux and Jeffries 2007:
1). This further lends these peoples and territories a passive role in which
they are “acted upon”, rather than an active function in which they can
“act in accordance with their own interests and needs” (ibid.).
Eastern Europe is frequently divided into subregions. A common sub-
division is as follows: the Balkans, some kind of Central Europe
­(consisting, for example, of the Visegrád countries, the Baltic countries
and Slovenia) and the remaining countries to the east, including or
excluding Russia and the former Soviet republics (see, e.g., Rupnik 1999;
Adam et al. 2005: 19). Maps of the European continent are claimed to
display “numerous historical regions” which are “neatly differentiated
spatial units”, and these correspond to Western Europe, Central Europe,
Eastern Europe, Northern Europe, Southern Europe and Southeastern
Europe (Iordachi 2012: 41–2).
As hinted at above, the geographic dimension of Eastern Europe, as a
prerequisite to define it, is also often denied. There are authors who
assume that geography is an irrelevant factor. Ann Applebaum firmly
states that “[t]his is a political and historical term, not a geographic one”
(2013: xxvi–xxvii). The geographic aspect of the definition of Eastern
10 P. Twardzisz

Europe has been vehemently refuted in Frucht (2005: ix), who refers to
the geographically oriented term as “a misnomer”. Frucht’s major objec-
tions are that the geographic element in the definition implies “a geo-
graphical distinction between this area and ‘Western Europe’” and “a
distinction in development” (ibid.). These distinctions stress differences
only and ignore similarities, which aggravates further rifts. Such a geo-
graphic definition wrongly implies that “Eastern Europe is a monolithic
entity” (ibid.), which can easily be disproved by comparing the Balkans
with the Baltic region. Once the geographic aspect of Eastern Europe has
been removed from a potential definition, what is left—a concept—is
subjected to further malleability, leading to more indeterminacy. For
Armour, Eastern Europe is not only a concept, but “a contested concept”
(2012: 2). Eastern Europe’s conceptual character is sometimes subdi-
vided. As a cultural concept, it is claimed to have been “invented by
philosophers and novelists in the eighteenth century” (Marc 2009: 147).
As a political concept, it is maintained to be “really a product of the Cold
War and Communism” (ibid.).
Eastern Europe’s two dimensions, geographic and conceptual, do not
have to be characterized independently of each other. Some theorists see
both qualities as jointly specifying Eastern Europe. Timothy Snyder
shows this combination by referring to Eastern Europe once as if it were
a region:

Twenty years after the end of communism in Eastern Europe, the region
seems to have lost its sheen of moral appeal. (Snyder 2009b: 455; italics
added)

He then continues as if it were a concept, an idea, or a mental

construct:

Twenty years after the revolutions of 1989, does the idea of Eastern Europe
have anything to offer the world? (ibid.; italics added)

This dual identity between a geographic entity and a mental construct is

clearly expressed in the following passage:
 Western Perspectives and Vantage Points 11

There is Europe and there is ‘Europe’. There is the place, the continent, the
political and economic reality, and there is Europe as an idea and an ideal,
as a dream, as a project, process, progress towards some visionary goal.
(Garton Ash 1999: 316)

As is evident from the above view, one characteristic does not necessarily
preclude the other. Similarly, physical divisions of Europe according to
historical fault lines do not preclude Eastern Europe from being con-
strued as a metaphorical entity. The three fault lines—religious (Catholic
vs. Orthodox), cultural (Christian vs. Ottoman) and socioeconomic—
may divide and define the region. This architecture does not get in the
way of making Eastern Europe into a fused metaphorical concept; for
example, “one of the most important laboratories of the quintessentially
modern political ideology” (Stokes 1998: 16; italics added). The reference
is again to the geographic characteristics of Eastern Europe. In this case,
the allusion is to Eastern Europe’s complex ethnic situation, which breeds
nationalism.
There is also disagreement over whether Eastern Europe is homoge-
neous or heterogeneous. On the one hand, the very existence of the term
and concept Eastern Europe marks some need for terminological and
conceptual generalization. On the other hand, as noted in Berend (2005:
403), diversity in the region has prompted scholars to “question the pos-
sibility of regional generalization”. Further, he maintains that “[d]espite
these major differences, generalization is possible”, arguing that “[n]
obody questions the use of the term ‘Europe’ although it comprises vari-
ous diverse regions and countries” (ibid.). In the same way, according to
Berend, the terms Middle East and Scandinavia are used, “though in
both regions there are countries, which differ markedly from one another
” (ibid.). While both entities, Europe and Scandinavia, may be seen as
either sufficiently homogeneous or somewhat heterogeneous, depending
on the situation, they are different in status. The former is a continent,
which is in a way expected to be divergent. The latter is a region, which
may also be seen as divergent, but should be more homogeneous than the
former. Other subjective judgements about the region’s internal similari-
ties or differences are exploited in the literature. One source is fond of
downplaying “cleavages among neighboring nations” as “an exaggerated
12 P. Twardzisz

and improper interpretation of their historical traditions and experi-

ences” (Kertesz 1956: 13). Instead, the author prefers to elevate factors
such as “similarity of culture, ways of living, and ideals” which cohesively
cement the area (ibid.). Without questioning similarities, another source
underlines the fact that the region is highly complex and sufficiently het-
erogeneous, and because of that it proposes that “CEE [Central and
Eastern European] countries should never be lumped together” (Romano
2014: x). The perception of the region as homogenous or heterogeneous
is related to the perspective imposed on the key entity. As expected, a
more holistic view results in the perception of the region as homoge-
neous. A closer look at the area involving more detail will result in the
perception of the region as heterogeneous (cf. Iordachi 2012: 41–2).
In sum, the conceptual and geographic indeterminacy of Eastern
Europe goes hand in hand with the general assumption of semantic inde-
terminacy, held by contemporary linguistic schools. It has become almost
fashionable to search for and detect indeterminacy to gain more support
for the view of its prevalence. Despite this self-propelling vision with
massive argumentation behind it, there is no reason to assume that
semantic determinacy cannot be attained, provided that it is desired and
sought. This approach to defining is by all means desirable, as it leads to
the construction of clear, simple and precise definitions.

