Girard0358

1845 — Guillaume Douarre to Jean-Claude Colin: Report on the Mission, New Caledonia

Based on the dispatched copy, APM ONC 418.1.

Six sheets, sewn with brown thread, forming twenty-four pages, fifteen of which are written upon. Pages 16 to 23 were left blank, while the twenty-fourth bears only Poupinel’s annotation. As the document is not dated, the date 1845, written by Poupinel, has been adopted. A later hand proposes the date: “Beginning around 30 January 1844, through March 1845.”

Translated by Merv Duffy and ChatGPT, November 2026.

[p. 24]

[In Poupinel’s hand:] New Caledonia — 1845 — Report of Bishop Douarre on the mission

[p. 1]

Jesus, Mary, Joseph

My Reverend Father,

[1]

I am beginning to write to you somewhat in advance, because I intend to write at length and leave you ignorant of nothing concerning the new life of your children. You will probably find it rather material in character, but in their present circumstances it would be difficult for it to be otherwise.

[2]

In my previous letter I told you that we had set foot on the soil of New Caledonia on Saint Thomas’s Day, and that on Christmas Day I had had the happiness of celebrating Mass on the site of our future hut. The crew of the Bucéphale, or rather several members of the crew, spent a month constructing our dwelling, with Brother Jean naturally directing the work and Brother Blaise having become a pit-sawyer. You have seen chicken coops; well, my Reverend Father, that will give you some idea of our dwelling. Its walls are nothing more than vines, which we shall plaster later. It has four windows and a door on the north side facing the sea, with the same arrangement on the south side facing a garden, a small part of which we have cleared with great difficulty and no little perspiration. I am taking rather long over my preliminaries; let us proceed to the details. During the month spent constructing the episcopal palace, Father Viard and I made several journeys inland to visit various chiefs. On one occasion, and this was not the most amusing part for me, we had to swim across a river, something very difficult for a person who cannot swim. Even less amusing was dressing again in the presence of a good number of men and women, all equally curious and especially disappointed to see me keep my trousers on. From then until 21 January, nothing occurred that would interest you. On the morning of that day I celebrated the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, after which the French flag was raised. In the evening, the chief or king of Dhiaote, accompanied by many of his subjects, treated us to a traditional dance to show his sorrow at seeing the Bucéphale depart. He then presented gifts to the commander. These consisted of yams and were lavish in comparison with the poverty of my diocesan people, who on this occasion touched the heart of their bishop, happy to find in his future children some feelings of gratitude.

[3]

