The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Bounty Boy, by Frank Thomas Bullen

A BOUNTY BOY

A Bounty Boy

Being some Adventures of a Christian
Barbarian on an unpremeditated Trip
Round the World

By

Frank T. Bullen, F.R.G.S.

Author of “The Cruise of the Cachalot,”
“With Christ at Sea,” etc.

LONDON
HOLDEN & HARDINGHAM
ADELPHI
1912.

To
Dr. ROBERT F. HORTON
IN LOVING ADMIRATION

PREFACE

This perhaps should rather be called a prefatory note, since all the introduction to my book that I deem necessary is to say that in it I have endeavoured to sketch a community for whom I have the highest admiration, the descendants of the mutineers of the Bounty, who I maintain are a standing proof of the miraculous power of the Gospel in the regeneration of mankind when unhindered by sacerdotal interference. And in order to make the subject as full as possible, I have taken one typical islander, the Bounty Boy, out of his surroundings into the world, and told his adventures therein with a view of showing how the Christian who is one indeed may fare.

FRANK T. BULLEN.

Melbourn, Cambs.,
September, 1907.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I A Christmas Bounty

Fifty years ago, in a primitive but comfortable house situated in one of the fairest spots that this world can show, a group of men and women were holding a prayer meeting. An unobserved listener who had been accustomed to such gatherings elsewhere would have been at once impressed by the perfect naturalness of these people, in that not one of them behaved differently from how we should expect a happy family to act in the presence of their parents while one of them was relating some interesting experience. There was no self-conscious posing for effect, no making of long prayers composed of meaningless repetitions with an occasional verse of Scripture or of a hymn thrown in for effect, no unnatural groaning or shouting, all was quiet, sweet, and delightful.

But truly, never did a body of Christians exercise their privileges under more heavenly conditions upon this earth. Through the open sides of the house could be seen in one direction a delectable stretch of pasture land interspersed with graceful trees and edged by dazzlingly white sand, beyond which lay a vast sapphire space flecked with snowy-topped wavelets, whose diamond spray glittered rejoicingly under the glowing beams of the fervent sun. In the opposite direction tree-clad hills sprang from emerald meadows and cultivated land, soaring upward until the fleecy cloud forms kissed their summits lovingly as they gently glided past, flecking the smiling verdure beneath with patches of softest shade and thus enhancing the beauty of the picture.

Yes, it was a fair spot to the eye, as any one who knows Norfolk Island can testify, but that to the worshippers was not the greatest of their many blessings. Time had been, and that not long before, when this earthly paradise was polluted and degraded by the presence of the very dregs of humanity, the lees of the convict settlements of New South Wales; and it would be hard to say which was worst, the crimes for which they were being punished, or the nameless horrors to which they were subjected in excess of legal punishment. Happily that evil blot had been removed from the lovely island, and now it was peopled by a tiny community of less than two hundred, who were, it is safe to say, quite near attainment of the heavenly state on earth, and consequently were as happy as it is possible for man to be while bearing about with him the body of physical death.

Here the worship of God, free from any idea of form or ceremony, was as natural to all as their ordinary conversation. Crime and vice were unknown as was wealth, possessions were practically held in common, sickness and disease and their necessary concomitant the doctor had no place, and a spirit of idyllic simplicity reigned, of sweet contentment and peace such as has never been known elsewhere in any other community whatever.

Now on this particular Christmas Day the meeting of which I spoke at the beginning of the chapter had a special significance. The fifteen or sixteen persons composing it had met together to celebrate, not Christmas merely, but the birth of a babe who was hourly expected. It would not be fair to say that they were special friends or relations of the parents in a community where no enmity existed and where all were more or less related to one another, better to say that they were just those who could most conveniently be there on a day when every household was celebrating in purest fashion the coming of the Babe of Bethlehem. And these particular friends were in specially bright and happy mood, for to them the expected event bore a double character. So they passed the time in the pleasant exercises of which I have spoken, their petitions being singularly free from suggestions that the mother elect or the coming babe were in any danger, until suddenly the door of the one inner apartment was thrown open, and a splendidly handsome man appeared bearing the welcome infant, which plunged, squalled, and gave other vigorous tokens of his conscious entrance to the world of sense.

As if with one accord and in perfect harmony all burst into the glorious old song “Angels from the realms of glory,” singing with all their heart in their voices. And as the lovely strains of the refrain died away, a sweet voice from within cried, “Thank you all, dear ones; I’m so happy.” A glad response went up from all, and then, after duly admiring the boy, the visitors strolled away, all but two, to spread the glad news among the community that another dear life had arrived to share their happy lot.

Now this was a particularly happy occasion, for the parents of the new comer were, in a society where all were friends, all were stalwart, healthy and handsome, pre-eminently so. Grace, the mother, who had only been married to Philip Adams some eighteen months, had been the acknowledged beauty of the island, no mean honour where all the girls were beautiful. She was also exceedingly beloved by all the women and men alike, nor was there a trace of jealousy of her, that hateful weed that poisons so many lives. Moreover, she was an accomplished musician, and had for a long time filled the post of teacher of that precious acquirement of singing (they had no instruments), with the result that their choir, which comprised nearly the whole of them, would have taken high rank anywhere, except that the vocal exercises were almost wholly confined to hymns, just a very few old songs, such as the “Land o’ the Leal,” “Robin Adair,” “Allan Water,” etc., making up the balance.

Philip, her husband, was a prime favourite too, but for his high manly qualities allied to a simple and gentle nature that invited as well as gave confidence to all. He was awarded, without claiming it, the chief place in the island as the strongest swimmer, the swiftest runner and the most expert boatman, as well as the hardest worker of them all. And those were the qualities that appealed to these children of nature next to their supreme adoration of the good and true. Physically he was easily first of the community, standing six feet six inches on his bare feet, forty-five inches round the chest, with a perfect mouth of teeth; and at the time of the birth of his first child he had never known an hour’s illness in his life.

Thus it will be seen that the entrance of our hero upon life’s arena was one that any monarch might vainly covet for his child, one indeed that left nothing to be desired, even though his surroundings were almost as primitive as those which encompassed the birth of the Babe of Bethlehem. In fact, I feel sure that I shall be accused of painting too idyllic a picture of the conditions which obtained in Norfolk Island at that date, and I hope and believe in a great measure in both Norfolk and Pitcairn Islands to-day; but when I recall the great mass of unbiassed testimony to all these facts which is easily available, I feel much comforted in the belief that my readers will rejoice with me in the knowledge that so happy a people have been and are existing in the simple light of the Gospel.

But we must return to the scene in the house after the guests had gone singing away. The two remaining were John Young, father of the mother, and Christian Adams, father of Philip, their respective wives being in the inner room with the mother. As soon as Philip had handed back his son to the women he returned to the society of the elder men, who were both of them splendid specimens of manhood in the prime of middle age or between forty and fifty. It must be noted in passing that, strange as it may seem to our exotic notions of hospitality, there was nothing set before these guests to drink: the water jar stood in the corner with a coco-nut shell to drink out of; there was no tobacco, there were no chairs, only clean soft mats upon the spotless floor; and yet they were perfectly happy because none of these things had become desirable or necessary to them.

As Philip stretched his great limbs on the mat by the side of his father, the latter looked round at him lovingly and said, “What are you going to call the babe, Philip?”

“Ha! ha!” laughed Philip. “I’ve thought of the finest name for him you ever heard, and I want you to guess what it is. I’ve told Grace about it, and she is delighted, says it’s just a splendid idea. Now guess.”

The two elder men ran through practically every name on the island; truly there was not much variety, for, as some of you know, these happy folk have always seemed averse from using any but a certain set of well-known names. But to all their suggestions Philip laughingly shook his head until his father’s brow clouded a little and he said, “I hope you haven’t got any high-falutin names out of some book; it will savour of sinful pride if you have.”

“No, father,” cried Philip, “but what do you say to Christmas Bounty Adams?”

Up sprang the two men to their feet in such delight that it seemed as if they must leap into the air.

“Why that is the most splendid set of names in all the world. Christmas Bounty Adams! Well, he’s a lucky fellow, and I only hope he’ll be a Christmas bounty all the days of a long life. And now, if the wife can spare you—she’ll do with a little sleep, I’m sure—we’ll stroll round and tell our friends this fresh bit of news, they will all be so pleased.”

Only pausing to peep in at his wife for a moment Philip rejoined the two elder men, and together they strode through the beautiful glades with the sound of gladsome song ringing in their ears on every hand, in tune with their overfull hearts.

Very briefly, for the story should be well known, let me recall the circumstances of these primitive folk being on Norfolk Island. Most people know the romantic story of the mutiny of the Bounty, and how, after scenes of bloodshed and riot as bad as can be imagined, the mutineers and their descendants, on their little island home of Pitcairn, turned to God and became as little children in their simple, loving faith. Not so many, however, are aware that in 1831, some forty years after their first landing on Pitcairn, they outgrew their small territory, and at their own request many of them were conveyed to Tahiti. The gross immorality of the natives of that lovely island, however, so dismayed them that they sacrificed the only available wealth they possessed, the copper bolts of the old Bounty, and purchased a passage back to their beloved Pitcairn. They managed to maintain themselves there, although much straitened for room, until in 1855, two years before my story opens, the British Government, having discontinued the use of Norfolk Island as a penal settlement, granted it to as many of them as cared to migrate thither, a privilege which was taken advantage of by between two and three hundred of them.