1.3 The (In)Significance of Eastern Europe

Another great contradiction that transpires from the field of Eastern
European studies is that Eastern Europe at times appears to be signifi-
cant, and at other times is perceived as insignificant. This inconsistency
largely depends on the author’s attitude towards and personal or vested
interests in the region. Thus, the following opinion cannot be universally
shared: “The world at large is understandably confused about the mean-
ing of the term ‘Eastern Europe’” (Plokhy 2011: 764). The world may be
confused about Eastern Europe and its meaning, assuming that people
around the world care about the issue at all.
Certainly, the key term is dear to scholars who have researched the
region’s history, culture and politics. Snyder (2009a) has placed “[a]lmost
 Western Perspectives and Vantage Points 13

all of the worst acts of political violence in Europe in the twentieth cen-
tury” (p. 9) in Eastern Europe, making it a term with a “deeper historical
significance than is generally accepted” (p. 7). The magnitude of the his-
torical events experienced by East Europeans and their alienation
throughout the twentieth century should prompt researchers to focus on
Eastern Europe. In accounts published before the major political changes
took place, interest in Eastern Europe was often motivated by its com-
munist character making this region “fundamentally different from the
capitalist west” (Turnock 1989: 3). But even after the political changes
were fully implemented in the region, interest in Eastern Europe shown
by scholars from different fields did not wane. Quite the opposite, it was
on the increase, at least in the following 15 years (cf. Svašek 2006: 2).
With reference to the 40 years prior to 1989, Ekiert (1996: 18) describes
interest in the region as fluctuating, reflecting “the changing political for-
tune of particular countries within the region”. Despite a long tradition
of use of the term before 1989, which might suggest some level of decline
in its use in the future, Eastern Europe still continues to attract the atten-
tion of academics, as pointed out in Hupchick (1994: 44). One might
assume that currently, interest in Eastern Europe would inevitably dwin-
dle. However, ongoing events in Ukraine have kept western media busy
following the developments and western observers keenly watching all
the goings-on (cf. Paloff 2014: 690).
Interest in the region, term and concept of Eastern Europe, shown
from many angles, can be juxtaposed with symptoms of lack or shortage
of any such interest. Indeed, it would be interesting to find out whether
Eastern Europe is/was important in the minds of westerners, and if so
how important and why it is/was. Contrary to the positive opinions
about Eastern Europe’s importance expressed above, one can easily find
examples of lukewarm attitudes towards the region. One such opinion
can be found in Turnock (1989: 1) when he says that “Eastern Europe
has never been prominent in the minds of English speakers, and west-
erners generally”. It is only after Russia’s accession to the position of a
superpower that the countries to its west gained some significance.
Somewhat irritated with the level of attention the issue had already been
given, Sinnhuber (1954: 15) expressed doubt over whether it was neces-
sary to repeatedly go through “this well-worn problem of clarifying the
14 P. Twardzisz

meaning of Central Europe or its synonyms”. A concise summary of the

problem is offered in Berend et al. (2013: 36), where the authors openly
refer to “Western ‘scholarly neglect’ of Central (or East-Central) Europe”.
Furthermore, the area is generally looked down on by western scholars
who perceive it as a mix of “troublesome nationalities with unpronounce-
able names” (p. 37). Commenting on “German intercourse with Slavs”,
Okey (1992: 115–16) makes the point that it is characterized by “the
mood of effortless superiority”. An almost complete ignorance of the
events of 1989 in Eastern Europe has been ascribed to American theo-
rists in general. Falk (2003: xv) recalls an article penned by Jeffrey Isaac
and published in Political Theory in 1995, in which the author criticizes
American political theorists for their ignorance of these momentous
events and “the pervasive silence and lack of attention”. Reportedly, Isaac
found only 2 among 384 articles dealing with 1989 in the most presti-
gious academic journals on politics. The predictive capability of western
scholars has also been strongly questioned. No one in academia was able
to predict the actual events of 1989/1990 taking place in Eastern Europe.
It is not the case that no predictions were made at the time, but the usual
forecasts were just plain wrong. In his critique of American academics,
Jowitt (1992: 220) notes that Eastern Europe’s near future was predicted
to resemble that of Latin America. Rather than parliamentary democ-
racy, Eastern Europe was to be governed by “some form of authoritarian
­oligarchy” (ibid.). Such inaccurate predictions are blueprints of individ-
ual authors’ own biases and ideologies which lead to the selectivity of
facts, particularly those from the recent past.
The significance of the region in western scholarship has been low
despite all kinds of declarations of interest. Not only has Eastern Europe’s
recent past been misconstrued, but its distant past has also been down-
played. Sedlar (1994: ix) writes about “[t]he almost total neglect of medi-
aeval East Central Europe in histories of Western civilization”. And even
today, one can infer that Eastern Europe in any historical period is far less
attractive as the target of scholarly research for western scholars than, say,
ancient Egypt, Greece or Mesopotamia. The British Museum in London
deigns to allocate only a small corner within the entire edifice to mediae-
val Eastern Europe. This cannot be compared with a few floors dedicated
to different ancient cultures and civilizations. Let us not be too sensitive
 Western Perspectives and Vantage Points 15

to this issue, though, as the early history of Eastern Europe was fairly
uneventful and its significance for the rest of the continent was not very
high.
More recently, Eastern Europe has been marginalized by the world’s
major players in their foreign policies. In the early twentieth century, the
United States did not have and did not seem to need a comprehensive
foreign policy for the region. Eastern Europe is geographically distant
from America, though there are other distant regions which remain in the
orbit of American interest. Eastern Europe must have been remote geo-
graphically, but primarily it must have been distant from the American
national interest.
Eastern Europe, never a maritime region, remained landlocked with its
multiply complex ethnic issues, unfamiliar to the English-speaking pow-
ers. The concept stirred sentimental feelings and memories of the old
country among numerous immigrants, but did not generate questions of
global importance to be dealt with by most influential stakeholders (cf.
Kertesz 1956: 1–2). The Yalta Conference and the post-war communist
plague which descended upon Eastern Europe for almost half a century
are prime examples of the sheer ignorance of the region by the world’s
main actors. Newsworthy and bloody upheavals—the Hungarian revolu-
tion of 1956, the 1968 Prague Spring and the Polish uprisings during the
1970s—have indeed attracted the attention of western viewers. Otherwise,
the world’s interest in Eastern Europe’s plight has been rather lukewarm
through the decades. Even the turbulent events of 1989 remain uncom-
fortably remote and rather unwestern from the western vantage point.
Reportedly, there has been a noticeable shift in the way many Americans
perceive the events of 1989 in Eastern Europe then and today. Nowadays,
the narrative about those events has become predominantly “US-centric”,
while “the agency of Eastern Europeans”, unquestionably involved in this
revolution, has now been seriously diminished (Blanton 2014: 279).
Madeleine Albright, the Czech-born 64th US Secretary of State, has
described the region’s status metaphorically:

United States policy toward Eastern Europe has not often been a front-­
burner concern. Twice in this century, issues simmering in the area have
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 They asked, “And will you tell him?”
I said, “I must tell him the truth; if he asks, I will tell him.”
They then cried out, “Oh, Missi, tell him not! Everything shall be
brought back to you at once, and no one will be allowed again to steal
from you.”
Then said I, “Be quick! Everything must be returned before he
comes. Away, away! and let me get ready to meet the great Chief on
the Man-of-war.”
Hitherto, no thief could ever be found, and no Chief had power to
cause anything to be restored to me; but now, in an incredibly brief
space of time, one came running to the Mission House with a pot,
another with a pan, another with a blanket, others with knives, forks,
plates, and all sorts of stolen property. The Chiefs called me to
receive these things, but I replied,—
“Lay them all down at the door, bring everything together quickly;
I have no time to speak with you!”
I delayed my toilet, enjoying mischievously the magical effect of an
approaching vessel that might bring penalty to thieves. At last the
Chiefs, running in breathless haste, called out to me,—
“Missi, Missi, do tell us, is the stolen property all here?”
Of course I could not tell, but, running out, I looked on the
promiscuous heap of my belongings, and said,—
“I don’t see the lid of the kettle there yet!”
One Chief said, “No, Missi, for it is on the other side of the island;
but tell him not, I have sent for it, and it will be here to-morrow.”
I answered, “I am glad you have brought back so much; and now, if
you three Chiefs, Nauka, Miaki, and Nowar, do not run away when
he comes, he will not likely punish you; but, if you and your people
run away, he will ask me why you are afraid and I will be forced to
tell him! Keep near me and you are all safe; only there must be no
more stealing from me.”
They said, “We are in black fear, but we will keep near you, and
our bad conduct to you is done.”
The charm and joy of that morning are fresh to me still, when
H.M.S. Cordelia, Captain Vernon, steamed into our lovely Harbour.
The Commander, having heard rumour of my dangers on Tanna,
kindly came on shore as soon as the ship cast anchor, with two boats,
and a number of his officers and men, so far armed. He was dressed
in splendid uniform, being a tall and handsome man, and he and his
attendants made a grand and imposing show. On seeing Captain
Vernon’s boat nearing the shore, and the men glittering in gold lace
and arms, Miaki the Chief left my side on the beach and rushed
towards his village. I concluded that he had run for it through terror,
but he had other and more civilized intentions in his heathen head!
Having obtained, from some trader or visitor in previous days, a
soldier’s old red coat, he had resolved to rise to the occasion and
appear in his best before the Captain and his men. As I was shaking
hands with them and welcoming them to Tanna, Miaki returned with
the short red coat on, buttoned tightly round his otherwise naked
body; and, surmounted by his ugly painted face and long whipcords
of twisted hair, it completely spoiled any appearance that he might
otherwise have had of savage freedom, and made him look a dirty
and insignificant creature.
The Captain was talking to me, his men stood in order near by,—to
my eyes, oh how charming a glimpse of Home life!—when Miaki
marched up and took his place most consequentially at my side. He
felt himself the most important personage in the scene, and with an
attempt at haughty dignity he began to survey the visitors. All eyes
were fixed on the impudent little man, and the Captain asked,—
“What sort of character is this?”
I replied, “This is Miaki, our great war Chief;” and whispered to
the Captain to be on his guard, as this man knew a little English, and
might understand or misunderstand just enough to make it
afterwards dangerous to me.
The Captain only muttered, “The contemptible creature!”
But such words were far enough beyond Miaki’s vocabulary, so he
looked on and grinned complacently.
At last he said, “Missi, this great Chief whom Queen Victoria has
sent to visit you in her Man-of-war, cannot go over the whole of this
island so as to be seen by all our people; and I wish you to ask him if
he will stand by a tree, and allow me to put a spear on the ground at
his heel, and we will make a nick in it at the top of his head, and the
spear will be sent round the island to let all the people see how tall
this great man is!”
They were delighted at the good Captain agreeing to their simple
request; and that spear was exhibited to thousands, as the vessel, her
Commander, officers, and men, were afterwards talked of round and
round the island.
Captain Vernon was extremely kind, and offered to do anything in
his power for me, thus left alone on the island amongst such savages;
but, as my main difficulties were connected with my spiritual work
amongst them rousing up their cruel prejudices, I did not see how his
kindness could effectually interpose. At his suggestion, however, I
sent a general invitation to all the Chiefs within reach, to meet the
Captain next morning at my house. True to their instincts of
suspicion and fear, they despatched all their women and children to
the beach on the opposite side of the island beyond reach of danger,
and next morning my house was crowded with armed men,
manifestly much afraid. Punctually at the hour appointed, 10 a.m.,
the Captain came on shore; and soon thereafter twenty Chiefs were
seated with him in my house. He very kindly spent about an hour,
giving them wise counsels and warning them against outrages on
strangers, all calculated to secure our safety and advance the
interests of our Mission work. He then invited all the Chiefs to go on
board and see his vessel. They were taken to see the Armoury, and
the sight of the big guns running so easily on rails vastly astonished
them. He then placed them round us on deck and showed them two
shells discharged towards the Ocean, at which, as they burst and fell
far off, splash—splashing into the water, the terror of the Natives
visibly increased. But, when he sent a large ball crashing through a
cocoa-nut grove, breaking the trees like straws and cutting its way
clear and swift, they were quite dumb-foundered and pled to be
again set safely on shore. After receiving each some small gift,
however, they were reconciled to the situation, and returned
immensely interested in all that they had seen. Doubtless many a
wild romance was spun by these savage heads, in trying to describe
and hand down to others the wonders of the fire-god of the sea, and
the Captain of the great white Queen. How easily it all lends itself to
the service of poetry and myth!
 About this time also, the London Missionary Society’s ship, the
John Williams, visited me, having on board the Rev. Messrs. Turner,
Inglis, Baker, and Macfarlan. They urged me to go with them on a
three weeks’ trip round the Islands, as I had lately suffered much
from fever and ague, and was greatly reduced by it. But a party of
Bush natives had killed one of our Harbour people the week before,
and sadly bruised several others with their clubs, and I feared a
general war of revenge if I left—for my presence amongst them at
least helped to keep the peace. I also was afraid that, if I left, they
might not allow me to return to the island,—so I declined once more
the pleasure of much-needed change and rest. Further, as the John
Williams brought me the wood for building a Church which I had
bought on Aneityum, the Tannese now plainly saw that, though their
conduct had been very bad, and I had suffered much on their island,
I had no intention of leaving them or of giving up the work of
Jehovah.
Too much, perhaps, had I hoped for from the closely succeeding
visits of the good Bishop Selwyn, the gallant Captain Vernon, and the
Mission ship John Williams. The impressions were undoubtedly
good, but evanescent; and things soon went on as they had done
before among our benighted Tannese, led by Satan at his will, and
impelled to the grossest deeds of heathen darkness. The change by
Divine grace, however, we knew to be possible; and for this we
laboured and prayed incessantly, fainting not, or if fainting, only to
rise again and tackle every duty in the name of the Lord who had
placed us there.
Fever and ague had attacked me fourteen times severely with
slighter recurring attacks almost continuously after my first three
months on the island, and I now felt the necessity of taking the hint
of the Tannese Chief before referred to,—“Sleep on the higher
ground.” Having also received medical counsel to the same effect,
though indeed experience was painfully sufficient testimony, I
resolved to remove my house, and began to look about for a suitable
site. There rose behind my present site, a hill about three hundred
feet high or rather more, surrounded on all sides by a valley, and
swept by the breezes of the trade winds, being only separated from
the Ocean by a narrow neck of land. On this I had set my heart; there
was room for a Mission House and a Church, for which indeed
Nature seemed to have adapted it. I proceeded to buy up every claim
by the Natives to any portion of the hill, paying each publicly and in
turn, so that there might be no trouble afterwards. I then purchased
from a Trader the deck planks of a shipwrecked vessel, with which to
construct a house of two apartments, a bedroom and a small store-
room adjoining it, to which I purposed to transfer and add the old
house as soon as I was able.
Just at this juncture, the fever smote me again more severely than
ever; my weakness after this attack was so great, that I felt as if I
never could rally again. With the help of my faithful Aneityumese
Teacher, Abraham, and his wife, however, I made what appeared my
last effort to creep, I could not climb, up the hill to get a breath of
wholesome air. When about two-thirds up the hill, I became so faint
that I concluded I was dying. Lying down on the ground, sloped
against the root of a tree to keep me from rolling to the bottom, I
took farewell of old Abraham, of my Mission work, and of everything
around! In this weak state I lay, watched over by my faithful
companion, and fell into a quiet sleep. When consciousness returned,
I felt a little stronger, and a faint gleam of hope and life came back to
my soul.
Abraham and his devoted wife, Nafatu, lifted me and carried me to
the top of the hill. There they laid me on cocoa-nut leaves on the
ground, and erected over me a shade or screen of the same; and
there the two faithful souls, inspired surely by something diviner
even than mere human pity, gave me the cocoa-nut juice to drink and
fed me with native food and kept me living—I know not for how long.
Consciousness did, however, fully return. The trade wind refreshed
me day by day. The Tannese seemed to have given me up for dead;
and providentially none of them looked near us for many days.
Amazingly my strength returned, and I began planning about my
new house on the hill. Afraid again to sleep at the old site, I slept
under the tree, and sheltered by the cocoa-nut leaf screen, while
preparing my new bedroom.
 “THERE THEY LAID ME ON COCOA-NUT LEAVES ON THE
GROUND.”