On the following day, the twenty-second, I took leave of the commander and officers of the Bucéphale with regret. I would have liked to conceal my emotion, but that was impossible: my tears betrayed me. Monsieur Laferrière had the kindness to add to his many attentions by accompanying me ashore himself. This touched me far more deeply than the nine cannon shots with which I was saluted. Although my heart was heavy, it was nevertheless free; I felt no regret over the step I had taken, but nature was claiming its rights. There we were, gathered for our first meal, five in number: three priests, including your servant, and two brothers. I had scarcely blessed the table when my tears began to flow in torrents. I had four children with me for whose souls and bodies I was responsible. The two brothers, it is true, had taken this step only after mature reflection; but, being less educated than we were, did they understand the full extent of their duties as well as we did, and was there nothing merely human in their decision? Might my example have influenced their decision somewhat? Would their courage fail [p. 2] when confronted with sacrifices and privations of every kind? Would I be able to provide them with the bare necessities? This thought was agonising and tore at my soul; but lifting my heart to Him who does not abandon even the insect we tread beneath our feet soon restored my calm. In the evening I went for a walk to our future country residence, accompanied by Brother Jean. I would not have left Brother Blaise behind had a slight indisposition not detained him at Balade. Our evening meal was less sorrowful than the morning meal. Our cook, Abbé Rougeyron, who has kindly undertaken this duty while the brothers attend to difficult and indispensable work, treats us wonderfully well. For as long as the ship’s biscuit lasts, which cannot be long since the worms are lending us a helping hand, we shall have soup morning and evening, a few yams sold to us by the Indigenous people, and, from time to time for several months, a little salt meat, Father François having kindly given us a barrel of it. Our nets may also provide us with fish, and the brother may obtain a few pieces of game during his recreation time. The water we drink is rather poor. It is not that good water is unavailable, but we would have to fetch it from a stream half a league away, prudence having led us to place our dwelling near a chief’s hut. On major feast days we shall add a bottle of wine, which after the day’s exertions would be a sufficient allowance even every day, since everyone works and, divided among six, it could hardly inconvenience us. This number of six would surprise you, Father, if I did not tell you that for five or six months, at least, we have inherited a deserter from the Bucéphale. We could very well have done without him, since we have few provisions and very little hope of replenishing them before six months have passed; but he was without resources and exposed among the local people. With the family thus enlarged, I reluctantly decided to release five pigs because we had nothing with which to feed them, hoping they would return home. Recapturing them, however, was no easy matter. I was all the more anxious to do so because they are the only pigs on the island. On the following Wednesday, after watching them for a long time, I managed to seize the smallest. On Thursday, while one brother worked in the garden and the other attended to other tasks, I continued the previous day’s duties without any success. On Friday we set a trap that caught two of them. A little later we caught another in the undergrowth, and on Saturday we managed to lay hands on the fourth. You would laugh, Father, at these petty concerns if you did not know our privations and our desire to increase the island’s resources.

[4]

On Friday, Fathers Viard and Rougeyron had left for Hienguen, about fifteen leagues from Balade, hoping to find two English ships there and arrange with their captains to obtain some livestock from Sydney. They would also have explored the country, but on the way they learned that the ships had departed. They stopped at Pouépo, where they were very well received by a chief named Goa, who instructed them to offer me an immense tract of land on his behalf if I would settle near him. I do not know where I shall settle, although I wish to occupy a central location. For the present, whether we like it or not, we must live at Balade, where the days pass rather quickly.

[5]

On Sunday, after the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass and breakfast, I went with the two brothers to explore the neighbouring mountains. We found only fine timber that would be difficult to exploit because there are no roads. Brother Jean committed more than one sin of envy, which I probably shared. At the head of so poor a mission, with every resource lacking, one must necessarily consider material needs unless one wishes to see the mission destroyed before it is even properly established. [p. 3] Our excursion would have been a very happy one, for we had found a few bananas to appease our hunger; but on reaching our future country residence, Brother Blaise fell upon a stone while crossing the stream. Judging by the wound below his knee, he had not fallen lightly. I could dress it only with a piece of my shirt. May God grant that the remedy proves effective, for otherwise the wound in my heart would be at least as deep as that in the dear brother’s leg.

[6]

Monday of the second week, 29 January, was spent supervising various tasks in the garden and acquiring a yam field from Chief Païama and one of his brothers. This acquisition gave me great pleasure, and my pleasure would have been greater had I been certain of obtaining half the harvest. This is approximately how our first days at Balade passed. The many cares required by our establishment have prevented me from thinking of France except in my prayers. While taking an inventory of my belongings, however, a roll of towels bearing the words “Think of us” drew a few tears from me. It reminded me of a family from Ambert, toward whom I can never feel sufficient gratitude, so kind were they to my family and me. As this is the rainy season, the rain has done much to moderate the heat, which would be quite bearable without the armies of mosquitoes that torment us terribly. On the thirtieth we lost our only female duck, with which we had hoped to propagate the species. To console me, Païama, whom I have already mentioned and who sold us a country residence, went today to show us its boundaries. As they proved much more extensive and better suited to my plans than those agreed upon in the deed, I promised him several articles, which I gave him on my return as payment for the remainder of his property. It is possible that later I shall enlarge my holdings further so that I can conduct a few trials. However willing we might have been to do without such means, that has appeared impossible to me because the mission is extremely demanding and the country offers no resources other than those we create ourselves.