And although they never wavered in their earnest affection for the little island that had seen their first emergence into the shining light of the Gospel, they evinced the same sweet spirit of contentment, coupled with energy, in all they undertook, so that in about a year they were as fully and completely settled there as could possibly be, and were, if anything, more passionately fond of England, a land they never saw, than ever they had been. Thus, having cleared the way as it were, let me go on to say that in addition to the features of natural beauty which I have already enumerated, Norfolk Island is the centre of a most prolific haunt of sperm whales, and the capture of these gigantic and dangerous mammals is one of the chief pursuits of the agile islanders, who are probably about the best boatmen in the world. For in addition to their wonderful whaling skill, the practice of landing in the tremendous surf that beats upon the harbourless coast has made them very expert in this most difficult art, while in the water they are, like their maternal ancestors the Tahitians, almost amphibious.

Now, as the three men strolled along they were continually invited as they passed the pretty houses to come in and join in the general rejoicings that were afoot, the singing and thanksgiving; for all this people’s joys were intimately associated with their simple faith; their religion, bright and happy, was not merely a part of their life, but the whole, the mainspring of all they thought and said and did. And as the three were nothing loth, besides having their bit of news to communicate, their progress was but slow. Still, eventually they reached the abode of their venerable pastor, who was not only the shepherd of this peaceful, docile flock, but teacher and magistrate, or rather arbitrator since there were no evil-doers to punish. He received them literally with open arms, and having heard their news lifted up his voice in praise and solemnly blessed them, promising to visit them the next day in their homes and view the wonderful new baby.

Then as the day was wearing to a close practically the whole population came joyously down to the shore, and there more like a school of porpoises than men and women, boys and girls, they disported in the limpid waves, swimming and living until, healthily wearied, they regained the shore and sought their several homes.

Philip and Grace, overflowing with happiness, knelt by the side of the babe and solemnly commended him to their loving Almighty Friend, asking only that he might grow to be a good man amongst good men, preserving the golden tradition of the community, and if it should please God that he should wander from their shores as some of their brethren had done, that he might always present to the eyes of those with whom he associated the pattern of a man of God. Then they took their simple meal of fruit and bread and milk and went to rest.

CHAPTER II A Whale Hunt

Happy, says the proverb, is the nation that has no history. And since history is so largely made up of the unspeakable horrors of war with all its attendant retinue of resultant miseries, there would really seem to be more truth in this proverb than in most. Yet it must not be forgotten that, surfeited as we are with tales wherein all those things that make life a burden almost too grievous to be borne are set forth in hideous detail, it is no easy task to make a peaceful narrative interesting nowadays. As difficult as to wean the epicure’s palate from highly seasoned and mysteriously concocted dishes back to the simple luxuries of childhood.

Nevertheless it is an inestimable privilege to be allowed to try, and I do hope to show that these simple happy folk possessed the true grit and manliness that all must admire while being totally free from that whining hypocrisy and hateful assumption of spurious virtue that makes the world generally disgusted with so many professed religionists. And here let me say that these happy islanders were what they were from love of the infinitely good and in no wise from the fear of a punishing hell too terrible even to be thought of by their simple trustful minds.

Very early the next morning, Grace, in perfect health and strength, and in accordance with time-honoured custom, took her babe down to the sea and bathed him in those waters which henceforth would be as familiar to him as the dry land. And as she laved his tiny limbs in the shining waves, she noted with swelling heart how strongly and sturdily he kicked, and she longed to take him in her arms and plunge into deep water at once. But she realized that so severe an ordeal could not be good for him, and although she sorely missed her morning swim, was about to return when she heard her husband’s voice behind her.

“Give him to me, Grace,” he cried.

“Thank you, dear,” she replied, and laying the babe in his strong arms, she turned back and sprang joyously into the sea, plunging and flashing through the surf like a fish or a seal in the perfect abandonment of delight that these children of the wave know when in the element they love so well. Prudence restrained her from going too far yet, so in a few minutes she returned, and taking the crowing babe from Philip she sat sedately down upon a fallen tree trunk and watched her mighty husband as he in turn hurled himself through the surf and sported like a porpoise. His bath over, they returned to their home and breakfasted as they had supped, simply and heartily, and then, leaving Grace to receive the visits of matrons and maidens who would presently come trooping along, he departed to his work of cultivating their tiny fields.

But it was ordained that on this eventful day he was not to remain long at that peaceful task. He had not been thus engaged for more than an hour when a long-drawn cry arrested his attention and caused him to drop the tool he was using. It was the signal, well known to them all, that whales were coming close in; the watcher on a high overhanging cliff had spied them and sent his powerful voice ringing across the settlement, from which came hurrying an eager company ready for the great combat with the monsters of the deep. They gathered round the boats where, carefully covered in against the fervent heat of the sun, these precious craft lay waiting with all the gear, harpoons, lances, lines, etc., neatly stored in a shed by their sides.

Swiftly and with hardly a word their boats were equipped, the necessary preparations made, and in less than half an hour from the first sounding of the alarm the two boats, with six men in each, were launched and springing seaward under the pressure of five long ash oars wielded by men who were almost insensible to fatigue and whose rowing was a wonder and a delight to behold.

The watcher on the cliff guided them by means of well understood signs, that is, he made a human semaphore of himself, for it is not until very near to whales that men in boats can see them, and moreover the sperm whale does not send aloft a high column of vapour into the air as do other whales. His breathings are copious, but owing to the shape and position of the spiracle or blow-hole, the thick, highly charged breath spreads itself in a cloud immediately upon leaving his body. And that cloud does not ascend, it is thrust forward ahead of the whale, and being heavier than the air only spreads and gradually settles.

So guided by the look-out man, they laid to their oars with great energy, pulling with a peculiarly noiseless stroke. The blades entered the water cleanly and gripped it so firmly that the tough ash of the looms bent like the lower half of a fishing-rod when catching tarpon. There was no noise either from the rowlocks, for they were padded with thick mats covered with green hide and kept well greased. This great care to preserve silence is absolutely necessary, for although as far as we can tell the sperm whale has little or no sense of hearing as we understand it, he is peculiarly susceptible to strange sounds, and the accidental clatter of an oar on a gunwale is quite sufficient to alarm a school of whales at over a mile’s distance. What this other sense which answers the purpose of sight, scent, and hearing may be we do not know, we can only imagine; like so many other matters connected with the mysterious life of the whale it is hidden from us.

For an hour they thus toiled at the oar, being by that time several miles from the land they had left, so far indeed that even their keen sight could hardly distinguish the movements of their ally on the cliff, and then at the raising of the leader’s hand they all ceased from their labour, lay on their oars and gazed keenly around. No sign of whale or spout was visible; but that only meant that it would be well to pause awhile, because the probability was that the creatures they were hunting had, according to their usual custom, sounded or gone down in quest of food.

Now as they did not know what the approximate size of the whales might be, they could only wait and watch, for small whales may only remain below from twenty minutes to half an hour, while full-sized bulls have been known to remain under water for as long as ninety minutes. Of course they kept good watch and patient withal, but when an hour had gone by and no sign came, each man felt that it was useless prolonging the quest. So they only waited now for the signal to return, being in any case too far from the land for a successful capture, that is, to get their enormous prize home, supposing they did slay one.

The signal was soon given, and without a word of regret or grumbling, the boats’ heads were turned shoreward, and with a leisurely stroke they began to retrace their way. There being no necessity now for silence, the boats’ crews, as their custom was, began to sing, raising their tuneful voices in the melodious strains of some well-known hymn, until Philip suddenly lifted his hand in an authoritative gesture, at which singing and rowing stopped simultaneously. Without a word, all eyes being fixed upon him, he pointed ahead, where within a cable’s length all saw the lazy spout of a whale, almost like a puff from a big pipe, rise from the sea.

With great care the oars were peaked, that is, the inner ends of them were drawn inboard until they could be tucked into circular cleats prepared for them, and short, broad paddles were produced, by means of which the boats were quite noiselessly propelled towards the unconscious whale. Philip, perched on a pair of cleats in the stern, guided the boat, which was well ahead of her sister, as she silently stole nearer the victim. Presently Philip swung his boat round, making the signal to the harponeer to spring to his feet with his weapon as the boat glided alongside the quiet monster. And, then to the amazement of everybody, Philip shouted, “Put that iron down, Fletcher! This whale is safe from us. Look, boys!” All hands did look, and saw that the object of their pursuit was a cow with a calf clinging to her huge breast, the nipple held in the angle of its immature jaw.

The boat lay perfectly still until the other boat came up, Philip raising his hand to warn his father that something unusual had occurred. The new-comer swung alongside as Philip had done, and all hands stared at the pretty sight. And owing to their habit of thought, every one of those strong men understood intuitively why Philip had countermanded the attack, and not at all considering the loss to themselves in a monetary sense, fully agreed with him. So they lay on their oars and watched the mother, as supremely happy she lolled upon the shining sea and felt her offspring draining the life-giving milk. Then suddenly turning over on the other side to present the other breast, for the young whale cannot suck under water, she became aware of the presence of intruders and sank, settled noiselessly, leaving scarcely a ripple to mark the spot where she had been.

As soon as she had disappeared Philip cried, “Out oars, boys, and let’s get home,” following up his order by breaking out into song, in which all the twelve lustily joined in perfect harmony until nearing the beach, upon which the vast rollers of the Pacific, despite the glorious weather, broke in massive rollers topped with dazzling foam. A sweep or two of the steering oars and the graceful craft swung round head to seaward, and as the mighty combers came irresistibly shoreward just a measured stroke or two was made to meet them. Then, when the boats had mounted the glowing crests of the breakers, the oars were peaked and they were borne shorewards upon the shoulders of the advancing hill of water until they touched the beach, when every man but the steersmen sprang overboard, and snatching the gunnels of the boats rushed beachwards, digging their toes into the yielding sand as the retreating wave swept past them, until it was gone and they were all high ashore.

