The history of the Presbyterian Church in Grand Cayman can be traced back to a shipwreck!

In 1844 Rev. Hope Waddell, a Scot working in Jamaica, felt God was calling him to establish a new mission in Calabar in eastern Nigeria. He obtained permission from Scotland for this venture and set sail from Montego Bay on 11^th January 1845. His account of what happened is told in his book “Twenty Nine Years in the West Indies and Central Africa”. Although the book is largely about Jamaica and Central Africa it does contain this very illuminating section on Grand Cayman. The account is taken up at the point where Mr. Waddell receives an invitation to go to Calabar.

“We hastened to acknowledge the invitation we had received, and assured our new friends of our resolution to carry our proposals into effect, as soon as possible. At the same time we opened a correspondence on the subject, with an influential gentleman in that part of the world, Captain Beecroft, Governor of Fernando Po, through a mutual friend in Liverpool. The following letter from him, received by that friend in July or August 1844, shows the progress of the negotiation:-

I avail myself of this opportunity of communicating to you my proceedings with the kings and chiefs of Old Calabar, relative to the introduction of the Scottish missionaries. On my arrival there, I presented to King Eyamba Mr. Blyth and Mr. Waddell’s letter, explaining at the same time the benefit and good results that would accrue from the education of their children in English learning; and, on the other hand, in teaching how to raise productions of the soil to give in exchange for European manufacture, and thus increase their wealth and commercial importance. I also explained, that so far from taxing the missionaries with an amount of annual payment, they ought rather to make a free gift of a portion of  territory for their habitation, and to contribute an annual sum for their support; as the missionaries were men wholly separate from trade and traders. King Eyamba’s reply was conclusive at once that through Captain T— he had expected the said missionaries last year; and as far as he (King Eyamba) and the gentlemen of Duke  Town were concerned, it was not their wish to charge for the ground. Eyamba  expressed a wish that  they should come out  as soon as possible.”

The receipt of this letter convinced the committee of the necessity of immediate and decided action, unless we meant to abandon the scheme altogether.  But we were in a great strait; for while the way was open, and we were urged on various sides to go forward, we were held back by those on whom we had mainly depended. Could we proceed without them?   It seemed as if we must.  Some new line of action was necessary, and a special meeting of the Presbytery was called to consider it.

The brethren met at Hampden on the 12th September, and resolved on the formation of a  new missionary society for the express purpose of carrying out our design. They also unanimously invited me to be their first agent and representative, both to the churches at home and to the natives of Calabar. Could I hesitate after the solemn consecration, which, in common with all the brethren, I had made of myself to the cause three years before? Happy was I to find that my “true yoke-fellow” was likewise prepared for her part in the new service.  “It will be a sore trial,” said she,  “to leave this place and people, where we have been so long and so happy, and to go with these young children to a new country.  But you must go where the Lord calls you, and it is my duty to go with you.”  I stipulated with the brethren only that my place at Mount Zion should be speedily and efficiently supplied.

The consent of the Scottish Missionary Society having been obtained, to my leaving my station for two years, in order to organize the new society at home and the new mission at Calabar, we prepared to leave Jamaica early in January 1845.  Mr. Edgerley, then catechist at Mount Horeb, offered himself, and, with other assistants, was appointed to follow me to England before the end of the year.  The beloved brother, Jameson, also, I knew, would be ready to join us so soon as be should be required.  We had agreed together, two years previously, sitting under an Aki tree, behind my house, that if either of us should be called on to undertake this new mission, the other would be the first to support him.

The congregation of mount Zion, as might be expected, deeply felt the separation, but acquiesced in it as a duty to God and to their benighted race. “Freely we have received,” said one of the elders, “and freely we must give, when God requires. The good friends in Scotland did not hinder our minister coming to us, and we must not hinder him going to others, when the Lord calls him.” But some of the old Guinea people tried to dissuade us, and, with tears, said, “Don’t go, minister; Guinea country is a bad country; better you stay here. Let them other minister, if they want to go, go themselves.”

Our last Sabbath together was a trying one. I wished to cheer them and myself, but found it no easy thing to do.   We had, indeed, much that was pleasant to look back on, and no cause for dejection as to the future. Yet silent tears flowed from many, and some retired rather than disturb the worship by a more audible expression of their feelings. It was also our regular communion Sabbath, the first of the year, which we required to enjoy without distraction, that we might consecrate ourselves anew to the service of our blessed lord; and he did grant us much of his presence, and carried us comfortably through the duties of that solemn day.

All the next week the kind people filled our house, coming from all the estates, with their presents of yams, fowl, and fruits, for our sea store, and to have a last shake of the hand and sad farewell.  The good people of Horeb also sent abundant supplies of the same kind direct to Montego Bay, where the vessel lay in which we were to make our passage homeward.  With difficulty, at last, yea with a wrench and a pang, we got away from a weeping throng.

