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John Paton's journey to the New Hebrides began on a crisp December day in 1857. At thirty-three, he stood on the cusp of a new life, ordained as a minister and set apart for missionary work. After four months of farewells, he and his wife Mary Ann set sail from Greenock, Scotland, aboard the Clutha.

The voyage to Melbourne, Australia, unfolded under the watchful eye of Captain Broadfoot, a kind-hearted Scot who led daily worship on deck. Paton found joy in conducting Bible classes for crew and passengers alike.

In Melbourne, they transferred to the American ship Frances P. Sage, bound for Penang, Malaysia. The captain agreed to drop them at Aneityum in the New Hebrides for a fee. The contrast between the two ships was stark – where the Clutha had been a haven of quiet order, the F. P. Sage roiled with noise and profanity.

After twelve tumultuous days at sea, they arrived at Aneityum, New Hebrides. The captain, however, refused to land them. A solution came in the form of Dr. Geddie, a fellow missionary already stationed on the island, who arrived with boats to ferry them ashore.

The transfer of their fifty boxes to smaller vessels was fraught with peril. As they pulled away from the F. P. Sage, its davit - a small crane used for lowering boats - caught and broke the mainmast of the mission's schooner. Paton narrowly saved his wife, Mary Ann, from being crushed. With their main vessel disabled and the F. P. Sage sailing away, they found themselves adrift at sea.

Now at the mercy of the currents, they faced the terrifying prospect of drifting towards Tanna, an island of cannibals. The crew, consisting of Paton, Dr. Geddie, and native helpers, rowed desperately against the current. 

After hours of grueling effort under the scorching tropical sun, they were able to avoid the current’s pull toward cannibal-inhabited Tanna, and reached the shores of Aneityum. The date was August 30, 1858 – four months and fourteen days since their departure from Scotland.

Upon arrival, they were warmly greeted by the wives of the missionaries already established on Aneityum: Mrs. Geddie, Mrs. Inglis, and Mrs. Mathieson. These women, along with their husbands Dr. Geddie and Dr. Inglis, had been working on the island for some time. The Christian natives of Aneityum also welcomed the newcomers.

Paton and his companions gave thanks for their safe arrival, keenly aware of the dangers they had narrowly escaped at sea. In the days that followed, they began the work of establishing new mission stations. They purchased land, laid foundations, and prepared for the challenges ahead. The plot purchased for John and Mary Ann Paton to begin their mission was on a neighboring island, the cannibal-inhabited Tanna. They along with their companions, the Copelands and The Mathiesons. They would take up two missions on either side of the island, spread far enough apart that little help would come from each other. 

Yet even as they built their new homes, they remained unaware of the insidious danger posed by their proximity to the shore – the dreaded malaria that would prove to be their most formidable foe in the years to come.

Long before John G. Paton set foot on the shores of the New Hebrides, brave souls had already begun the work of spreading Christianity to these islands. Their stories, filled with sacrifice and hope, laid the foundation for all that was to come. To understand Paton's journey, one must first look back to those who came before.

The story of Christianity in the New Hebrides began with blood and sacrifice. In 1839, John Williams and his young companion Harris stepped onto the shores of Erromanga. Within moments, their lives were brutally cut short, their bodies becoming a gruesome feast for the very people they had come to save. Yet in this tragedy, a seed was planted - the islands were claimed for Christ, baptized in the blood of His martyrs.

Three years later, Turner and Nisbet arrived on Tanna, determined to pierce the heart of darkness. For seven harrowing months, they endured persecution that would have broken lesser men. Forced to flee by night, they found themselves adrift on dangerous seas. Divine providence intervened - a passing whaling vessel, defying custom, rescued the beleaguered missionaries. This unexpected deliverance led them to Samoa, where their work would flourish beyond their wildest dreams.

Despite repeated attempts, Christianity struggled to take root in these isles of shadow. It wasn't until 1848 that a foothold was finally established. John Geddie and his wife landed on Aneityum, soon joined by John Inglis and his spouse. Against all odds, the natives showed interest from the start. Within a few short years, 3,500 souls had renounced their idols and embraced the true God.

But perhaps the most remarkable chapter in this tale of transformation was yet to come. The Aneityumese, having tasted the sweetness of God's Word, yearned for more. For fifteen long years, they toiled in the arrowroot fields, setting aside their harvest as an offering to the Lord. Their labor of love bore fruit in the form of the first Bible ever written in their tongue, its printing paid for by fifteen years of harvesting arrowroot.

In this crucible of faith, the New Hebrides was forever changed. It was into this legacy of dedication and perseverance that John G. Paton would soon step, carrying forward the torch lit by these early pioneers.