This feat, nothing to them who practised it nearly every day of their lives, is one of the supreme tests of boatmanship and must be witnessed or taken part in to realize the resistless onrush of the roller and the no less mighty drawback when, baffled, the vast rolling mass retreats. It is a manoeuvre to try the skill and stamina of the best, and the roll of its victims is very long. I speak feelingly, for on my first encounter with this business I was as near being drowned as could be. For not realizing the danger, I too leaped out of the boat with the others, and was at once hurled seaward like a piece of drifting seaweed, dazed and helpless, buried in the heart of a wave. But my Kanaka shipmates, as much at home in that immense turmoil as if they stood on the beach, grabbed me and held me against the rush of retreating water, then hauled me to land and in rough but effectual ways restored me to the world I had so nearly quitted. That was on the steep beach of lava fragments at Sunday Island in the Kermadecs.

A throng of villagers hastened down to greet the returned adventurers, full of eager questioning and sympathy. Some of them had been on the Head with the lookout man, and had witnessed the last encounter. Of course they could not understand what had happened, but in a few words Philip explained, and when he had done so, the public endorsement of the righteousness of his action was spontaneous and complete. For, after all, to this happy community what was a trifling loss like that compared with the gain which each felt they had made in the practice of mercy, of yielding to the best and truest impulses of the heart. And so there were no sour faces, no recriminations, only the usual mutual rejoicings.

Philip only paused long enough to see his gear bestowed and then strode away through the smiling meadows to his pretty home, where he found his Grace holding quite a little Court surrounded by maidens, matrons and children; she sat upon the threshold of the house, and her friends were picturesquely disposed about her. The baby was asleep upon her lap, undisturbed by the chorus of song that was going up from that concourse of fifty persons. It was a scene to gladden the heart of a painter or poet, and if it had been possible to bring it in its entirety before any assemblage of cynics in the world, they would certainly have been unable to resist its perfect charm.

Philip’s coming was hailed with a long cry of joy, and he was immediately surrounded by a bevy of girls who pushed and pulled him into a place by the side of his wife. And there, enthroned as it were, they sat while the joyous crowd, augmented every moment until almost the whole community was present, sang and talked and sang again, offering all the love and congratulations that their hearts could feel or their lips express. The happening of the day out at sea was fully commented upon, calling forth immense manifestations of approval, for it was just the kind of thing that appealed to these gentle children of the sun, and thus the happy time wore on until the arrival of the patriarch minister who, however, wielded no priestly influence whatever.

All loved him and reverenced him for his saintly character as well as venerable age, but no one, not even the youngest, imagined that he had any prescriptive right to approach their God for them. Every one was taught as soon as able to understand that God was the all Father, Christ the near and dear brother, and to choose a go-between from men was to do dishonour to the great love manifested towards men by God, to show practical disbelief in every word set down in the New Testament for their guidance and comfort.

Therefore though all showed the deepest respect and readiest reverence to Mr. McCoy at his coming, it was a respect and reverence entirely devoid of superstition, the loving homage of children to a father, or friend to friend. They gathered round him, brought him to the seat of honour beside Philip and Grace, and then waited with intense interest for what he should say to them, knowing that he had come amongst them for that purpose.

He rose, and in trembling tones began—

“Beloved children, especially you by my side, Grace and Philip; I am full of joy at being among you at this happy time. Surely we are peculiarly blessed among all the people on earth, here in this little out-of-the-way corner of the great globe. We live in love, fearing no evil, having all our wants supplied to the full. We suffer neither from cold nor heat; from hunger nor surfeit. Disease comes not near us nor our live stock, and best of all this heavenly care has not made us arrogant and careless, for we feel as full of gratitude as our hearts can hold. And every day sees new mercies showered upon us. Some one of our little company has a special blessing, and being one in heart and mind we all rejoice in that blessing, and feel our mouths filled with praise.

“The latest is the babe bestowed upon our beloved ones here, a babe lusty in form and beautiful of face, and given to us on the day whereon we celebrate the coming to earth of our brother, God manifest in the flesh, which in itself is a matter of great rejoicing. Truly it is a blessed babe. I know but little of the great world with its teeming millions, I have been too happy among you all my life to wish to see more than I did on my one voyage, but what little I do know convinces me that it is rare if not unheard of for a child to come amongst a community and be received with such fervent love and sincere thanksgiving as this one. We all rejoice, for we have no doubt that he will be a beloved brother amongst us, worthily maintaining the high and sweet standard of love towards God and man which has so long prevailed among us. And if it should be the good pleasure of our Father that he leaves us for a time and visits other countries, we shall confidently look forward to his keeping up the character that we are so pleased to bear, the character of being children of God, not haughtily holding that we are better than others, but that we are only happy in the knowledge of the love of our Father for us His loving, grateful children. Little Christmas Bounty! upon your baby head rest all the prayers, all the love of this people, all united to you by ties of blood, but far more closely knit to you in the one bond of Christian love.

“Brother and sisters, it is time for us to separate, for the day draws to its close. And before we sing our parting song of praise and thanksgiving, let us unite in the spoken word to our Father. Father, most good and gracious, we all thank you for your love. We have all that we can ask or think. Blessings innumerable crowd upon us. We have nothing to ask you for, only to praise you for the abundant joy and happiness you have given us in overflowing measureless plenty. Nothing, that is, for ourselves, but for those who suffer and sin, for those who toil hopelessly in darkness and slavery of various kinds, we ask that they may know Thee as we know Thee. That they may receive as we do receive. They are as worthy as we are, but have not the same inestimable advantages. Ah, dear Father, bless our less fortunate brothers and sisters scattered about Thy beautiful world. Hear their pitiful cries, heal their gaping wounds, fill their hungry hearts, and may they all know Thy boundless love through Thy messenger Jesus, our Beloved One, the Saviour of mankind. Let us sing, dear ones, ‘O God, our help in ages past.’”

That response was one to stir the most sluggish heart: no books, no instrumental help, but the grandest of all music, the glorious human voice when trained in harmony. The lovely woods and vales were filled with golden melody, every soul pouring itself out in purest praise. If only the most ardent scoffer at holy things could have been there, he would have found his pointed sarcasm grow blunt, his ready sneer fall harmless, for here was a people beyond the arrows of scorn, whose worship was indeed single-eyed. They worshipped God because they loved Him. They praised Him because they could not help it. No thought of gaining heaven or of avoiding hell entered their minds. They had already begun their heaven, and as for hell they never thought of it. If pressed they would doubtless have admitted that they believed in such a place, but with a thrusting aside shudder. What had it to do with them?

The sweet strain ceased, and the aged minister, rising to his unsteady feet, lifted his hands in blessing, his voice full of happy tears: “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God Almighty, the leading of the Holy Spirit and the full knowledge of this intimate communion with the unseen be with each and all of you now and for evermore. Amen.”

A moment’s silence and the gathering quietly melted away to their happy homes, while the bright silver moon shed a splendid radiance over the peaceful scene.

CHAPTER III C. B.’s Childhood

The story of a boy growing from his birth to manhood in our centres of civilization cannot fail to be of interest if properly told, principally because of the thousand and one dangers that beset him in that perilous journey. This is the case, no matter how well or how ill brought up he may be, peril encompasses him round about, visible as well as invisible, peril from which no amount of care can adequately protect him. Indeed the care that is often bestowed has the effect of rendering the child’s life a burden to him, especially if he be brought up at home. Moreover, if we are foolish enough to believe one thousandth part of what we read about food and drink and the deadly microbes and bacteria that lie in wait for us everywhere, we should certainly perish of worry or become, as faddists always do become, a misery to ourselves and a nuisance to all around us.

But here on Norfolk Island the child had every chance. And in telling of C. B. I am only taking the ordinary type: he had no advantages over his fellows. Fed by his mother alone, who had never known a day’s illness in her life, never knowing the taste of drugs, living in the open air without ever being pampered by tight clothing of any kind, never too hot, never too cold; how could he help growing up to the age when he could run about, without an ache or a pain, a sturdy, perfectly developed, perfectly healthy child? Of course he could swim as soon as he could walk, that to any one who knows the island goes without saying, and as soon as he could toddle down to the shore with the other children, spent, as they did, quite half of his time in the sea. The food given him was of the simplest: fruit and vegetables, milk and fish, very little meat, because it was extremely scarce for one thing, and for another, these gentle people only hunt when necessity drives, and never kill a domestic animal if it can be avoided.

So this child of love and prayer grew and waxed strong, a joy and delight to his parents, and a pleasure to all the community, as all the children were. In exuberant animal delight he and his companions climbed the trees and the mountains, tumbled about in the surf like so many dolphins, with never an anxious or fussy parent to say “don’t.” Cuts, scratches, bruises they gained in plenty, all treated in the simplest way and all getting cured in almost magically quick time, as do the hurts of animals and savages. And it must never be forgotten that these people led the perfectly natural lives of savages without any of the savage vices, that they knew and practised the virtues of civilization without its follies and crimes; what then could be expected in the result but perfect health and happiness?

With all this boisterous enjoyment of childhood the simple education that the venerable McCoy was able to impart was not neglected. Reading, writing and the first four rules of arithmetic were soundly taught, and by Grace the beautiful accomplishment of singing through the tonic sol-fa method. They were altogether a singing people; it was ingrained, so that this took no trouble to teach. Beyond this in the way of education there was nothing except that the reading of the Bible was encouraged, not as a means of storing up virtue by reading so many verses or chapters, but for the pleasure and profit of seeing what God had said to His people. And this, with the exception of a few well-worn books, such as the standard poets, Dickens, Thackeray and Miss Wetherell, comprised their reading. None of the children were compelled to read as a task. When once they had learned to read they were allowed to read or not just as it pleased them.