Here again, but for these faithful souls, the Aneityumese Teacher
and his wife, I must have been baffled, and would have died in the
effort. The planks of the wreck, and all other articles required they
fetched and carried, and it taxed my utmost strength to get them in
some way planted together. But life depended on it. It was at length
accomplished; and after that time I suffered comparatively little from
anything like continuous attacks of fever and ague. That noble old
soul, Abraham, stood by me as an angel of God in sickness and in
danger; he went at my side wherever I had to go; he helped me
willingly to the last inch of strength in all that I had to do; and it was
perfectly manifest that he was doing all this not from mere human
love, but for the sake of Jesus. That man had been a Cannibal in his
heathen days, but by the grace of God there he stood verily a new
creature in Christ Jesus. Any trust, however sacred or valuable, could
be absolutely reposed in him; and in trial or danger, I was often
refreshed by that old Teacher’s prayers, as I used to be by the prayers
of my saintly father in my childhood’s home. No white man could
have been a more valuable helper to me in my perilous
circumstances, and no person, white or black, could have shown
more fearless and chivalrous devotion.
When I have read or heard the shallow objections of irreligious
scribblers and talkers, hinting that there was no reality in
conversions, and that Mission effort was but waste, oh, how my heart
has yearned to plant them just one week on Tanna, with the “natural”
man all around in the person of Cannibal and Heathen, and only the
one “spiritual” man in the person of the converted Abraham, nursing
them, feeding them, saving them “for the love of Jesus,”—that I
might just learn how many hours it took to convince them that Christ
in man was a reality after all! All the scepticism of Europe would hide
its head in foolish shame; and all its doubts would dissolve under one
glance of the new light that Jesus, and Jesus alone, pours from the
converted Cannibal’s eye.
Perhaps it may surprise some unsophisticated reader to learn,
though others who know more will be quite prepared for it, that this
removal of our house, as also Mr. Mathieson’s for a similar reason,
was severely criticised by the people who try to evangelize the world
while sitting in easy chairs at home. Precious nonsense appeared, for
instance, in the Nova Scotian Church Magazine, about my house
being planted on the fighting ground of the Natives, and thereby
courting and provoking hostilities. As matter of fact, the hill-top was
too narrow to accommodate both the Church and my house, and had
to be levelled out for that purpose, and it was besides surrounded by
a deep valley on three sides; but the arm-chair critics, unwilling to
believe in the heathen hatred of the Gospel, had to invent some
reason out of their own brains to account for my being so persecuted
and plundered. In truth, we were learning by suffering for the benefit
of those who should follow us to these Islands,—that health could be
found only on the higher levels, swept by the breath of the trade
winds, and that fever and ague lay in wait near the shore, and
especially on the leeward side. Even Mr. Inglis had his house on
Aneityum removed also to the higher ground; and no Missionary
since has been located in the fever-beds by the swamp or shore. Life
is God’s great gift, to be preserved for Him, not thrown away.
 CHAPTER VIII.
MORE MISSION LEAVES FROM TANNA.