[7]

The night of Wednesday to Thursday the thirty-first was remarkable for extraordinarily powerful thunderclaps accompanied by a deluge of rain. The evening could have been more pleasant, but what can be done? We must accept good and bad weather as God gives them. While our sailor was felling a tree, several Indigenous men attacked him. He tried to retaliate, but as he was not the stronger party, one of the brothers had to lend him assistance, or rather go and fetch a gun, which they placed beside them. This soon restored good relations. Although intended solely for shooting a few ducks, this weapon has a beneficial effect in New Caledonia and keeps the Indigenous people thoroughly in check, since they understand its use but possess none themselves. Our gentlemen at Wallis now have two, because they already had one before receiving the one I brought them from Toulon. Our confrères in Tonga also have one. Those at Futuna, not knowing whether I had left one at Wallis, asked me for one as I passed through; but as I had only one remaining, I requested another for them at Valparaiso.

[8]

Let us return to my diocesan people, who would be goodness itself were they not skilful thieves. Anything is acceptable to them, not excluding my purple stockings. I recovered one pair; another stocking disappeared and is now being used as an ornament of a kind you would never imagine and which modesty forbids me to describe. [p. 4] Although they are daring takers, they do not know how to conceal themselves, and a few days later you see them appear wearing the stolen articles in tatters.

[9]

Our days are all rather alike and reasonably monotonous. Until now we have been able to perform only one exercise in common, and it is not the most spiritual one; moreover, it requires a good measure of patience because the mosquitoes devour us. It is impossible to say our prayers together. I am trying to hurry the work as much as possible so that we may have a little place for that purpose and also separate our quarters from those of our pouacas [pigs]. Yet our arms, which multiply themselves and are worth at least forty, so resourceful does necessity make us, are still insufficient.

[10]

Nevertheless, time passes with astonishing speed, and here we are at 1 February. Accompanied by the two brothers, who did not yet know it, I visited our yam field. Others have also visited it and will probably visit it more frequently than we do. With this resource and other yams that reach us almost every day and for which we pay in iron, we shall manage. Since our seeds have disappointed our hopes, we shall sow others, because if we allow ourselves to become discouraged, we shall be the first to suffer.

[11]

The second, third, and fourth passed like the other days, amid arduous tasks for everyone and especially for me, who am the laziest. But since I must preach by example, I alone hauled most of the timber needed for an enclosure for our pigs, provided that we recapture four fugitives who have just escaped. All this is disjointed and without sequence, but you must nevertheless be content with it, my Reverend Father, because otherwise I would have to content myself with a very short letter, and that would not satisfy my heart. I am nevertheless passing over many things in silence, but the limits of this letter require it.

[12]

I resume my letter after a very long interruption in order to continue my monotonous narrative. To stop thefts by the Indigenous people, Father Viard and I made some wooden bars for our windows. These good people visit us often; many come from the interior, and although we rarely allow them to enter our house, their enthusiasm is not diminished. When we have a room in which to receive them, we shall be more courteous. For the present, we must avoid exposing them to temptation. They possess nothing, and consequently everything excites their desire.

[13]

Here we are at Sunday, distinguished only by the Holy Mass we have the happiness of celebrating and the cessation of work. I am not making my entire confession to you, my Reverend Father, because you might not be edified by it. I have not yet told you of my impatience when everything does not go as I wish. When shall I be entirely master of myself? Being naturally active, I would like to find the same ardour in others and have them divine my slightest wishes, so reluctant am I to give orders. It is not that I have reason to complain of my subordinates: they are all worthy and holy missionaries, far superior to me in patience and kindness.