Under such pleasant auspices as this what wonder was it that our hero at sixteen was as near being perfect in body and mind as the most exacting parent could wish. True, he would have been plucked at an examination for the fourth standard in any Board-school, but if he was ignorant of much school learning as Board-school boys know at home, he was also ignorant of a great number of other things, of practically all the evil knowledge acquired by our children in great cities in spite of all our efforts. And on the physical side, being a child of nature, there could be no comparison between him and city children of whatever class imaginable. His whole life, as was that of his companions, boys and girls alike, was spent in training, unconsciously, and so he was always fit for any of those manly exercises that the young human animal rightly loves. He could not play cricket or football, but he could swim and dive all day, could climb the tallest tree in the island like a monkey, could run from the level to the top of a three-thousand-foot hill without distress, and could not swear or lie, having never known any occasion for either.

Of course, he had not grown up so far without having brothers and sisters—two of each had been added on to the family circle, all of them fine children capable of keeping up the credit of the island people. But we have no concern with them further than to note their arrival, and to record the fact that, as they grew old enough to realize things, they all adored their eldest brother, who, for some reason or another which they could not understand, was looked up to as possessing some mysterious blessing from on high beyond that accorded to any one else. They knew, however, that he was totally unconscious of this. He went on his happy care-free way, full of gay life, full of fun and harmless mischief, but also full of love for all around him.

It was now that he had his first real adventure. As I have said, he was sixteen years of age, and, as was usual among the island people, he was as big and strong as a full-grown man, though, of course, not with so much stamina. He was a constant companion to his father, who was now a mighty man indeed, at the meridian of a life that had been so well spent and so peaceful that all his powers were in perfection. C. B. was never tired of admiring his father’s huge proportions, as, with only a pair of breeches on cut off at the mid-thigh, they swam or fished together. To C. B. his father was indeed a king of men, strong, wise and kind; and he was overjoyed to be near him, to feel his superiority, and to hope some day, if God willed, to be like him. They were companions in everything now that C. B.’s studies had finished, and the elder man felt his youth renewed as he watched his son springing to whatever work was in hand, felt indeed that he was signally blessed and was very happy.

So it came to pass that one morning, as soon as the first gorgeous heralding of the dawn had overspread the sky, Philip and C. B. arose from their several mats (bedsteads, bedding and all the paraphernalia of our bedrooms being unknown and therefore unwanted), and after a loving kiss and a blessing from mother Grace, who was still beautiful and always abundantly happy, they strode down to the shore for the commencement of a day’s fishing. It was the season when a special kind of fish greatly liked by the islanders came inshore near enough to be caught in large numbers with hook and line. It was always an occasion of great activity among the men, not that they depended upon the fishing, but because it afforded a large quantity of pleasant food, and they always attacked the opportunity eagerly.

So when Philip and his son reached the boat-house all hands requisite for manning the boats were there, and after the usual hearty greetings and the indispensable word of prayer, without which no enterprise was ever undertaken, were over, all sprang to the work, fairly hurling the vessels into the foaming surf, and in a few minutes the two vessels, doubly manned, were in the smooth water beyond the rollers, and to the accompaniment of happy song were making their way seaward to the fishing grounds.

The beauty of the day was not more marked than usual in such a lovely climate, but to any one who was accustomed to the grey cold mornings of our northern home it would have called forth ecstasies of admiration. For as the golden sun rose majestically from the horizon all nature was flooded with glory, an added wealth of beauty that made even those most accustomed to it catch their breath. The sea was like a sheet of shot-silk whereof every movement exhibited a wonderful play of different colours and shades in endless variety, while the diversity of hill, dale and beach ashore, unable to compete with all this glowing series of tints, yet showed a splendour of illuminated contour flecked with passing cloud shadows that held the eye enchanted with its beauty.

Every member of the boats’ crews noted this loveliness, revelled in it, and since there was no need for silence as in the chase of the whale, discussed it in such terms of affection as their limited vocabulary could command. Said John Young—

“Seems to me that the gold and jewellery of the New Jerusalem John writes about wouldn’t please me like this. If God’s going to make a new heaven and a new earth, I’d like to live on the new earth if it’s going to be like this. But I can’t imagine Him making it any better.”

“Ah,” responded Walter McCoy, “that’s because you’ve never been away from here, one of the most favoured spots on His footstool. Now I’ve been down south of New Zealand in the winter, an’ when the great gales blow, a sea gets up that’s like a ravening host of wild beasts. Snow and sleet strike you like whips, and the cold searches the very marrow of your bones. Then I thought of our dear island home, and prayed God to take me back there quick or let me die.”

Philip chimed in, with one of his beautiful smiles mantling his strong face, “Walter, my boy, that was because you let your body dictate to your soul. I know, and when I was up the Behring Sea I hid away one night when the call came to work. I had all the man frozen out of me. And as I laid in the stinking corner I felt the bitterest pang of shame I have ever known. Something said to me, ‘You’re a fine-weather man, and your trust in God only works when you are comfortable.’ I tell you, boys, that hit me worse than ever the mate’s boot would have done if he had caught me. But I thank God that He gave me courage to rush out of my hole as if I had been flung out, and do the work that fell to my share. And the lesson has lasted all my life.”

At that moment the leader in the other boat cried loudly, “Here we are, boys; ship oars and out lines. There’s a splendid lot of fish, thank God.”

All hands obeyed on the instant, and presently the boy was delighted beyond measure to see the fine big fish come tumbling inboard one after the other in quick succession. It was indeed a stirring scene, although from a sporting point of view it savoured too much of business, perhaps. These were not sportsmen though; they only fished to satisfy their bodily needs, having no idea of making game of taking life, their savage instincts having been entirely modified by their practical working belief in the loving Father.

They were in the height of their fishing, the boats being half full of spoil, when Philip, who had a very large fish on his line, turned to see how his son was faring with another big fellow, and as he did so, his foot slipped upon some slime in the sternsheets and he fell backwards, striking his side upon the boat’s gunwale and falling overboard. A great shout of laughter went up from all the boat’s crew except C. B., for with these amphibious islanders to fall overboard was just a bit of good fun. But C. B., craning over the side, saw that his father, instead of coming to the surface again like a cork, was still far below, and at the same instant he noticed an awful black shadow gliding swiftly in the direction of the still sinking man. Without a moment’s hesitation he dived, feeling at the same moment for the knife in his belt, a long keen-bladed weapon which all carried while fishing.

Downward he sped through the clear water, arriving by the side of his father’s quietly undulating body just as a great glare of white showed the belly of a sixteen-foot shark as he turned to bite at this big piece of food. In a moment the boy had snatched his knife from his belt, and with one tremendous spring sideways had plunged it deep into the belly of the monster, and then with a strength that amazed himself sawed it lengthways along the great body. The water grew thick with blood, he groped blindly for the body of his father, felt nothing, swam gropingly about until almost bursting from lack of air, and then with a feeling of utter despair shot upwards to the surface.

One deep painful breath and, clearing his eyes, C. B. stared wildly about him. Then he gave one despairing cry of “Father!” It was answered by a dozen different voices cheerfully crying, “All right, all right,” and in a moment or two he found two stalwart swimmers by his side ready to aid him if he needed help, and keeping up an incessant splashing in the water for the purpose of scaring the sharks. Guided by them he swam to the boat, and just as he snatched at the gunwale to climb inboard two huge sharks rushed towards the little group of three from opposite directions, meeting head on in full career with such a tremendous shock that they both sank quietly down apparently stunned, while the three friends climbed safely into the boat.

And there lay his father, still and pale as his bronzed face would show, but, God be praised, yet alive. C. B.’s first impulse was to fling himself down by his father’s side and burst into an agony of weeping, for he thought that the dear one was dead; but, without a restraining hand being laid upon him, he conquered himself and, trembling violently, said, “Is father much hurt?”

“We don’t know yet,” replied Walter McCoy, “but, thank God, he’s still alive, and I can’t imagine such a man as he is being killed by what he’s just gone through. But we’re getting ashore with all speed, and if you will take an oar it’ll help you a lot: you’ll know you’re doing something for him that must be done and that with all your might: Give way, boys; we want to get home quick.”

C. B. instantly seized an oar and laid to it with a will, as did all the rest, full of anxiety as they were to get their much-loved comrade home. So in a very brief space they made a landing, and were met on the beach by Grace, who with love’s intuition, had felt that something had happened which needed her presence. When she saw the still limp form of her love, she only turned a shade paler and felt her knees tremble. Then quietly, as if inviting a few of them up to supper, said, “Please, friends, bring him gently along to the house where I can attend to him properly.”

Then turning to her boy she kissed him, having noted his working face, saying, “Don’t worry, dear; he’s in our Father’s hands and all will be right.”

But C. B., boy-like, could no longer restrain himself, and bursting into a very tempest of tears, sobbed out, “I tried to save him, mother, indeed I did.”

“Ay, that he did; no man could have done more than this boy, Grace,” said the nearest men in unison. And as they followed the bearers of Philip across the fragrant fields to the house, Grace heard with a swelling heart of the noble deed whereby her first-born had proved his manhood, and managed to find room in her stricken heart for pride that she had been permitted to rear such a noble son. Then dismissing the whole heroic deed from her mind for the time she hastened her steps, intent upon preparing a comfortable bed for her suffering husband. It was an ordeal through which she had never before passed, but she rose to the occasion, and when the bearers arrived she faced them calmly, and directed them where to lay him.

The ablest of the islanders in the matter of simple surgery soon arrived, and after keen examination of the insensible man declared that he was suffering from three broken ribs, a mere trifle in these stalwart men’s eyes. What else there might be internally he could not tell, but he did what he could in bandaging the massive body tightly, and then suggested that they should all kneel and pray for the success of the means used. Which was done in simplest fashion, and as the prayer ended, all were startled to hear a sonorous amen from the hitherto unconscious man. It needed no ordinary restraint to keep them from bursting into cries of joy, but they did refrain, and with murmured thanksgivings all went away except the impromptu surgeon, Grace and her son, the younger children having been taken away by helpful neighbours.