The Blood-Fiend Unleashed.—In the Camp of the Enemy.—A

Typical South Sea Trader.—Young Rarip’s Death.—The
Trader’s Retribution.—Worship and War.—Saved from
Strangling.—Wrath Restrained.—Under the Axe.—The
Clubbing of Namuri.—Native Saint and Martyr.—Bribes
Refused.—Widows Saved from Strangling.—The Sinking of the
Well.—Church-Building on Tanna.—Ancient Stone God.—
Printing First Tannese Book.—A Christian Captain.—Levelled
Muskets.—A French Refugee.—A Villainous Captain.—Like
Master Like Men.—Wrecked on Purpose.—The Kanaka Traffic.
—A Heathen Festival.—Sacrifices to Idols.—Heathen Dances
and Sham Fights.—Six Native Teachers.—A Homeric Episode.
—Victims for a Cannibal Feast.—The Jaws of Death.—Nahak or
Sorcery.—Killing Me by Nahak.—Nahak Defied.—Protected by
Jehovah.—Almost Persuaded.—Escorted to the Battlefield.—
Praying for Enemies.—Our Canoe on the Reef.—A Perilous
Pilgrimage.—Rocks and Waters.

The Peace-party, my band of twenty Chiefs already spoken of, kept

all the tribes around the Harbour acting only on the defensive for a
season. But the Inland people murdered eight Chiefs from a distance
who, after paying a friendly visit to the Harbour people, were
returning to their homes. At the same time, one of the Inland Chiefs,
who had pled with his people to give up war and live at peace with
surrounding tribes, was overthrown and murdered by his own men,
as also his brother and four wives and two children, and was
supplanted by another leader more akin to their wishes and tastes.
They proceeded, according to their custom of declaring war, to shoot
one of the Harbour men and to break down their fences and
plantations. So once again, the blood-fiend was unleashed,—the
young men of Tanna being as eager to get up a battle, as young men
of the world at home seem eager to get up a concert or a ball.
The Harbour people advised me to remove a mile further away
from these warriors; but the Inland tribes sent me word not to desert
my house, lest it might be burned and plundered, for that they
themselves had no quarrel against me. Early next morning, I,
accompanied by Abraham and another Aneityumese, started off to
visit the Bush party, and if possible avert the impending war, but
without informing my Harbour people. About four miles from our
Station, we met the Chief of our farthest inland friendly tribe with all
his fighting men under arms. Forcing me to disclose our errand, he
reluctantly allowed us to pass. Praying to Jesus for guidance and
protection, we pressed along the path through the thick bush four
miles further still. My two attendants, sinking into silence, betrayed
growing fear; and I, after trying to cheer them, had at their most
earnest appeal to walk on also in silence, my heart and theirs going
up to Jesus in prayer. We passed many deserted villages and
plantations, but saw no living person. At last, unexpectedly, we
stumbled upon the whole host assembled on the Village Common at
a great feast; and at sight of us every man rushed for his weapons of
war. Keeping my Teachers close beside me, I walked straight into the
midst of them, unarmed of course, and cried as loud as I possibly
could in their own tongue,—
“My love to all you men of Tanna! Fear not; I am your friend; I
love you every one, and am come to tell you about Jehovah God and
good conduct such as pleases Him!”
An old Chief thereon came and took me by the hand, and, after
leading me about among the people, said,—
“Sit down beside me here and talk with me; by-and-by the people
will not be afraid.”
A few ran off to the bush in terror. Others appeared to be beside
themselves with delight. They danced round us frantically, striking
the ground and beating a canoe with their clubs, while shouting to
each other, “Missi is come! Missi is come!” The confusion grew every
moment wilder, and there was a fiendish look about the whole scene.
Men and boys rushed thronging around from every quarter, all
painted in varied and savage devices, and some with their hair stuck
full of fantastic feathers. Women and children peered through the
bush, and instantaneously disappeared. Even in that anxious
moment, it struck me that they had many more children amongst
them than the people around the shores, where women and children
are destroyed by the cruelty and vices of “civilized” visitors! After
spending about an hour, conversing and answering all questions,
they apparently agreed to give up the war, and allowed me to conduct
the Worship amongst them. They then made me a present of cocoa-
nuts and sugar-cane and two fowls, which my attendants received
from them; and I, in return, presented a red shirt to the principal
Chief, and distributed a quantity of fish-hooks and pieces of red
calico amongst the rest. The leading men shook hands graciously,
and invited us often to come and see them, for after that visit they
would harm no person connected with our Mission. Meantime, the
Harbour people having learned where we had gone, had concluded
that we would all be killed and feasted upon. When we returned, with
a present of food, and informed them what we had heard and seen,
their astonishment was beyond measure; it had never been so seen
after this manner on Tanna! The peace continued for more than four
weeks, an uncommonly prolonged truce. All hands were busy at
work. Many yam plantations were completed, and all fences were got
into excellent condition for a year.
The prejudices and persecutions of Heathens were a sore enough
trial, but sorer and more hopeless was the wicked and contaminating
influence of, alas, my fellow-countrymen. One, for instance, a
Captain Winchester, living with a native woman at the head of the
bay as a trader, a dissipated wretch, though a well-educated man,
was angry forsooth at this state of peace! Apparently there was not
the usual demand for barter for the fowls, pigs, etc., in which he
traded. He developed at once a wonderful interest in their affairs,
presented all the Chiefs around with powder, caps, and balls, and
lent among them a number of flash-muskets. He urged them not to
be afraid of war, as he would supply any amount of ammunition. I
remonstrated, but he flatly told me that peace did not suit his
purposes! Incited and encouraged thus, these poor Heathen people
were goaded into a most unjust war on neighbouring tribes. The
Trader immediately demanded a high price for the weapons he had
lent; the price of powder, caps, and balls rose exorbitantly with every
fresh demand; his yards were crowded with poultry and pigs, which
he readily disposed of to passing vessels; and he might have amassed
great sums of money but for his vile dissipations. Captain
Winchester, now glorying in the war, charged a large hog for a wine-
glass full of powder, or three or four balls, or ten gun-caps; he was
boastful of his “good luck” in getting rid of all his old muskets and
filling his yards with pigs and fowls. Such is the infernal depth, when
the misery and ruin of many are thought to be more than atoned for
by the wealth and prosperity of a few who trade in their doom!