What sudden and unexpected changes occur! We sailed on Saturday, 11th January, in the Weymouth, a large, new, and handsome schooner, with seemingly everything in our favour and on Sunday night were wrecked on the east end of Grand Caymans. Going smoothly before a gentle wind, when the captain, his lady, and we passengers were asleep below, and the mate and crew, I fear, were asleep on deck, the vessel, at midnight, suddenly struck, and the shock aroused us all.

“What is the matter, captain?” I cried, as he rushed through the cabin.

“On the reefs, I fear,” he replied, and hastened on deck.

I followed, and what a sight presented itself! The breakers were raging and foaming around us, far as the eye could see ahead, and on both sides, while the vessel was beating and tearing on rocks scarcely below the surface of the water. They might have been seen and heard a mile off, had the watch and officer on duty kept any sort of look-out.

Our children were aroused and dressed quickly; but what was to be done with them did not appear. The captain and crew found there was little they could do to help themselves. His lady bustled about for a while, getting a few things ready for a hasty taking to the boats, if that might seem necessary or possible. But no boat could live in such waters; we were safest for the time in the ship.  When all were at a loss what to do, and found they could do nothing, I called them to join in prayer to God, and felt emboldened to plead, that, as he had given to Paul the lives of all on board with him, so he would deal graciously with us, his poor servants, in our emergency.

The vessel fell over on its side, and everything movable fell over too. There was no sitting possible, except on the floor, and there we sat patiently waiting on the Lord. It was grievous to feel and hear the straining and groaning of the poor ship on the rocks, as the swell of the sea lifted it up and cast it down again, with a crash that made everything start, and seemed fit to split it in pieces. As if It had been a living thing, struggling in the iron grasp of a powerful enemy, our hearts ached for it with a mingled feeling of sympathy and danger.

“Papa, is this a storm?” said our eldest child with touching simplicity, having been lately reading of a boy lost at sea. “Is this a storm, and will we all be drowned here?”

“I don’t like this work at all,” said the next, not five years old. “And, papa, just as soon as morning comes, you must make the ship go back to Cornwall.”      Then her crying changed to laughter, at the vain efforts of the black cabin-boy, to get along the floor towards the pantry, scrambling up, and still sliding down again, as if he had been going up the roof of a house.

The captain comforted us with the assurance that his schooner was new and strong, and would hold together till next day, if the wind and sea should not rise worse than they were; so, trusting in God, we put the little ones to sleep again, and watched over them till morning.

When day dawned, a small low island was visible at some distance, and between it and the reef a lagoon of smooth water.  Ere long, to our great joy, canoes were seen coming off from the shore.   “What benevolent people,” I said; “see how they hasten to our help.” “Wreckers,” said our captain; “that must be their trade. Many vessels have been brought up here all standing;” and he pointed to anchors, chain cables, and fragments of ships lying on the reef, over which the water now lay calm and clear.          A fleet of canoes was making for us, and soon surrounded our helpless craft; when a host of wild, reckless looking, coloured men sprang up the sides, like piratesgreedy for prey.  The head man, advancing to the captain, with one word of pity and two of business,  agreed to take everything ashore, on the usual terms of a half for their trouble.

Then began the work of despoiling the vessel.  The fellows were up the rigging, and over the spars, and everywhere in a moment. Down came the sails and ropes, bundled into the canoes, and off ashore with amazing rapidity.  Up came everything from the hold. The cabin doors, fittings, and furnishings, were by fair or foul means torn off and sent away. The people seemed to vie which would do most, the canoes which would go and return most quickly, striving to strip the wreck during the calm of the morning, before the sea breeze rising should impede their operations.      Some of them were swearing shockingly till rebuked; when they looked surprised, begged pardon, and then shouted to their companions to mind themselves, as there was a “parson” on board.

One of the best canoes and its crew were engaged to take my family ashore; and many women on the beach received the children into their arms with tenderness and pity. The head wrecker’s house was offered for our use, the only one on the coast fit for strangers; for it had two rooms, one above another, connected by a ship’s ladder, while the rest of the dwellings seemed merely fishermen’s huts, and hovels of the poorest description.  The captain, his lady, and crew, their chests and luggage, with us and ours, filled the two apartments.  Yet we had room to worship God together morning and night, and to call in some neighbours to join us. People can do much to accommodate themselves and one another, when they are so disposed; and may be contented and happy under most adverse circumstances, in the blessed company of their heavenly Father.

A public sale of the wreck attracted, a few days afterwards, parties from other places, and among them the owner of a small schooner from George’s Bay, at the west end of the island. It was lying to, at a respectful distance outside the perilous reefs, and afforded us an opportunity of removing from the desolate beach, where we had been cast away.   We proceeded in it to George’s Bay, in the first instance, and thence to New Orleans, the week following, for which port it was then preparing to sail.