The scene that ensued was a delightful one, Grace and her boy welcoming back the friend and father, who, except for an occasional spasm of pain flitting across his bronzed features, seemed to have entirely recovered from his recent terrible experience, and inclined to blame himself severely for letting “such a trifle upset him,” as he put it. Indeed, except for the pain of his grating ribs, which at each movement reminded him of the mischief done, he was quite impatient of lying there, wanted to be up and doing, although there was nothing to be done.

Suddenly his roving glance fell upon C. B., who, having finished some small task he had been engaged upon for his mother, was standing near gazing upon his father with eyes humid with love. Philip half raised himself, suppressing a groan of pain, and beckoning to his boy said, “Grace, this son of ours is a man. He has done a deed to-day of which any man might be proud and few men would even attempt. More than that he has saved me for you.”

Grace replied, with one of her beautiful smiles shining on her still comely cheeks: “For that, if he had been a bad boy all his life instead of a very crown of rejoicing, he should possess the very core of my heart. But being what he is and has always been, I can only, as I have continually done since he was born, bless God for him humbly as I do for you.”

Then Philip, putting his arm round the boy’s neck, said slowly: “From this out my son, you are my partner as well. I look upon you no longer as a boy but a man, not merely as a son but as a brother, equal in all things. Grace, you must say good-bye to your little boy, who has attained unto the full stature of a man.” At which his brothers and sisters, who had now returned, burst into loud lamentations, not realizing the importance of the occasion, only feeling that they had lost their playmate.

But C. B. drew himself up with an air of native dignity and replied, “I felt like a man, dad, when I dived after you, but now I know I am one, and I hope, like you, I shall never do what a man ought to be ashamed to do.”

There was another cheerful gathering at Philip’s home that evening, and the usual round of prayer and praise which was the keynote of all their festivities, praise especially, floods of melody rising and falling across those peaceful savannahs and making them echo again. In all the pleasant exercises C. B. took his part, being now recognized as no longer a child, but he listened with greater interest than ever to the thousand-times repeated tale of the Lord’s wondrous dealing with this little band of people descended from murderers and savages, yet by the special grace of Providence developing into the most consistently Christian people upon earth. And so, with a final triumphant outburst of the Old Hundredth, the happy meeting terminated, and the revellers dispersed across the scented meadows to their several homes.

One of the most remarkable things about primitive peoples is the way they recover from hurts; wounds, bruises, fractures that would mean long and severe illness to civilized folk being treated by them as of little or no account. This is, of course, to be noted among animals, who recover with surprising rapidity and ease from the most shocking wounds, and with only the most rough and careless methods of surgery if they receive any attention at all. I have a big Labrador dog which was recently kicked in the face by a skittish horse. Owing to my absence from home nothing was done to the poor beast, whose jaw was exposed to a cut three inches long for four days. And the ghastly wound could not heal, because when it irritated him the dog would rub his face against a quickset hedge and tear the wound open again. I took him to a veterinary surgeon, who put three stitches in the gaping gash, drawing the ragged edges as closely together as possible, and confining the poor animal for three days with a shield over his head. The result is that now, two months after the accident, it is impossible to see where the injury was.

And in just the same marvellous way will the human animal recover from the most ghastly wounds, although many savage customs militate directly against health. But when perfectly natural living is allied to purity of mind and body and an absence of every kind of stimulant whatever, we have a condition of things making for perfect health, such health as may only be seen among the people of whom I am writing.

As usual then Philip made so rapid a recovery that within a week he was going about his daily duties as if nothing had happened, and had quite forgotten the episode as far as his injuries were concerned. But his son was now his inseparable companion; they became as it were partners in every enterprise, and the proud father noted with complacent pride the development of his son’s body and mind as being on the way to surpass his own. As far as ordinary school education went they were about equal, as indeed were all the islanders, for the subjects they learned were strictly limited, and they had no craving for higher education, not knowing or feeling any need of it.

But all unconsciously, during their long hours together, Philip was filling the boy with strong desire to see the great world without. Philip’s adventures on his two voyages had been fairly exciting, but hitherto he had said little about them to his fellows, because there were many things connected with them that he did not care to recall. They had filled him with more ardent love than ever for his quiet island home, and he had used such influence as he possessed to dissuade any of his friends from wandering.

Now, however, in reply to constant questioning, he told his son more than ever he had done before, recalling scenes long forgotten, while the boy listened with intensest interest and admiration for the grand father whom he almost worshipped. And so C. B. grew steadily towards manhood in all the best traditions of the community, until at eighteen years of age he had risen to the full stature of a man in all that makes for true manliness, innocent without being ignorant of all that was worth his knowing, brave, modest and strong, and withal, in spite of the uncouth garb in which he was clothed in common with all his fellows, handsome as the statue of a Greek god. And here endeth the sketch of Christmas Bounty’s boyhood.

CHAPTER IV Evil from Without

Now it happened that one morning at about eight o’clock when the fishermen were about to launch out into the deep in their regular quest for food that a sudden cry of “Sail ho!” was raised and re-echoed until all the islanders heard it. A large sailing ship was standing in towards the bay with the obvious intention of communicating, and immediately everybody was on the alert. For in spite of their happy care-free life, which left little to be desired by them, there were certain needs which they had inherited, such as clothes, tea, sugar, flour, and tools, which the presence of a ship always brought vividly to their remembrance. And in consequence they were always ready to barter their simple commodities: fruit, vegetables, eggs, fowls, pigs, fish, etc., for whatever they could induce the visitors to part with except liquor and tobacco.

So a boat was hurriedly launched, manned by the stoutest rowers, with Philip at the steer oar, and C. B. at the stroke, while the rest of the islanders busied themselves collecting such produce as they hoped the ship might be in want of. Fowls and eggs and fruit and milk and pigs, fresh food such as ships in that day were so often glad of. As the boat dashed alongside in splendid style the rowers noted that the ship was thronged with passengers of a curious type to them, hundreds of yellow faces peered over the side and an incessant high pitched babblement of voices went on, utterly unintelligible to the islanders. Philip grabbed a rope thrown to him and was about to spring on board when he caught sight of those rows of parchment-like faces and paused, looking doubtfully at his boat’s crew.

The captain, however, gazing cynically down upon him, said: “What’s the matter with you? Afraid of a few Chinamen, are ye? Come on board and don’t be such a fool.”

Philip flushed darkly under his tan, and then saying quietly, “Don’t make the warp fast,” swung himself lightly on board, where, standing on the rail holding on by the main top-mast backstays, he surveyed the strange scene beneath him on the vessel’s deck. She was crowded with yellow men, who wandered aimlessly about or squatted in groups gibbering away. To add to the confusion there were hundreds of canaries in cages which were hung about, and they were all singing at once, each doing his little best to drown the clamour of his neighbours.

Raising his voice almost to a shout the captain addressed Philip with the question: “Have you godly beach-combers got any fresh provisions to sell? I’m fifty days out from Macao bound to Callao, and my passengers are beginning to die like flies. I don’t know what’s the matter with ’em, unless it is the foul grub that was put aboard for ’em by the compradore, though I never heard before that any grub was foul enough to poison a Chink.”

Philip replied calmly: “We have plenty of produce, sir, which we shall be glad to exchange with you for tools, clothes, books or anything of that sort. But we don’t want money, it’s of no use to us.”

And he recapitulated the articles available for supply at once, to which the captain replied: “All right, come on aft and I’ll have some stuff brought up to show you.” So Philip most willingly sprang down on the deck and followed the captain aft to the cabin. Here he was first offered some rum, which he courteously refused, much to the captain’s amusement. Then in obedience to the captain’s commands a heap of clothing was brought up out of the slop chest and a few rusty tools of various sorts, including half a dozen coal shovels, at sight of which Philip’s eyes glistened, for these were sorely needed on the island. There were no books available at all, only a heap of old newspapers which Philip did not look twice at, for what did the news of the world matter to these children of Nature?

Then having selected such goods as they needed as far as the limited supply before him would allow, Philip suggested that they should be put in his boat and that the captain should accompany him ashore and see what they had got to offer in exchange, which goods they would bring back with the captain to the ship. To this the captain answered that he should prefer Philip to bring such stuff as he had ready, pass it on board and make his bargain there, as he, the captain, did not want to leave the ship.

Philip rose and looking the captain steadfastly in the face, said: “No sir, on several occasions when we, trusting that other people would act as we always do to one another, have brought our produce on board a passing ship, we have been compelled to take whatever the captain has chosen to give us or nothing at all, because we were completely at his mercy. Now we are always ready to give of our substance to help ships in distress, expecting no payment, but we are sorely in need of certain things, and can only get them by selling our stuff. And if we are cheated it is hard for us to bear, knowing as we do that we would never cheat anybody for any consideration whatever.”

At this modest and dignified remark the captain flew into an assumed rage and cried, “You stuck up hypocritical half nigger, half mutineer, how dare you talk to an English gentleman like that! I’ve half a mind to have you flung overboard, only I know you can’t be drowned. Don’t come any of your palaver over me, for it won’t do. I understand you fellows through and through.”

Philip smiled sadly, but without showing a trace of surprise or fear, then saying, “I’m sorry, sir, that we can’t come to terms,” turned to leave the saloon.

This was too much for the captain, who roared “Here! where ye goin’, ye black thief?” (Many a bronzed Englishman is darker than Philip was.) “Come back here!”

But Philip strode to the deck, leapt on the rail, and shouting, “Let go, boys,” plunged feet foremost into the sea. In a moment the boat, released, was at his side and he had climbed on board.

Overhead, the captain, standing on the rail, was crying, “Don’t be silly, I was only trying to bluff you, it’s all in the way of business. Come up alongside; I’ll come with you and bring the stuff ashore. Good heavens! what a rum lot these Kanakas are, to be sure.”