Miaki the war Chief had a young brother, Rarip by name, about
eighteen years of age. When this war began, he came to live with me
at the Mission House. After it had raged some time, Miaki forced him
to join the fighting men; but he escaped through the bush, and
returned to me, saying,—
“Missi, I hate this fighting; it is not good to kill men; I will live with
you!”
Again the War Chief came, and forced my dear young Rarip to join
the hosts. Of course, I could only plead; I could not prevent him. This
time, he placed him at his own side in the midst of his warriors. On
coming in sight of the enemy, and hearing their first yells as they
rushed from the bush, a bullet pierced young Rarip’s breast and he
fell dead into the arms of Miaki. The body was carried home to his
brother’s village, with much wailing, and a messenger ran to tell me
that Rarip was dead. On hasting thither, I found him quite dead, and
the centre of a tragic ceremonial. Around him, some sitting, others
lying on the ground, were assembled all the women and girls, tearing
their hair, wounding themselves with split bamboos and broken
bottles, dashing themselves headlong to the earth, painting all black
their faces, breasts, and arms, and wailing with loud lamentations!
Men were also there, knocking their heads against the trees, gashing
their bodies with knives till they ran with streaks of blood, and
indulging in every kind of savage symbol of grief and anguish. My
heart broke to see them, and to think that they knew not to look to
our dear Lord Jesus for consolation.
I returned to the Mission House, and brought a white sheet and
some tape, in which the body of dear young Rarip was wrapped and
prepared for the grave. The Natives appeared to be gratified at this
mark of respect; and all agreed that Rarip should have under my
direction a Christian burial. The men prepared the grave in a spot
selected near to his own house; I read the Word of God, and offered
prayer to Jehovah, with a psalm of praise, amidst a scene of weeping
and lamentation never to be forgotten; and the thought burned
through my very soul—oh, when, when will the Tannese realize what
I am now thinking and praying about, the life and immortality
brought to light through Jesus?
As the war still raged on, and many more were killed, vengeance
threatened the miserable Trader. Miaki attacked him thus,—
“You led us into this war. You deceived us, and we began it. Rarip
is dead, and many others. Your life shall yet go for his.”
Captain Winchester, heartless as a dog so long as pigs and fowls
came to the yard at whatever cost to others’ lives, now trembled like
a coward for himself. He implored me to let him and his Marè wife
sleep at my house for safety; but I refused to allow my Mission to be
in any way identified with his crimes. The Natives from other islands,
whom he kept and wrought like slaves, he now armed with muskets
for his defence; but, having no faith in them protecting or even
warning him, he implored me to send one of my Teachers, to assist
his wife in watching till he snatched a few hours of sleep every day,
and, if awake, he would sell his life as dearly as he could by aid of
musket and revolver. The Teachers were both afraid and disinclined
to go; and I could not honestly ask them to do so. His peril and terror
became so real that by night he slept in his boat anchored out in the
centre of the bay, with his arms beside him, and a crew ready to start
off at the approach of danger and lose everything; while by day he
kept watch on shore, armed, and also ready to fly. Thus his miserable
existence dragged on, keeping watch alternatively with his wife, till a
trading vessel called and carried him off with all that he had rescued
—for which deliverance we were unfeignedly thankful! The war,
which he had wickedly instigated, lingered on for three months; and
then, by a present given secretly to two leading Chiefs, I managed to
bring it to a close. But feelings of revenge for the slain, burned
fiercely in many breasts; and young men had old feuds handed on to
them by the recital of their fathers’ deeds of blood.
All through this war, I went to the fighting ground every Sabbath,
and held worship amongst our Harbour people. Hundreds assembled
around me, and listened respectfully, but they refused to give up the
war. One day, I determined to go through the bush that lay between
and speak and pray with the enemies also. Our Harbour folks
opposed me, and one leading man said,—
“Missi, pray only for us, and your God will be strong to help us and
we will not be afraid! You must not pray with the enemy, lest He may
help them too.”
After this episode, I made it my duty always to visit both Camps,
when I went to the fighting ground, and to have worship with both,—
teaching them that Jehovah my God was angry at all such scenes and
would not fight for either, that He commanded them to live at peace.
About this time, our Sabbath audiences at the Mission numbered
forty or so. Nowar and three or four more, and only they, seemed to
love and serve Jesus. They were, however, changeable and doubtful,
though they exerted a good influence on their villages, and were
generally friendly to us and to the Worship. Events sometimes for a
season greatly increased our usefulness. For instance, one of the
Sacred Men when fishing on the coral reef was bitten by a poisonous
fish. After great agony, he died, and his relatives were preparing to
strangle his two wives that their spirits might accompany and serve
him in the other world. Usually such tragedies were completed
before I ever heard of them. On this occasion, I had called at the
village that very day, and succeeded in persuading them to bury him
alone—his wives being saved alive at my appeal. Thus the idea got to
be talked of, and the horrible custom was being undermined—the
strangling of widows!
In connection with such poisonings, I may mention that some of
these fishes were deadly poisonous; others were unwholesome, and
even poisonous, only at certain seasons; and still others were always
nutritious and good. For our own part, we used fish sparingly and
cautiously; and the doubtful ones we boiled with a piece of silver in
the water. If the silver became discoloured, we regarded the fish as
unwholesome; if the silver remained pure, we could risk it.
One morning at daybreak I found my house surrounded by armed
men, and a Chief intimated that they had assembled to take my life.
Seeing that I was entirely in their hands, I knelt down and gave
myself away body and soul to the Lord Jesus, for what seemed the
last time on earth. Rising, I went out to them, and began calmly
talking about their unkind treatment of me and contrasting it with all
my conduct towards them. I also plainly showed them what would be
the sad consequences, if they carried out their cruel purpose. At last
some of the Chiefs, who had attended the Worship, rose and said,—
“Our conduct has been bad; but now we will fight for you, and kill
all those who hate you.”