[14]

For two days thunder has been rumbling without bringing us much water. A light south-easterly breeze drives away fewer mosquitoes than [p. 5] we would wish. We have been given hope that we shall have them for only one month; so be it. From Sunday until Thursday the eighth, there was nothing new apart from our usual occupations, which are always directed toward protecting ourselves from surprise attacks by the Indigenous people. We received a visit from the chief of a neighbouring island. A red smock that I gave him pleased him considerably, but did not prevent one of his men from pulling Father Viard’s bedsheet through the window bars. The chief of Balade made him return it. Our chief’s warlike temper, though he is naturally cowardly, awoke at that moment, and all our eloquence was required to calm him. Brother Jean is working on a boat so that we may obtain stones for a well, which is all the more necessary because our water is rationed, the stream being too far away. It will also enable us to obtain clay for bricks with which to make an oven, since our ship’s biscuit, poor as it is, is coming to an end. We nevertheless eat only two meals, consisting of soup and a dish of yams, always with the same sauce, except when Abbé Rougeyron serves them to us “in their dressing gowns” to reinforce the biscuit. We sometimes add a piece of salt meat to crown extraordinary days, meaning those on which the greatest amount of work has been done. We shall be fortunate if our barrel of salt meat possesses the virtue of the jar of oil in Scripture. We could have good beds if we had nothing more urgent to do. They are rather hard, but the need for rest makes them seem soft, just as appetite seasons our food perfectly.

[15]

I have already told you, my Reverend Father, of the purchase of a country residence, or rather a property on which the uprights of a hut stood. On Thursday evening the eighth, accompanied by Father Rougeyron, I went to inspect this property and take a bath. But how surprised I was to see the house completely roofed! Had the chief of Balade not been travelling, I would have thought that he intended to give us a pleasant surprise; but as he had been absent for several days, it could only be an intruder, and it was important for me to find out who it was. The next day, therefore, I went to the place with Father Viard and an Indigenous man. It was one of the sons of the king of Coco who had permitted himself this violation of a commandment little known in New Caledonia: “You shall not take your neighbour’s property.” When I asked him to explain his conduct, he replied that since the hut had been inhabited by a great chief, it could be inhabited only by another great chief. On that basis I became its owner for a second time, though only after giving white and red cloth and several pieces of iron. The house is now [p. 6] sacred; I have taken formal possession of it. Moreover, two fine red figures, carved as well as can be expected from men whose only cutting tools are shells and stones, human bones—probably those of some chief—a fine scrap of red handkerchief above the door, and several pieces of tapa, which constitute the great tapou, forbid profane persons to enter.

[16]

Do not expect anything more interesting for a long time, my Reverend Father. In this letter I shall speak to you only of stones and mortar, although I hope to emerge from the mud despite being sunk in it up to my backside. Here I am searching for and discovering clay from which to make bricks. What I found is excellent. It would be better still if it were nearer our hut. We could apply a good coat of plaster to our vine walls, which might perhaps stop our thieves.

[17]

Brother Jean caught one of them in the act last night. He administered a small correction that may cure the man, on another occasion, of the temptation to which he had succumbed. Although we must remain continually on the alert, we have no serious thefts of which to complain. Though the New Caledonians are skilful takers, they are not bold thieves; the slightest thing is sufficient to put them to flight.

[18]