By this time Philip had taken hasty counsel with his friends and had decided to take the captain on shore if he would come, but that none of them would board that awful ship again under any pretence. So they sheered alongside, caught again the rope that was flung them and received a heap of goods, the captain and two men following. Then they headed for the beach with a sigh of relief, for the very proximity of the ship was hateful to them. They soon reached the landing place, the captain and his two henchmen looking very white as the ably handled boat was deftly guided stern foremost over the immense breakers, and stepping ashore uncertainly as the ready arms of the islanders were held out to them.

But no sooner had they landed than the captain and his two men began to swagger and ogle the women and girls who crowded down to the beach intent upon welcome. C. B. was close beside the skipper as he reached forward to clasp a beautiful girl near him by the waist. Lithe as a leopard the boy sprang between the maiden and the captain, crying as he did so: “That’s my sister, sir, and anyhow you mustn’t touch our girls; you are not good enough!”

Well, wasn’t that foolish man angry? he made a sweeping motion with his arm as if to brush an insect from his path, but C. B. seized him by both hands and held him so firmly that he was unable to move, saying at the same time, “Please behave yourself, sir; we won’t hurt you, but you must not go on ugly like this.” The two men who were with the captain looked frightened—for they were thinking of massacres in the South Seas of which they had often heard and doubtless expected something of the kind. The skipper however knew better, and acted worse, for he raged like a madman, the islanders standing round looking grave and stem while all the women folk slipped away. When he had cursed himself out of breath C. B. spoke again: “Now, sir, if you are ready we’ll take you back to your ship. We want to trade badly enough, but it’s almost paying too dearly for the privilege, having men like you among us. We are very sorry for you, but wish you would go.”

No one of the islanders added anything, for they felt as if C. B. had exactly expressed what they would say and for a few moments there was a dead silence. Then the captain said in a curiously subdued voice: “I don’t know but what you’re right after all, young fellow, whoever you are, and I apologize. I didn’t intend to act so ugly, believe me. And now if you’ll bring along your produce we’ll trade, for I ought to be getting back to my ship.” Immediately following upon his words, and without an order being given, there was a dispersal of the islanders, who soon reappeared laden with all the things they had to sell: vegetables, fruit, eggs, fowls and pigs, all that sailors most eagerly desire after a long voyage.

It was an easy market, for there was practically no haggling, and when all the goods that the captain had brought were exhausted, the kindly folk presented him with the rest of the produce which was left, an act of generosity which deepened the tan on his face as he, even he, realized what a contrast there was between his behaviour and theirs. But I do not know that he was so very much to blame after all, for it was probably the first time he had come across practical primitive Christianity in full operation. However, as he turned to leave the beach again he held out his hand to C. B., saying: “Youngster, I’m ashamed of myself, that’s all I can say. I shall remember to-day as long as I live. And I want to tell that splendid fellow the same, the man whom I spoke so badly to in my saloon.”

“Oh, you mean my father,” said C. B. “Here he is!” and Philip stepped forward, a gentle smile on his face, and his hand outstretched, saying as he came, “Don’t bother about me, sir, I’m only sorry that you should be afflicted with such a hasty temper and disbelief in the goodness of anybody. But please say no more. If you are ready to go on board we are ready to take you.”

“Ah, I don’t wonder you want to get rid of me,” murmured the skipper sorrowfully; “how you’ve put up with me so long I don’t know. All I know is that you’ve made me feel as I’ve never done before, and I’d love to stay here and take a few lessons from you good folks how to live. But I must get back to the hog-trough again, I suppose. Come along, the sooner I get aboard the better,” and he strode firmly towards the boat.

Philip and his son looked at each other for a moment irresolutely, the same thought in each of their minds, should they ask him to stay and see their dear old pastor who would speak words of comfort to his tortured soul? But the time had passed, all hands were in the boat save the steersman, and Philip sprang to his place while the waiting crowd ran the buoyant craft out into the foaming surf and the long oars drove her strenuously through the tormented waters, forcing her out to the smooth sea beyond. Once out of the surf the rowers settled down into the long, regular swing of deep sea oarsmen, and they rapidly neared the vessel. She lay lazily rolling to the heavy swell with her mainyard to the mast, but not a sign of life about her, for all the crowd on board. But as the boat swung alongside the mate sprang on to the rail and shouted his orders, a rope was flung, the side ladder lowered and the skipper climbed aboard, saying as he did so, “Come up, Mr. Boat-steerer, and I’ll treat ye different, see if I don’t.”

But Philip gravely declined. He did not care to run any such risks, knowing from much previous experience how soon such impressions as the captain had received are apt to change with a different scene. And the captain did not repeat his invitation. Turning to the mate he ordered all dispatch to be made in getting the stores on board, then abruptly left the side and the boat’s crew saw him no more. In a very few minutes the boat was cleared and as soon as she was empty Philip shouted, “Cast off that rope.” It was done and with a powerful sweep of the steer oar they swept away from the ship’s side, and shipping their oars bent to them with a will, every man of them feeling glad to put an increasing distance between them and the hive of evil they felt the ship to be.

And as they did so they saw the mainyard swing, heard the wailing cries of the sailors as they trimmed the sails to the light breeze and with a sense of utter relief watched her glide off towards the open sea. Then Philip raised his beautiful voice in the grand old song of satisfaction: “O God, our help in ages past,” in which his crew joined, as was their wont, in sweetest concord. By the time she reached the beach the ship was almost hull down on the horizon and never, as far as log-books or signalling stations can tell, was she reported again.

That night there was another great family gathering of the islanders, first for equitable division of the articles bought, and next for the usual thanksgiving in that they had suffered no harm at the hands of their visitors. For even these gentle, happy children of love were suspicious of all contact with the outer world, they always feared the worst, knowing how utterly foreign to their ideas of brotherly love and unity of heart were the majority of even the few people who touched at their island. How hard it is for us, who, whether we like it or not, are bound to feel doubtful of professors of Christianity, when we realize the deeds and hear the words of so many of them, to understand the feelings of this primitive people, among whom the commandment to love one another had become an ingrained principle. Many of us with the best will in the world to believe in them find ourselves saying, “Ah well, they are exceptionally favoured by their situation and history. If they only lived as we do, among civilized heathen, professing to be Christians and yet denying the power of God to do His will among us they would be as lukewarm and half hearted as most of us are.”

Something of this kind must have entered into C. B.’s thoughts that night. For after the young ones had gone to sleep he and his father and mother sat on the stoop in front of their house discussing in their simple way the events of the day and their bearing upon what they knew of life until suddenly the young man said, “Mother, sometimes I think that it’s all very well for us to be as happy and loving and fond of God as we are here where everybody is like-minded, but what if one of us should be suddenly flung out of this among people like those we’ve seen to-day? How should we stand it, do you think? I don’t quite know how to put it, but what I mean is, are we good because we are shut in with goodness and have no temptations to be had, or are we good because we really love good and hate evil? And should we be thus good if everybody around us was bad?”

His gentle mother made answer, “Dear son, why worry your head about such things. If I understand God’s word at all it tells me that if I live for God and with Him for the present the future has nothing to do with me. But I believe that wherever He puts me He will provide me with grace to meet every form of evil. I do not find, though, that if I go voluntarily where there is evil I get any promise of being made proof against it. At any rate I know that I love God and all His ways as far as I know anything, and I can’t imagine myself happy in any other condition. And I am quite content with that, blessing Him for putting me where I am, in the midst of people who love Him also.”

Philip who had been sitting, as was usual with him when unemployed, gazing into vacancy with his thoughts far away, suddenly aroused himself and said in a dreamy voice—

“I don’t believe that all the people who don’t know God are unhappy, but I’m sure that most of them are, judging from those I’ve mixed with on my travels. And I’m quite sure that if people were taught in Christian lands as we are here, if they were brought up to look upon God as a personal Friend always near, and one that no one who knows Him could be afraid of, there would be an enormous number of people more loving Him and knowing Him than there are. I kept my eyes open and listened also while I was in America and Australia, and I went to all sorts of places where they said God was worshipped, and I got entirely bewildered.

“For it seemed to me that what they called religion was a thing which hadn’t anything to do with their lives at all. They went to church or chapel or meeting on Sundays, and said so many prayers or listened to what the preacher had to say, not at all because they loved God, but because they thought that if they didn’t do these things they would be punished for ever and ever by being in a place called hell, always burning and never burnt up. As for loving God as a man loves a good father or mother, or loving Jesus as one loves a dear elder brother who has always been our ideal man since we were toddlers, the thing didn’t seem to strike them in any way. And in some of the churches I went into I could hardly help laughing, it all seemed so funny, all a big show to please God who made all the glorious world we live in and the wonders in heaven above. When I asked them if they thought God minded how they dressed or walked or smelt (I didn’t like the smoky smelly stuff at all), they got angry and said I was an ignorant heathen, which of course didn’t hurt me a bit because I knew I wasn’t. But I did try to show them in the Bible how plainly God had said as to little toddling children that all this outward show was of no value in his sight, that it was the heart and life that really mattered. Only they said then that I was so stupid it was waste of time arguing with me.”

C. B. did not remember ever having heard his father talk for so long a time without stopping before, and he was tremendously impressed by what he had heard. Nevertheless, there was a growing, deepening desire in his mind to go and see this curious world, to test the reality of his own love of God in contact with the extraordinary conditions which his father said obtained in the great struggling masses of people who belonged to professedly Christian countries. He felt, in fact, like the inhabitant of another planet in the old story who was smitten with a strong desire to come to earth and see for himself whether what he had heard was true, and if there were even stranger things to be found in this wonderful little world than he had heard of.