To reach the schooner in the offing the reef must be crossed.  There was a passage, but a difficult one, which required good steering. The captain, his lady, and my family went first, in what had been his own boat, rowed by his own men, but steered, at my earnest request, by one of the wreckers, who knew the passage.  The mate and I stayed behind, to see the luggage all off.  It was a moment of intense anxiety while we watched that precious boat re-crossing the reef, now heaved aloft by the great black rolling waves, then seemingly buried among them.  But the Lord had them in his hand, and they were discovered again beyond danger, in the open sea, though soon again lost to sight in the distance, long ere they reached the vessel.

The canoe in which the mate and I went hoisted a sail, and, though loaded with luggage, skimmed like a bird over the smooth lagoon, the rollers on the reef, and the long swell of the sea, and soon brought us in sight of our beloved ones. How happy we were to meet again on that little ship’s deck!

George’s Town, which we reached in the evening of the same day, presented  an attractive appearance in a line of good houses, fronting the bay.  There we found respectable married families, both white and brown, with whom we had agreeable intercourse during the week we remained.  There also were a church and school-house, but neither minister nor teacher; nor was any in the island, though it contains about fifteen hundred inhabitants, and is reckoned a parish of the diocese of Jamaica. There had indeed once been a curate of the English Church for a while in the place, and also a Wesleyan missionary, and a Mico charity school-master, one after another, but all had left, and none had returned, they felt so solitary there out of the world.

It was made known that I would preach on Sabbath, and several hundred people filled the schoolhouse, white, black, and brown.   Between services we had reading classes, and were glad to see the progress many had made, and the desire that all manifested to learn.    A good work had been begun among them, and a great work evidently remained to be done.  With avidity they received all the books and tracts we had to distribute; and implored us to make known their destitute condition, and procure them a missionary. Thence may be traced the very interesting and successful mission of our church in that island, under the Rev. Mr. Elmslie, who settled there the following year.

The Grand Cayman is but a few feet above the level of the sea, with a thin coating of soil on solid rock. There is pasturage for cattle, but no farms.   Even the bush, which can grow where man cannot labour, is stunted.  Yams, cocoas, and plantains are unknown.   “Sweet potatoes will grow in some parts,” said a good woman, “and we all go a  fishing, especially for turtle, to supply the English ships. But, to tell the truth, sir, our main dependence is on the wrecks, and we all thank God when a ship comes ashore.” The Grand Cayman is a trap for ships, and catches more, perhaps, than any other spot of equal extent in the world.      It is on the high road of all West India vessels, homeward bound, and of all outward bound for New Orleans, Havannah, and other ports in the Gulf of Mexico; while the never-ceasing current varies, sometimes, with the trade wind, both in force and direction, sweeping one time north and another time south of the island.    Seamen, who don’t want to call there for turtle, give it a wide berth; but sometimes, as in our case, when they had reckoned themselves thirty miles off it, find their ships crashing on its reefs.

Anchors and chain cables were lying all over the beach.  Fragments of ships seemed to form part of most of the common people’s houses.

The burial-place took my attention as peculiarly neat and simple.   The graves were marked, not by mounds of earth and headstones, or great massive tombs, but by houses in miniature, just large enough each to cover one person; mostly about six feet long, two feet broad, and one and a half high, with a sloping roof and full gable end, in which was inserted a small slab containing the name of the occupant, his age, and the day on which he entered his narrow home, “the house appointed for all living.” They were well built, white, and clean, and, of course, of all sizes.  Sometimes a row of them close to one another indicated a family place of sepulture.  The want of sufficient depth of earth for an ordinary grave, perhaps, led to the adoption of this literal necropolis.

The evening before we sailed from George’s Bay a sloop came into harbour in great style, flying colours, firing guns, and hurrahing.  “Glorious news,” cried a man jumping on board; “the five poor fellows that were lost three months ago have come safe home again.”  It appeared that these men out fishing had been blown off the island, some months previously, in a hurricane, which had swept over the west end of Cuba and neighbouring seas.  Their friends mourned for them as lost; but an American ship had picked them up and landed them on the Mosquito shore. Thence they found their way to Ruatan island, where Cayman sloops went a turtleing and found them.

On the 22nd we left the Grand Cayman for New Orleans, in that small schooner of forty tons, with two captains, two mates, two crews, and the colonel of the island militia, the owner of the little craft, in command of all.     It was never designed for passengers, and certainly the accommodation for so many was sadly deficient; but the master did what he could to make us comfortable; and we were thankful to get soon and safely forward on our voyage. Besides our own wrecked crew, he had the mate and carpenter of the Curlew of Liverpool, lost a short time before on the Jardinelles, off the south coast of Cuba.