I expected nothing new on the tenth and thought I would have to record in my journal only a violent wind that shook our hut without demolishing it. But since one must never presume upon good fortune, I have a little story to tell you. One of the brothers and the deserter-sailor were repairing our net and had beside them a knife and the items required for their work. Everything was taken from them with marvellous dexterity. Our chief Païama had the articles reclaimed, and part of them was returned; but enough remained missing to prevent the work from being completed. The brothers went to demand the missing articles from one of our supposed friends. Since the theft had been committed by one of his children, however, he armed himself with a log and threatened one of the brothers, having first driven the sailor out. I knew nothing of what was happening when I saw a number of Indigenous men arrive with the brothers, led by the thief’s father, who by his shouts and gestures was inciting them against us. There they were, in a confused mass inside my hut, shouting as though we were the guilty parties. One of them, bolder than the others, seized an axe and threatened one of the brothers, who fortunately disarmed him [p. 7] before he could use it, without seriously injuring him. This affair worried me all the less because the Indigenous people shout a great deal and quickly calm down when confronted by our firmness. Besides, we had the chief, who soon dispersed them by hurling everything that came to hand at them, and then there is a certain “respect-commanding object” that impresses them greatly, although it has never occurred to us to use it except against ducks. Let us come quickly to the conclusion, which you would have expected no more than we did, my Reverend Father. Seeing how distressed I was by what had just happened, and fearing that we might leave Balade, our chief took me by the hand and led me to his home. There, clasping a large ugly mask—probably his god—to his breast, pointing to his children, uttering heartrending cries, and shedding torrents of tears, he begged me by his gods and his children not to abandon him. So far I have done little for him apart from giving him a few modest presents. I hope to compensate him later by giving him the first offspring of the various animals we hope to naturalise on the island. That remains a future contingency, however, as does the greatest good I hope to share with him: knowledge of the true God.

[19]

I had long since abandoned this letter, yet I am taking it up again, although it is more likely to weary than entertain you. A father is so indulgent toward his children that it would be heresy to doubt your indulgence toward us.

[20]

Please accompany us now to Hienghène, which I have already mentioned when speaking to you about the offers made by Goa, chief of Pouépo. Our route is rather difficult because we must follow the seashore, being unfamiliar with the paths through the interior. Along the way we visit several chiefs, all astonished to see white men. We made our first stop at Pouépo, where we spent the night, and hoped to reach Hienghène the following day. In fact, the Indigenous people accompanying us in large numbers made us stop at the home of a chief from another tribe, telling us that this was our destination. Delighted, I presented the chief with a fine piece of red cloth and some other gaudy trifles. The next day, utterly exhausted, I reached our dwelling, having left Father Viard on the road with a man who spoke the language of Wallis and several presents with which to obtain food. On my return I made only a very brief stay at Pouépo, more to rest than [p. 8] to obtain anything. The population is numerous and would be interesting if it were less turbulent, a characteristic it probably owes to its chief, who is rather boisterous—pardon the expression—and very ambitious. He is more intelligent than many other chiefs. I do not know whether his influence is greater than that of the others, which altogether amounts to very little; but in him, as in many others, there is one thing that will cause us difficulty: polygamy. On returning home I found the chief of Coco, or Dhiaote, who had brought us some yams. It goes without saying that this gift was not disinterested, and I shall tell you this once and for all, my Reverend Father: nothing is given for nothing.

[21]

I shall pass over various details that would merely waste the time required to tell you about an agreement made with the Indigenous people to obtain stone for a well, an undertaking they have not fulfilled. We shall therefore have to travel a league to obtain stone and earth for both the well and an oven. While waiting for the boat on which Brother Jean is working to be finished, the other members of the household are gathering wood or fetching bamboo for repairs. This causes us no little fatigue, especially as we are still horribly tormented by mosquitoes, which give us no rest. Yet this is a case in which misfortune serves some good, because in this way we avoid the surprise attacks of the Indigenous people, who sometimes visit us at night, although they also continue to test their dexterity during the day. We nevertheless have no serious complaints, since we allow only a very small number to enter our house at one time; they naturally coordinate their attempts for the night.

[22]

I told you, my Reverend Father, about the wound Brother Blaise suffered on one leg. I must speak further about this dear child, for whom I am having a kind of bed made so that he may be less uncomfortable than on planks. In addition to the wound on his leg, he has a fever that I hope will disappear by itself. Despite the care we give those among us who are fatigued or ill, it may be said quite truthfully that they are scarcely more privileged than the others, except for the rest they take with all possible goodwill. What can be done when one is destitute of everything? God alone is our physician; nature must therefore bear all the expense of our treatment. Those who are tolerably well have no time to lose. People will be surprised at this, since a house was constructed for us. [p. 9] It is merely a shelter that we share with our animals, and I believe it is a superior’s duty to provide for the health of his fellow workers. This is precisely what leads me to undertake so many journeys.