No word of this growing craving escaped the young man, but daily, almost hourly, in the midst of his simple toils, he thought over the possibilities of his getting personally acquainted with the outside world, until the longing to do so was the strongest factor in his life. He grew graver, more self-centred, and all his intimates noticed it, for it was so complete a change from his previous liveliness. Still, nobody mentioned the matter to him, none felt it their business to interfere with him, more especially as he was if anything more energetic than ever in performing his share of the work, and if it may be said, where all alike were kind and unselfish, was more thoughtful of others than ever he had been.

So the days and weeks and months glided away in most uneventful fashion among the happy islanders. There were births hailed with decorous joy and earnest praise for God’s good gifts, two or three deaths, met by all as the natural termination of an earthly probation and the commencement of real life. As such these events were no occasions for wild outbursts of grief. Tears were shed of course when the bereaved ones remembered that in this life the dear companion would be seen no more, but these were speedily dried at the thought of the short time which would pass before reunion came, and then separation would be an impossibility. For these people, strange as it may seem to us, acted as if what they believed were real to them, and not some cunningly devised fable, in which they had to profess belief in order to hoodwink God into letting them into Heaven. A Heaven, by the way, which they believed to be a glorified earth wherein there should be no physical, moral, or mental evil.

For of all three of these, although they themselves were in so wonderful a measure free from them, they had experience from without. As, for instance, when one day after a long spell of perfect peace, not a sail being sighted nor any whaling done, the lookout man on the cliff reported something in the offing, either a dead whale, a boat, or a piece of wreckage. In any case something quite well worth while investigating, and so a boat with C. B. as boat steerer put off to see what the waif might be. It was an hour’s strenuous pull before they reached the object, but some time before C. B.’s eyes had made it out to be a boat, apparently derelict.

But when they drew up alongside of the wanderer a simultaneous groan of pity burst from them, for the sight they saw chilled their blood. There were four ghastly objects lying across the thwarts that had once been men but now looked like mummified corpses. Burnt black by the sun, every bone showing clearly beneath the strained withered skin, hair and beards like weeds, and lying in the bottom of the boat sundry awful fragments of humanity that told their own horrible tale of cannibalism. And a foul stench arose from the boat which befouled the pure air and made the visitors feel deathly sick.

It was no time, however, to give way to any weakness of that sort, especially as they had nothing with them in the way of restoratives, supposing that any life remained in these pitiful relics of human beings. So they made the strange boat fast to their own, and turning shoreward laid to their oars with all their might. Fortunately it was an almost perfectly calm day, so that the passage through the breakers was accomplished with little difficulty, and when they reached the beach there were scores of willing hands ready to help. They lifted the poor wrecks ashore tenderly, finding that two of them still breathed, and immediately carried them off to where hot milk and the juice of fresh fruit could be administered to them. Very gently and patiently they strove to coax back the fast departing life into those frail bundles of bones, and were at last rewarded by hearing some words in a tongue that none of them could understand issuing from the cracked lips of one of the men.

Their curiosity was restrained, however, by the absolute necessity of keeping the poor creatures quiet if the flickering sparks of life were to be kept glowing, and presently they were delighted by seeing both the rescued ones fall into a deep sleep. Then they turned their attention to the burial of the dead in their little graveyard with all the sweet and simple solemnity they used in their own interments. But the dreadful evidences of cannibalism in the boat could not be forgotten, much as they tried to excuse and extenuate, for all of them felt that nothing would ever have induced them to act in the same manner. Still, these children of peace would not condemn, despite their horror, and their pity was immense.

Long and earnest were the consultations and speculations on the circumstances which had led to the casting away of these poor waifs, but when the time had come for retiring for the night only one possible solution of the mystery had been arrived at—that these were survivors of some terrible shipwreck, and all thanked God that such a frightful experience had never been theirs. And so in this good and peaceful atmosphere of peace and love the little community went to their happy rest.

CHAPTER V Entertaining Devils Unaware

With the first streak of dawn, as was their wont, all the islanders were astir, and their first thoughts were for the rescued ones. The news soon spread throughout the community that the two men had awakened, mightily refreshed, and that one of them could speak a few words of English. All ordinary tasks were neglected, and practically the whole village flocked to the house where they, the rescued ones, had been sheltered for the night. And there they saw their guests gaunt, wild-eyed and scared-looking, holding quite a levee, and one endeavouring to explain how they came to be there.

It was a difficult task, for his English was of the feeblest and his pronunciation of the words he did know so extraordinary that it required many repetitions of even the simplest phrases and great patience on the part of the listeners to gather the sense of what he said. At last, however, they learned that these two were the sole survivors of ten men, who, after killing two of their guardians, had escaped from New Caledonia, the French convict island. Four weeks had elapsed since they had seen the last of that awful place of their imprisonment, four weeks of such horror that the scanty words of English possessed by the spokesman could only give the barest outline of them. But quite enough was told to satisfy them that such an experience savoured of that place of torment of which they never spoke but in whispers, and they wondered much whether the men who had succumbed early in the struggle were not the more fortunate. And gradually, as they grew more and more accustomed to the curious speech of the man who was trying to explain, they learned of doings within the narrow compass of that boat adrift helplessly upon the great lone sea that made their flesh crawl upon their bones, which made them involuntarily shrink from the narrator, whose utter unconcern as he told in baldest words the story of his adventures, fascinated them while it frightened them. For none of them had ever realized such a depth of callous depravity as was now manifested before them.

Only the sacred laws of hospitality, nowhere more firmly held to and observed than here where everything was held in common, as became the primitive Christianity of the people, restrained them from isolating the strangers as if they were suffering from frightful disease both contagious and infectious. Occasionally a gentle attempt to show their disapproval of the foul terms used by the narrator in telling his story was made, but quite in vain, for it is a lamentable fact that picking up a language colloquially, as one does among the workers of the world, it is always the vilenesses of the language which are first acquired, because they are most frequently used, and by some devilish twist of memory they are always the expressions which stick.

However, the older men among the islanders met and determined that, God helping them, this new and bad element of evil must not be permitted to spread among the younger folk, and the word was passed quietly around that while the strangers were to be treated with every courtesy and kindness, they were not to be associated with indiscriminately; intercourse with them was to be confined to a very small body of the older men, all of whom had known something of the evil of the world without, and were all unlikely to be affected now by anything they might hear, however vile.

Nevertheless, it was felt throughout the settlement that there had come into their peaceful midst an appalling danger, and the subject came into their prayers continually. The strangers, having made a rapid recovery, swaggered about the little settlement as if they were the lords of it, rather enjoying the whole-hearted terror of them evinced by the younger folk, and yet cursing vigorously what they were pleased to call the inhospitable way in which they were being treated. By this time the islanders had discovered that they were harbouring two criminals of the blackest dye, men from whom the least vestige of goodness was absent, whose thoughts were only evil, and that continually. Worse still, it seemed as if the island was likely to be cursed with their presence for an indefinite time, for upon the suggestion that they would be able to leave by the first ship that called at the island the two desperadoes avowed with awful words that they were not going to risk their liberty in any ship whatever. They were quite contented, they said, in their present position, and proposed to marry and settle down.

What that prospect meant to the islanders can hardly be realized unless the readers have entered into the spirit of this happy community. The advent of a couple of man-eating tigers in some peaceful, lonely village here in England could not cause as much terror, because sportsmen would speedily be forthcoming who would slay the beasts, and these human beasts, though far more dangerous than tigers, could not be destroyed in the same manner. And day by day those patient, peaceful people watched and waited and prayed, yet feared what they could not help feeling was the approaching tragedy.

It is not too much to say that the whole course of life in that lovely island home was embittered by the presence of these two degenerate children of French civilization, who prated and bragged of their superiority to all law, and being Anarchists and free, professing indeed much the same principles that some of our legislators do to-day, although the latter are hardly prepared as yet to carry those principles to their logical conclusion.

Deliverance from this terrible incubus came in dramatic fashion. By some means, during an extra busy time, the two miscreants had escaped from the almost ceaseless watchfulness of those set apart for that purpose. And as they were always planning evil of a certain kind, and were only waiting fitting opportunity to carry out those plans, they seized this, to them, favourable chance to attempt a crime which I will not hint at. It happened that at this very time C. B. had been up the mountain side after honey, having some days before located a hive. He was heavily burdened with spoil, and having tramped a good many miles was feeling healthily weary, when he heard a piercing shriek. It was the first time in his life that he had ever heard such a sound, but it focussed all his fears and apprehensions, and for one moment paralyzed all his energies.

Then the brave blood surged back from his heart, he dropped his burden and plunged furiously in the direction of the sound, actuated by he could not tell what terrible thoughts. A stifled scream spurred him on, like a buffalo he crashed through all obstacles, arriving presently in the open of a little glade amidst the thick boscage to find his sister, his darling Jenny, four years younger than himself, faintly struggling in the grasp of the two ex-convicts. He was transformed for the moment into a savage, and leapt upon the nearest with a yell that would have quite become one of his dusky ancestors. The wretch upon whom he fell, taken by surprise, had no chance at all, for C. B. snatched him up as one does a filthy rag and hurled him with tremendous force against a tree hole, which he struck with a dull crash and fell limp and motionless.

The other scoundrel, letting go the trembling girl, rushed off into the bush, but C. B., full of fury, plunged after him, caught him in a dozen strides, and battered him with fists and feet in so furious a manner that in a very short time he was reduced to a helpless lump of inanimate flesh. Then C. B. desisted, panting, but beginning to feel compunction for the fury he had been led into, as well as fear that he had killed one or both of the wretches. But I am truly thankful to say that such a feeling was only momentary, justification of himself as being bound to act in the way he did or be unfit to live quickly succeeded, and he drew himself up again to the full stature of his grand young manhood. And then he thought of his poor young sister; but she, as soon as she was released from her savage assailants, had fled with the swiftness of an antelope to the settlement, nor stayed until she had found a group of men, to whom she told her story.

