ORDER OF PREACHERS
The Dominican Family
Trinidad & Tobago

THE DIARY OF FR. COTHONAY, O.P.
Missionary Priest from France

PART ONE

October 1882 – January 1884

CHAPTER 1

Goodbye to France — A Terrifying Storm — Holy Mass on Board Ship —
Landing in Trinidad

Port of Spain (Trinidad)
October 25, 1882.

Reverend Fathers and dear Brothers,

Praised be God and the Immaculate Virgin! I have just landed safe and sound in the island of Trinidad, my new homeland, in which I am destined to live and which I will try to be fond of so as to do as much work as possible for the glory of the divine Master.

Before you embraced me, perhaps for the last time, in Switzerland [After the expulsion of the religious orders from France in 1880, the Dominicans of the province of Lyons established their novitiate and house of studies in Le Valais, Switzerland. In 1883 these establishments were transferred to Rijckholt, Limburg, in Holland] you made me promise to write to you often and tell you about the New World to which I was going and the unfamiliar people to whom God was sending me. I am keeping my word and on the day after my arrival I am beginning to write what I will call my diary. I will talk to you from time to time of the little experiences of my life as a missionary. Perhaps I may provide some occasional source of recreation for you. I shall be amply repaid if, in return, you help me by your prayers to do some good for souls.

Were it not for a misfortune that befell me I should not have to write to you today about my voyage. While on board ship I had written a long letter which I put in a leather bag hanging in my cabin. On one of the last days at sea, between Martinique and St Lucia, a robber, thinking no doubt that he would find a fortune in it, had the cruelty to steal the bag. Fortunately the bag was not worth much but it contained some precious papers, among them the first instalment of my diary. What a pity! You could have read my first impressions, still fresh, of my first long sea voyage, impressions which I now find difficult to recall. The written word is lasting, scripta manent [what is written remains]; but impressions are gone with the wind.

We made the crossing on the Lafayette, a magnificent steamer of the Compagnie Transatlantique, which put up a firm resistance against the fury of the ocean. It needed to as I will show you presently. But how can I describe to you how I felt at this solemn moment of departure? You will remember, no doubt, the touching lines composed by the late regretted Père Marie–François Ribon. I know of no better way of describing my feelings. This is what he wrote:

1.

Adieu, dear land of France.
Adieu, for I shall not return.
I leave behind the hope
Of seeing you some day.
This sacrifice I make
For love of my God.
How bitter is this chalice!
Adieu, dear France, adieu.

2.

Adieu, O holy monastery,
My happiness, my treasure.
My heart still goes back
To the altar of the Rosary
To ask Our Blessed Lady
To save us from danger,
To make the sea be good
For all of us on board.

3.

Adieu, my dearest mother.
I understand your grief,
And that bitter sorrow
Cuts through my heart.
Let us offer God our tears
That one day in heaven
We shall taste the pleasure
Of happiness eternal.

4.

Adieu, my fellow soldiers
Comrades of the battlefield,
Memories full of charm
For the heart of a soldier.
On foreign shores
We shall think of you.
Adieu, beloved friends.
Pray earnestly for us.

During the first days of the voyage, Rev Père Elzéar Britton suffered much from seasickness, but he bore his suffering with courage and patience. Rev Père Hyacinthe Bariou, like a proven sailor, was as much at home on sea as on land. He was able to say mass every morning. I was equally fortunate, which shows that I was not unduly troubled by seasickness.

What a wonderful thing it is to say mass in the middle of the ocean. The three of us shared a cabin. Every morning we prepared the altar and for a little while Jesus, Our Lord, became our companion on the voyage. There on fragile boards with the abyss of sky overhead and the depths of the sea beneath us we could hold in our poor hands, while travelling to far–off places, Him who has made all things and who is greater than all heights and depths. Every time it was a moving experience. I shall long remember those sixteen masses I said on my way from Europe to Trinidad. They mark my passage like a trail of light, a precious memory for me. While saying mass on board for the last time the steamer was passing through the Dragon's Mouth and entering the Gulf of Paris, at the end of which the town of Port of Spain is situated. Through the small skylight of the cabin I saw the green islands and I longed to be able to enjoy the spectacle of tropical nature. They seemed so novel and so beautiful, these islands rising out of the water which was as calm as a lake in the mysterious light of the rising sun.