[23]

Here we are at the first Sunday of Lent. I had hoped to go as far as Baïaot to see whether the seeds we sowed there had fared better than those in our garden, none of which had emerged; but driving rain keeps me at home, where there is no shortage of work either. A missionary always has something to do even when he does not know the language, because he must then study it. That is precisely the position of your servant and son, who will admit to you, to his shame but in complete sincerity, that he is still very ignorant and the most ignorant of the fathers, temporal affairs having occupied him almost continually.

[24]

Now possessing a rather shapeless but very convenient boat, we travel over the sea and along the stream on our property to obtain stone and earth. After many journeys, during which our invalids have had to struggle more than once—for I must tell you that Father Rougeyron joined Brother Blaise among the sick, though only for a few days—we shall construct our well and oven.

[25]

Let us leap over the days, weeks, and months to complete our great work. We are already putting bread, or rather dough, into the oven, and for several days we have been drinking water from our well. These little things console a poor missionary and make him forget the great damage done to his yam field. This resource has been taken from us, our chief having had the greater part removed—or stolen, as you prefer—for some reason unknown to me. Indignant at such conduct, the culprit’s brothers came to bring us some provisions. Naturally, we paid as generously as our poverty allowed.

[26]

You see, my Reverend Father, that I move casually from one subject to another, paying little attention to the sequence and connection of my letter. Speaking of this little digression, I must correct an unforgivable omission. I have told you nothing of the care Father Viard gives to the sick in our vicinity and sometimes to patients who live quite far away. He has sent several of them to heaven; I myself had the consolation of sending a child there. [p. 10]

[27]

I could tell you many good things about Father Rougeyron. You may judge what he is by what he does. As we were extremely busy, he did not consider it beneath him to prepare our meals, even during his illness, which has fortunately given way to health. Brother Blaise’s indisposition has likewise passed, apart from the wound in his leg, which continues to suppurate. Since I have spoken to you of Father Viard, I must tell you that these two gentlemen have made several journeys during which they baptised a number of children, several of whom now pray for the conversion of the island. Our lack of iron and cloth now prevents us from undertaking anything. Whether we like it or not, we must remain stationary, because travel requires food; and as the Indigenous people have had nothing for themselves for several months, it would be very difficult for them to have anything for us, especially for the love of a God they do not know. When we were richer, I made a second journey to Bondé, accompanied by Father Viard and Brother Jean. On this journey we discovered, in addition to marble quarries, a fine slate quarry. Immediately there arose altars and beautiful, well-roofed churches—but only in the poor missionary’s imagination.

[28]

We expected to receive provisions after six or seven months in New Caledonia, and had apportioned our meagre resources of smocks and iron to last for that period. Yet we have now been in New Caledonia for more than a year, and no ship has arrived. A particular yam plantation, which will probably meet the same fate as those we bought from our chief, has cost us much iron and perspiration. The Indigenous people helped us a little with the ditches; the most difficult work was done by us because we had nothing to give anyone for helping us. Nevertheless, we rely heavily upon this plantation, and if this resource is taken from us, I truly do not know what will become of us. We hope it will be respected. Our neighbours steal less than they did at first and have considerable confidence in us. On the strength of our promises to give them presents when our riches arrive, they may well leave us this [p. 11] resource.