“AT DAYBREAK I FOUND MY HOUSE SURROUNDED.”

Grasping hold of their leader, I held him fast till he promised never
to kill any one on my account, for Jesus taught us to love our
enemies and always to return good for evil! During this scene, many
of the armed men slunk away into the bush, and those who remained
entered into a bond to be friendly and to protect us. But again their
Public Assembly resolved that we should be killed, because, as they
said, they hated Jehovah and the Worship; for it made them afraid to
do as they had always done. If I would give up visiting the villages,
and praying and talking with them about Jehovah, they intimated
that they would like me to stay and trade with them, as they liked the
Traders but hated the Missionaries! I told them that the hope of
being able to teach them the Worship of Jehovah alone kept me
living amongst them; that I was there, not for gain or pleasure, but
because I loved them, and pitied their estate, and sought their good
continually by leading them to know and serve the only true God.
One of the Chiefs, who had lived in Sydney and spoke English,
replied for all the rest,—
“Missi, our fathers loved and worshipped whom you call the Devil,
the Evil Spirit; and we are determined to do the same, for we love the
conduct of our fathers. Missi Turner came here and tried to break
down our worship, but our fathers fought him and he left us. They
fought also Peta, the Samoan Teacher, and he fled. They fought and
killed some of the Samoan Teachers placed on the other side of the
Harbour, and their companions left. We killed the last foreigner that
lived in Tanna before you came here. We murdered the Aneityumese
Teachers, and burned down their houses. After each of these acts,
Tanna was good; we all lived like our fathers, and sickness and death
left us. Now, our people are determined to kill you, if you do not
leave this island; for you are changing our customs and destroying
our worship, and we hate the Jehovah Worship.”
Then, surrounded by a number of men, who had spent some years
in the Colonies, he continued in a bitter strain to this effect,—
“The people of Sydney belong to your Britain; they know what is
right and wrong as well as you; and we have ourselves seen them
fishing, feasting, cooking, working, and seeking pleasure on the
Sabbath as on any other day. You say, we do not here need to cook
any food on Sabbaths or to toil at our ovens, but you yourself cook,
for you boil your kettle on that day! We have seen the people do all
the conduct at Sydney which you call bad, but which we love. You are
but one, they are many; they are right, and you must be wrong; you
are teaching lies for Worship.”
After many such speeches, I answered all the questions of the
people fully, and besides I cross-questioned my assailants on several
subjects, regarding which they grossly contradicted each other, till
the majority of voices cried out,—
“They are lying! Their words are crooked! Missi knows all the truth
about the people of Sydney!”
 Alas, I had to admit that what they reported was too true regarding
the godless multitudes at home who made the Sabbath a day of
pleasure, but not regarding Jehovah’s servants. By this time, they
were willing to remain quiet, and allowed me to talk of spiritual
things and of the blessings that the Sabbath and the Bible brought to
all other lands, and to conduct in their presence and hearing the
Worship of Jehovah.
But my enemies seldom slackened their hateful designs against my
life, however calmed or baffled for the moment. Within a few days of
the above events, when Natives in large numbers were assembled at
my house, a man furiously rushed on me with his axe; but a
Kaserumini Chief snatched a spade with which I had been working,
and dexterously defended me from instant death. Life in such
circumstances led me to cling very near to the Lord Jesus; I knew
not, for one brief hour, when or how attack might be made; and yet,
with my trembling hand clasped in the hand once nailed on Calvary,
and now swaying the sceptre of the Universe, calmness and peace
and resignation abode in my soul.
Next day, a wild Chief followed me about for four hours with his
loaded musket, and, though often directed towards me, God
restrained his hand. I spoke kindly to him, and attended to my work
as if he had not been there, fully persuaded that my God had placed
me there, and would protect me till my allotted task was finished.
Looking up in unceasing prayer to our dear Lord Jesus, I left all in
His hands, and felt immortal till my work was done. Trials and
hairbreadth escapes strengthened my faith, and seemed only to
nerve me for more to follow; and they did tread swiftly upon each
other’s heels. Without that abiding consciousness of the presence
and power of my dear Lord and Saviour, nothing else in all the world
could have preserved me from losing my reason and perishing
miserably. His words, “Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of
the world,” became to me so real that it would not have startled me
to behold Him, as Stephen did, gazing down upon the scene. I felt
His supporting power, as did St. Paul, when he cried, “I can do all
things through Christ which strengtheneth me.” It is the sober truth,
and it comes back to me sweetly after twenty years, that I had my
nearest and dearest glimpses of the face and smile of my blessed
Lord in those dread moments when musket, club, or spear was being
levelled at my life. Oh the bliss of living and enduring, as seeing
“Him who is invisible!”
One evening, I awoke three times to hear a Chief and his men
trying to force the door of my house. Though armed with muskets,
they had some sense of doing wrong, and were wholesomely afraid of
a little retriever dog which had often stood betwixt me and death.
God restrained them again; and next morning the report went all
round the Harbour, that those who tried to shoot me were “smitten
weak with fear,” and that shooting would not do. A plan was
therefore deliberately set on foot to fire the premises, and club us if
we attempted to escape. But our Aneityumese Teacher heard of it,
and God helped us to frustrate their designs. When they knew that
their plots were revealed to us, they seemed to lose faith in
themselves, and cast about to circumvent us in some more secret
way. Their evil was overruled for good.
Namuri, one of my Aneityumese Teachers, was placed at our
nearest village. There he had built a house for himself and his wife,
and there he led amongst the Heathen a pure and humble Christian
life. Almost every morning, he came and reported on the state of
affairs to me. Without books or a school, he yet instructed the
Natives in Divine things, conducted the Worship, and taught them
much by his good example. His influence was increasing, when one
morning a Sacred Man threw at him the kawas, or killing stone, a
deadly weapon, like a scythe stone in shape and thickness, usually
round but sometimes angular, and from eighteen to twenty inches
long. They throw it from a great distance and with fatal precision.
The Teacher, with great agility, warded his head and received the
deep cut from it in his left hand, reserving his right hand to guard
against the club that was certain to follow swiftly. The Priest sprang
upon him with his club and with savage yells. He evaded, yet also
received, many blows; and, rushing out of their hands, actually