After mass I continued my acts of thanksgiving on the deck and I can assure you that it was easy to raise one's heart to God. A magnificent panorama was spread out before us. To the right, a number of green islands were reflected on the surface of the water; to the left the chain of mountains in the north of Trinidad, and the sun rising behind them; finally, in front of us the beautiful Gulf of Paria, as clear as glass. In the delightful little bays all around us we could make out small houses, some of them rather pretty, under the shade of coconut palms. Like huge umbrellas those trees seemed to be sheltering them from the sun.

And so we finally reached land, and our joy was all the greater as everyone had at one time thought we should never reach it. For in mid–Atlantic the Lafayette ran into a hurricane. This was on October 14. The storm began about eight in the morning; by eleven o'clock even the most experienced sailors were frightened, wondering whether the ship would sink. I cannot describe the consternation of the passengers who a few hours earlier had been so gay. The ship, which is about 330 feet in length, was tossed about like a nutshell by the mountainous waves. The sea swept over the deck and spilled down into the saloons and cabins, spreading terror among the passengers. Almost everything on the decks was swept away and on the following day one could see the marks of the foam on the tops of the tall red funnels of the ship. Nobody was killed but several of the crew suffered broken legs or arms. A subscription was taken up for these unfortunate sailors. Père Elzéar was nearly crushed. The piano in the saloon, shaken abruptly from its position, was thrown thirty feet across the floor towards where he was sitting. Fortunately, a corner of the table prevented further harm being done. As for myself, I was lucky to escape serious injury. I was thrown across the saloon. I could easily have got my head broken but I escaped with minor bruises.

We had on board several unbelievers and freethinkers. I can assure you they lost their boldness when faced with the storm. Among them were some young Venezuelans returning home from universities in France and Germany. They had made fun of us all during the voyage and solemnly declared to us that they did not believe in God. But in the moment of danger they gathered around us, making elaborate signs of the cross, recited acts of contrition out loud, adding from time to time: “O Maria santísima!” They begged us not to leave them, so that we might give them absolution when all hope would be lost. The storm was indeed an excellent touchstone for putting these so–called unbelievers and freethinkers to the test.

No doubt you are wondering how I felt at this terrible moment. When I saw the sea rising and falling, I was not at first very troubled at the prospect of seeing a storm. Trusting in the power of the ship, I think I was one of the last to be aware that there was any danger. But when I was talking to an old ship's captain who had faced the fury of the waves for forty years, he suddenly exclaimed: “I have never seen such a sea. We could very well go down.” These words, I must admit, made me shiver and I became as terrified as the others. That morning I had said mass. Several times I made an act of contrition as best I could and offered myself in sacrifice if such were the will of God. However, I said to myself; “This missionary apostolate is going to be very short,” and though I hoped that God would take my good intentions into account, I must say I felt sad at the thought.

The experts said that the danger would last from about eleven in the morning until three in the afternoon. After that an announcement was made that we were escaping from the grip of the hurricane, but the sea was still awful until evening. However, about six o'clock it was possible to think of having something to eat. Ham sandwiches were distributed, to which our stomachs, empty since the previous night, did justice, as you can well imagine. Nevertheless some people were so agitated and terrified that they were unable to eat. During the night the sea calmed down and when morning came I celebrated mass in thanksgiving for our deliverance.

And now that I feel solid ground under my feet, have I not one more reason for spending my life in the service of the divine Master? May I remain faithful to Him until the end, and do all I can to make him known and loved by the people to whom He has sent me. Servus tuus sum ego. “I am your servant, O God.”

About nine in the morning we landed in Trinidad where we were greeted with open arms by the superior of the mission and all the other religious as brothers whose coming was anxiously awaited.

Permit me to finish at this point a letter that is already too long. Next time I will tell you about Trinidad of which I have not yet seen very much.

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