[29]

They improve every day, and it was time they did so for our sake. Our oven had scarcely been completed when they stole our boat, which would have been extremely useful, if only for fishing, since our provisions did not last long. You may judge for yourself, my Reverend Father. Our entire fortune consisted of one barrel of fat meat, three barrels of flour weighing ninety kilograms each, and a few preserved foods for the sick. These preserves were eaten by all of us during an illness from which we would all have died had the good Lord not taken pity on us. The illness resulted from eating a fish, unknown to us, that an Indigenous man had brought. You may judge the strength of the poison from three weeks of sickness and the death of one of our cats. We threw it into the water after keeping it for nine days, during which it could not move the smallest part of its body or eat anything at all. We had eaten this same fish once or twice previously, but because we were working very hard and eating poor food, we attributed our discomfort to the difficult circumstances in which we found ourselves. Besides, we had eaten it in moderation, having a few beans to add to it. On this particular day, however, we had eaten a very poor breakfast and threw ourselves upon the fish as you might expect of hungry stomachs that for four months had eaten very poor meals and had sometimes been obliged to content themselves with four coconuts, since taro was not always available. This root is scarcely the equal of our potato and is most often greatly inferior to it, at least when grown without water. Since the Indigenous people knew of our ignorance in this regard, they took great care to sell us the worst they had.

[30]

For several days we have been eating fairly good meals. Having nothing with which to make a little soup, we killed a small pouaca [pig], which we salted as best we could with poor salt manufactured, after a fashion, in a sheet-metal boiler. That boiler has also ceased to exist, and we replaced it with another likewise made by Brother Jean, who has already rendered us many services. If we can obtain a sufficient supply of [p. 12] salt, we shall try our skill on a larger pig. It is useless to give pigs to the Indigenous people, at least for some time yet, because they would kill them immediately, since these animals ravage their plantations. Moreover, as the New Caledonians have nothing to eat during four or five months of the year, they would have still less to give the pigs. The proof is that our chief, to whom we gave one a long time ago, has not even collected it and has yet to give it a coconut. Since there are no plantations around our house, we can let the pigs wander, and indeed we are forced to do so because we would not have enough to feed them. Once settled at Baïacot, we shall have to keep them at home and consequently maintain only a small number. Had our Indigenous neighbours understood their true interests, they would have endured some inconvenience. A hungry belly has no ears, and besides causing the death of three of these animals, they shrug their shoulders whenever they see us give the pigs anything, or feed our chickens, which have often fared very poorly.

[31]

I have told you about our hardships, and even then only the smallest part of them. Barefoot, our clothes in tatters, overwhelmed with work, living in a house that is falling into ruin, and possessing no resources at Mahamate, our present place of residence, we absolutely must move. For that purpose we are preparing timber for a house at Baïaot, but what hardship it entails! We must fetch timber from the mountain to obtain sound wood, since that found on the shore rots after seven or eight months, as happened with our first house. Stone is at hand, but it must still be moved. Our timbers are almost ready, our foundations have been begun, and some of the stone and timber has been gathered. I hope this letter, begun so long ago, will be able to tell you that we are housed and have planted taro, yams, sugar cane, and cotton plants. Perhaps it will also report something that would give me great pleasure: the arrival of several more goats and sheep. That is my dream every day. With livestock, both we and the Indigenous people would possess very considerable resources. Money is required only for that purpose, so far as dealings with the Indigenous people on the island are concerned; and as there are no Europeans here, it is not otherwise needed. Recently, an Indigenous man came to sell us taro. I gave him a piece of poor iron because I had nothing better. I then offered him one ounce of gold worth 86# in our currency, then two, then three, and finally as many as five. It was useless: nothing was better than iron. “Keep that,” he told me in his language, “tiénali, tiénali.”

[32]

Although money is useless to us in dealing with the Indigenous people, a great deal will be needed to support the missionaries and, especially at the beginning, to obtain essential things: flour, wine, iron, cloth, and livestock. Besides money, we would need many workers: sixteen or twenty priests and at least forty brothers. With such reinforcements, everything could proceed at once; we would occupy every locality, and within a few years we would have more than fifty thousand Christians in New Caledonia. No one should be astonished by our hardships: God sends only what one can bear. Besides, the most difficult part has been accomplished. The island’s resources are known, and consideration can now be given to supplying the missionaries with what they require, something that could not be done at the outset when we were venturing into the unknown. Although the New Caledonians practise cannibalism, they are not wicked, and I am convinced that a very few years would suffice to convert them all, especially if we had a few small presents to give them and could provide them with something to eat. That could easily be done if we had livestock, because work would then become easier and we could plant enough—not to feed them, I do not say that, but to give something from time to time to a naturally abstemious people.