After a time of planning and preperation, John and Mary Ann Paton arrived on the shores of Tanna, one of the islands in the New Hebrides archipelago, with a mixture of hope and trepidation. Their hearts filled with a combination of horror and pity at their first sight of the Tannese natives. Their painted, naked state was a stark contrast to the life they had left behind in Glasgow. For a fleeting moment, John questioned his decision to come to this remote island. Could these seemingly degraded creatures be taught right from wrong, let alone be Christianized?

Yet, this initial dismay quickly gave way to a deep interest in the Tannese and a burning desire to lead them to Jesus. Paton's hope was fueled by what he had witnessed on Aneityum, the nearby island where his fellow missionaries Geddie and Inglis had established their work. There, the remarkable transformation of the natives had been nothing short of miraculous. Tanna, by contrast was a place of spiritual darkness, corruption, and danger. 

Paton and Dr. Inglis, who had temporarily accompanied him to help establish the new mission, immediately set to work building a house. The Tannese watched with curiosity and fear as the wooden structure began to take shape. They gathered in crowds, chattering incessantly and departing each day with increasing wonderment. Paton mused that they likely thought the missionaries mad rather than wise.

As they labored on the house, the true nature of their new home revealed itself in a sudden and terrifying manner. Paton and Dr. Inglis noticed party after party of armed men going and coming in a state of great excitement. To their surprise and concern, many of these natives carried muskets - a clear sign that European traders had already introduced firearms to the island. The missionaries had a few Aneityumese converts along as assistants. They had come to teach the missionaries the language and culture. Their Aneityumese companions informed them that war was afoot, but assured them that the Harbor people would only act defensively and that no one would molest their work.

However, this assurance proved false when two hostile tribes met near their station. High words arose, and old feuds were revived. The Inland people withdrew, but the Harbor people, breaking their promises, flew to arms and rushed past the missionaries in pursuit of their enemies. The peaceful construction site transformed into a corridor of chaos as warriors streamed by, their faces painted in grotesque patterns of red, black, and white, twisted feathers adorning their hair, and many clutching their prized muskets.

Suddenly, the air erupted with the sharp cracks of musket fire and the blood-curdling yells of the savages. The sounds echoed from the adjoining bush, leaving no doubt that the tribes were now locked in deadly combat. The possession of these powerful weapons had clearly escalated the ferocity and deadliness of their tribal conflicts. Excitement and terror gripped every face Paton could see. Armed men rushed about in every direction, their appearance growing more fearsome by the minute.

Amidst the turmoil, Paton observed a surreal scene that underscored the complex nature of the Tannese culture. While some women fled with their children to places of safety, others remained on the shore close by. These women and girls nonchalantly chewed sugar-cane, laughing and chattering as if their fathers and brothers were engaged in a country dance rather than a bloody conflict.

As the afternoon wore on, the sounds of muskets and the yelling of warriors drew uncomfortably close to the mission site. Dr. Inglis, leaning against a post of the half-built house, spent a moment in silent prayer before turning to Paton. "The walls of Jerusalem were built in troubled times," he said, drawing a parallel to their own perilous situation, "and why not the Mission House on Tanna? But let us rest for this day, and pray for these poor Heathen."

They retreated to a native house temporarily granted to them, where they fervently prayed for all involved in the conflict. As evening approached, the noise of battle gradually receded, suggesting the Inland people were retreating. The people around the mission site began to return to their villages, but the day's violence had left an indelible mark on the missionaries' psyches.

Later, they learned the grim toll of the battle: five or six men had been shot dead. But the horror didn't end there. The bodies of the slain had been carried by the victors from the battlefield to a boiling spring near the head of the bay, less than a mile from where Paton's house was being built. There, in a gruesome ritual, the bodies were cooked and eaten that very night.

The horrors of Tanna were not yet fully revealed to Paton. One evening, as he sat discussing the day's events with Dr. Inglis, the quiet of the night was suddenly shattered by a wild, wailing cry from the surrounding villages. The sound, long-continued and unearthly, chilled Paton to his core.

The next morning, Paton learned the source of the haunting cries. One of the wounded men from the recent battle had succumbed to his injuries during the night. This alone was tragic, but what followed horrified Paton beyond measure. He discovered that when a man died, his widow was strangled to death, her spirit destined to accompany her husband to the afterlife as his servant. The widow had been strangled, and now her body lay beside her dead husband's, both ready to be buried in the sea.

This shocking practice, previously unknown to Paton, brought home the urgency of his mission. Every new scene, every fresh incident, set more clearly before him the benighted condition and shocking cruelties of these Heathen people. Yet, even as his heart sank at the darkness surrounding him, Paton's resolve strengthened. He knew that only by learning their language and sharing the message of God's love could he hope to bring light to this island of shadows. With unwavering faith, he committed himself to the monumental task ahead, determined to transform Tanna as Aneityum had been transformed before it.