reached the Mission House, bleeding, fainting, and pursued by
howling murderers. I had been anxiously expecting him, and hearing
the noise I ran out with all possible speed.
On seeing me, he sank down by a tree, and cried,—
“Missi, Missi, quick! and escape for your life! They are coming to
kill you; they say, they must kill us all to-day, and they have begun
with me; for they hate Jehovah and the Worship!”
 I hastened to the good Teacher where he lay; I bound up, washed,
and dressed his wounds; and God, by the mystery of His own
working, kept the infuriated Tannese watching at bay. Gradually they
began to disappear into the bush, and we conveyed the dear Teacher
to the Mission House. In three or four weeks, he so far recovered by
careful nursing that he was able to walk about again. Some
petitioned for him to return to the village; but I insisted, as a
preliminary, that the Harbour Chiefs should unitedly punish him
who had abused the Teacher; and this to test them, for he had only
carried out their own wishes,—Nowar excepted, and perhaps one or
two others. They made a pretence of atoning by presenting the
Teacher with a pig and some yams as a peace-offering; but I said,—
“No! such bad conduct must be punished, or we would leave their
island by the first opportunity.”
Now that Sacred Man, a Chief too, had gone on fighting with other
tribes, till his followers had all died or been slain; and, after three
weeks’ palaver, the other Chiefs seized him, tied him with a rope, and
sent me word to come and see him punished, as they did not want us
after all to leave the island. I had to go, for fear of more bloody work,
and after talk with them, followed by many fair promises, he was
loosed.
All appearing friendly for some time, and willing to listen and
learn, the Teacher earnestly desired to return to his post. I pled with
him to remain at the Mission House till we felt more assured, but he
replied,—
“Missi, when I see them thirsting for my blood, I just see myself
when the Missionary first came to my island. I desired to murder
him, as they now desire to kill me. Had he stayed away for such
danger, I would have remained Heathen; but he came, and continued
coming to teach us, till, by the grace of God, I was changed to what I
am. Now the same God that changed me to this, can change these
poor Tannese to love and serve Him. I cannot stay away from them;
but I will sleep at the Mission House, and do all I can by day to bring
them to Jesus.”
It was not in me to keep such a man, under such motives, from
what he felt to be his post of duty. He returned to his village work,
and for several weeks things appeared most encouraging. The
inhabitants showed growing interest in us and our work, and less
fear of the pretensions of their heathen Priest, which, alas! fed his
jealousy and anger. One morning during worship, when the good
Teacher knelt in prayer, the same savage Priest sprang upon him
with his great club and left him for dead, wounded and bleeding and
unconscious. The people fled and left him in his blood, afraid of
being mixed up with the murder. The Teacher, recovering a little,
crawled to the Mission House, and reached it about mid-day in a
dying condition. On seeing him, I ran to meet him, but he fell near
the Teacher’s house, saying,—
“Missi, I am dying. They will kill you also. Escape for your life.”
Trying to console him, I sat down beside him, dressing his wounds
and nursing him. He was quite resigned; he was looking up to Jesus,
and rejoicing that he would soon be with Him in Glory. His pain and
suffering were great, but he bore all very quietly, as he said and kept
saying, “For the sake of Jesus! For Jesu’s sake!” He was constantly
praying for his persecutors,—
“O Lord Jesus, forgive them, for they know not what they are
doing. Oh, take not away all Thy servants from Tanna! Take not away
Thy Worship from this dark island! O God, bring all the Tannese to
love and follow Jesus!”
To him, Jesus was all and in all; and there were no bands in his
death. He passed from us, in the assured hope of entering into the
Glory of his Lord. Humble though he may appear in the world’s
esteem, I knew that a great man had fallen there in the service of
Christ, and that he would take rank in the glorious Army of the
Martyrs. I made for him a coffin, and dug his grave near the Mission
House. With prayers, and many tears, we consigned his remains to
the dust in the certainty of a happy resurrection. Even one such
convert was surely a triumphant reward for Dr. and Mrs. Geddie,
whom God had honoured in bringing him to Jesus. May they have
many like him for their crown of joy and rejoicing in the great day!
Immediately after this, a number of Chiefs and followers called on
me at the Mission House, professing great friendliness, and said,—
“Mr. Turner gave our fathers great quantities of calico, axes, and
knives, and they became his friends. If you would give the people
some just now they would be pleased. They would stop fighting
against the Worship.”
 I retorted, “How was it then, if they were pleased, that they
persecuted Messrs. Turner and Nisbet till they had to leave the
island? Your conduct is deceitful and bad. I never will reward you for
bad actions and for murder! No present will be given by me.”
They withdrew sullenly, and seemed deeply disappointed and
offended.
On one occasion, when a Chief had died, the Harbour people were
all being assembled to strangle his widow. One of my Aneityumese
Teachers, hearing of it, hastened to tell me. I ran to the village, and
with much persuasion, saved her life. A few weeks thereafter she
gave birth to a young chieftain, who prospered well. If our Harbour
people told the truth, the widows of all who fell in war were saved by
our pleading. Immediately after the foregoing incident, a Sacred Man
was dying, and a crowd of people were assembled awaiting the event
in order to strangle his three wives. I spoke to them of the horrid
wickedness of such conduct. I further reasoned with them, that God
had made us male and female, the sexes so balanced, that for every
man that had three or a dozen wives, as many men generally had
none, and that this caused great jealousy and quarrelling. I showed
them further, that these widows being spared would make happy and
useful wives for other kind and loving husbands. After the Worship, I
appealed to the Chief and he replied,—
“Missi, it was a practice introduced to Tanna from the island of
Aneityum. It was not the custom of our fathers here to strangle
widows. And, as the Aneityumese have given it up since they became
worshippers of Jehovah, it is good that we now should give it up on
Tanna too.”
Thus these three widows were saved; and we had great hope in
Christ that the ghastly practice would soon disappear from Tanna.
An incident of this time created great wonder amongst the Natives;
namely, the Sinking of a Well. We had, heretofore, a boiling spring to
drink from, the water of which literally required in that climate days
to cool down; we had also a stagnant pool at the lower end of a
swamp in which the Natives habitually bathed, the only available
fresh water bath! Beyond that, no drinking water could be had for six
or seven miles. I managed to sink a well, near the Mission House,
and got about twelve feet deep a good supply of excellent fresh water,
though, strange to say, the surface of the well rose and fell regularly