[33]

Although we have spent more than a year at Mahamate, and however great our desire to learn about the superstitions of this people, we have [p. 14] discovered very little. They have neither priests nor altars. Nevertheless, they possess the idea of a God, since they have a term expressing it: Dhianoua poualit. They also have some idea of the soul and its immortality. When chiefs are ill, they invoke the last great chief to have died. They go to his grave and perform various ceremonies that we have not been permitted to witness. They also have tapous, or rather a tchéguéne, to which they attribute little power, since they have few scruples about violating it when they are not seen. Although scantily clothed, having only a belt three or four inches wide around their waists, the women are generally modest. They have a house separate from that of the men in which to eat their meals. They are also hardworking, being obliged to gather shellfish, search for a root called hiâlé in their language that tastes somewhat like liquorice, fetch wood for cooking, or carry taro and yams. They are almost always occupied, which should lead one to believe that there are few vices among them, or at least that their vices could easily be eradicated. The men also work, but since their food is poor and scarce, they cannot sustain long and arduous labour. If we had a few trifles, some iron, and beads, we could make use of their labour. New Caledonia is unlike most of the other islands, where one sees almost no children; here they swarm everywhere. It is true that the missionaries would have to bring them together, since their huts are rather scattered. But as they move easily and their huts, shaped like haystacks, require little time to construct, that would be the easiest thing in the world. Without this, however strong the missionaries might be, they would succumb after a few years because the country is extremely rugged. Although the dwellings are very widely dispersed—I mean for the most part, since it is not unusual to find seven or eight hundred people gathered together—there is nevertheless considerable contact among the different tribes. They visit one another often, although they also frequently make war upon one another. [p. 15] Indeed, it is rare for a gathering to occur without bloodshed, usually over trifles, because a chief who has nothing for himself to eat will have had nothing to give those who came to visit him. Their only weapons are the sling and spear, but they use both with such skill that they rarely fail to strike their target at thirty or forty paces. Had I not seen it myself, I could never have believed that a pointed piece of wood seven or eight feet long and half an inch in diameter could pass completely through a year-old pig, yet that is what happened to one of ours. When a person is killed in such encounters, the victorious party eats him. I do not believe, however, that they wage war to obtain this food, although they appear very fond of it. When I become familiar with their history, I shall initiate you, my Reverend Father, into all their mysteries. I could certainly tell you about their beautiful forests and streams, but all that would interest you little. While waiting for the ship to arrive, I may have something further to record. For the present, I think I must once more interrupt this scribbling, although it gives me great pleasure to converse with a father who would have the right to demand everything that could be expected of a son, had he not caused a burden to be laid upon him for which, because of the unworthiness of the person chosen, he will answer before God. This is not affected humility. Although I am at the end of the world, among a people who might be provoked when one least expects it, I am no better for that. I believe myself far worse than when I was in my little room at La Tourette. You will pray, my Reverend Father, and perhaps the good Lord will grant my conversion. I would have continued for a few more moments, but I see that night is approaching, and I shall leave you to recite some of the breviary.

+ Guillaume Douarre — Bishop of Amata

Editorial textual notes

• Paragraph 2: “a small part” was written above the line.
• Paragraph 13: the manuscript reading was corrected from fait to fais.
• Paragraph 14: vertu replaced pouvoir.
• Paragraph 17: “on another occasion” was written above the line.
• Paragraph 20: “so to speak” was added to the manuscript wording.
• Paragraph 27: second was written above the line; couvertes replaced an unfinished wording.
• Paragraph 28: the wording around “we hope” includes a manuscript correction or addition.
• Paragraph 31: “even” was written above the line.
• Paragraph 32: farine replaced fer.