So as C. B. was puzzling himself as to how he should secure his prisoners—for, of course, he so regarded them—three stalwart men, one of whom was his father, came crashing through the undergrowth and greeted him warmly. He said little but pointed to the evidence of his prowess. Both of the villains were just recovering from the shocks they had received, and were looking almost as if they had been dragged along under a harrow. They were very subdued, and regarded C. B. with a great deal of respect, making no attempt at resistance as they were led away toward the village.

By this time the news of the affair had spread, and the whole community were gathering with looks of horror and consternation at the two wretches who had thus repaid, or attempted to repay, the loving-kindness to which they owed life and health. But little was said, and that only in whispers, as the prisoners were led to the house of the old patriarch who was at once minister and dispenser of law, the latter function indeed being quite a sinecure among this people whose love of righteousness was inbred and fostered in every imaginable way.

Arriving there, they were consigned to as near a substitute for a prison as the island afforded, a strongly built outhouse, their hurts being attended to and food and drink supplied them. Then they were left under guard, being informed that any attempt on their part to break loose would be followed immediately by their being tied up, for as they had chosen to behave as wild beasts, they must look to be treated as dangerous, and every precaution taken against them. Thoroughly cowed for the time by the rough handling they had received, the only argument they could understand, they attempted no protest against their confinement, but sullenly accepted what was given them and done for them like men accustomed to bow submissively to the inevitable. And thus they were left to themselves, the guard keeping close watch outside.

Meanwhile the conduct of C. B. came under strong discussion. No one attempted to suggest that he had acted wrongly, for all were agreed that it was a matter of deepest thankfulness to God that he had arrived so opportunely and acted as promptly as he had done, and yet there was something disquieting, not merely to the community, but to himself, in the fact that he had given way to such an outburst of savagery. And all felt how terrible a thing it would have been if he had slain either or both of the villains, as he would most likely have done had he carried a weapon. He attempted no justification, showed no repentance for his action, but frankly admitted that he was horrified to find that he had so much of the savage in him. And strange as it may seem, though all looked upon him as quite a hero, it is no less true that with their admiration was mingled another feeling which they could not conceal, a feeling which made them hold themselves slightly aloof from him and the sense of which cut him to the quick.

This, added to his previous unrest of spirit, decided him in his half-formed idea of leaving the island at the first opportunity and seeing the world. There was just a trace of bitterness in the thought that his resolution should have been fixed by an event of which he could not but feel proud, and could not help thinking should have made all his acquaintances proud of him too. But there it was, and no amount of meditation or self-examination would avail to alter it. So at the earliest opportunity when he was alone with his parents he told them of his resolve. For a few minutes neither spoke, and then his still beautiful mother broke the silence, saying—

“Have you consulted the Lord about it, dear boy?”

“Yes, mother,” he replied truly, “but I have not asked for any guidance in the matter, for I feel, I have long felt, led to go. And I don’t believe that such a strong inclination as I have towards something that certainly is not wrong can be of the evil one. Besides it is not my own pleasure I am seeking, neither am I tired of my lovely home, but—well, I must go, that’s all.”

Thereafter his father and mother regarded the matter as settled, only mother like, Grace hoped that it might be a long time before an opportunity came—she wanted to keep her boy as long as possible. But it fell out that only a fortnight afterwards an extraordinary event for the islanders occurred: two vessels arrived off the landing place in one day and hove-to, one the British war-vessel Thetis, and the other the American whale-ship Eliza Adams, of New Bedford. Joyfully the boats’ crews sprang into their craft and pulled out to the vessels, one visiting the man-o’-war to convey the respects of the whole community to the representative of the country they loved so well, and the other, steered by C. B., to the whale-ship to inquire after their wants.

As soon as Philip, who was in charge of the first boat, had climbed on board and had saluted the deck, he inquired for the captain, and first, in time-honoured fashion, begged him to consider the resources of the island at his disposal and to do them the honour of paying them a visit to the shore in their boat. The captain having gravely accepted the latter invitation and declared his intention of paying for whatever produce they might supply, Philip informed him that they had a favour to ask which they earnestly hoped he would see his way to grant, and then proceeded to tell him the story of their undesirable visitors, assuring him that the peace of the island had been destroyed since their arrival, and that now matters were worse than ever, since the miscreants must needs be watched day and night lest they should escape and do some fiendish deed in revenge, adding that on their own showing they were capable of any villainy. The captain listened patiently, and as soon as Philip had done talking replied in cheery tones—

“Make your mind easy, Mr. Adams; it’s not only a pleasure to grant your request to take these scoundrels off your hands, but my duty. I have been officially warned of their escape by the authorities and told to look out for them, and I shall be only too glad to rid you of them.”

Philip thanked the captain and requested the loan of a couple of pairs of handcuffs, saying that he would not put the captain to the trouble of sending a boat for them but would bring them off. The captain immediately assented, and in five minutes’ time the boat was flying shoreward with the captain and two of his officers seated in the stern sheets, quite glad of the opportunity afforded them of visiting this wonderful little community whose fame as a model settlement had spread all over the English-speaking world.

But the joy of the islanders who can depict, when Philip told them of their approaching deliverance from the misery under which they had laboured. Do not think them selfish or unmindful of their obligations to their fellow-men because they were glad to get rid of these undesirables. Had the latter been amenable to kindness or at all to be influenced by goodness so palpably manifested towards them, things would have been quite different. Every effort had been made, more by practice even than precept, to soften those flinty natures, but all such attempts had been met by the most brutal and hideous language as well as threats, of diabolical revenge if ever the chance came. It delighted those foul creatures to see the islanders wince at the awful words and blanch at what they were by no means inclined to regard empty threats, although it was happily impossible for them to realize fully the significance of some of the worst of them.

Most of the islanders were on the strand ready to welcome the captain of the Thetis when he stepped ashore, and he and his officers were reverentially borne off to the magistrate’s house, and offered the best that the island afforded in the way of refreshments. On the way thither the news flew from lip to lip that they were to be freed from the prisoners, and the air resounded with songs of thanksgiving. Being a man of prompt action, Captain Thurston, as soon as he was comfortably installed at the magistrate’s, asked for the two prisoners to be brought before him, and as soon as the handcuffs had been put upon them his wish was obeyed.

When they were brought he addressed them in French, but was answered by a flood of foulest abuse, language that made even his tanned cheek flush and his hand seek the sword at his side. But he quickly mastered his rising temper and ordered them to be taken away and held in readiness for carrying on board. Turning to his host, he said quietly—

“I think you are to be congratulated in that you have escaped serious injury at the hands of these ruffians, for I don’t think they would hesitate to commit any crime that lay within their power if the fit seized them.”

To which the dear old man made answer—

“We have never ceased thanking God for that He saved us from such a calamity as that would have been, and we have now the answer to our prayers that He would send a British man-o’-war to take them away from our midst lest our vigilance should relax and they break out among us like two ravening wolves in a flock of sheep.”

But we must return to C. B. on his separate mission to the whaler. As he swung his boat around and came alongside of her in true whaling fashion he was conscious that all hands were watching him, from the four pairs of keen eyes at the mastheads to the captain on top of the little monkey poop. But he was well trained and in no way shy, so he swung himself on board, being met by the mate and greeted cordially. All hands were gathered in the waist, separate, of course, according to their station, and admiring glances were cast upon their magnificent young visitor, who towered nearly a head and shoulders over the tallest man there. His simple garb of shirt and trousers, the former buttonless and with sleeves cut off above the elbow, and the latter rolled up to the knees, set off his splendid proportions to the best advantage, while his noble head, bare save for clustering curls, and with a face of rare open beauty, apparently fascinated every one there.

The mate in particular was almost stupefied, but pulled himself together quickly, saying—

“Come aft, young man, an’ see th’ capt’n; we’re in want of fresh provisions, an’ we hope that there war canoe won’t scoff the hull amount befo’ we can get a look in.”

C. B. turned on him a dazzling smile, showing two perfect rows of teeth as white as curd and remarked—

“That isn’t our fashion, sir. Whatever we have to dispose of, be sure you shall have your share of it. I will guarantee that.”

The mate muttered something which sounded like “Sure enough white man, any way;” and, confronted with the skipper, introduced the visitor.

Captain Taber was a man whose aspect alone was sufficient to win confidence from any one not absolutely beyond the pale. He was one of the grand old Quaker type who dare do anything but lie or cheat, inflexibly just but tenderly merciful also where mercy was not a cruelty. You could not look into those deep grey eyes and mistrust him, the firm curves of the closely shut mouth and the huge benevolent nose spelt good man in characters that those who ran might read. He wore the old typical Yankee beard with clean shaven upper lip, and his garb was a long grey coat and broad-brimmed grey felt hat. Grasping his visitor firmly by the hand, he said, “Welcome, young man, aboard th’ Eliza Adams. I’m glad to see you, and indeed it isn’t every day one’s eyes light upon so fine a specimen o’ mankind as you be. Now what ha’ ye got to trade? We’re in want of fresh provisions of all kinds if you can make the price to suit us.”

“If you have ever been here before or to Pitcairn, captain,” replied C. B., “you’ll know that dollars mean nothing to us. Clothing, dress material, tools and books, are our chief need, and we are always prepared to deal liberally with everybody or not at all. We may not be able to supply you as amply as we would like to-day because of the arrival of the warship, but as I told your mate, we shall show the strictest impartiality in dividing what we have to sell.”

For a moment the captain gazed at C. B. in silence, and then turning to his mate, said—

“Say, Mr. Winsloe, it ain’t often you find the contents match the casket, is it? But here’s a feller ez handsom’ as a statoo, an’ talkin’ like an angel. Well, he’s a phenomenon.” Then, turning to C. B., the old man said—

“Excuse me, I forgot my manners; you see we don’t come across men like you every day.”

C. B. smiled shyly and answered, “It’s all right, sir, I was hardly noticing. In fact, I was just then thinking of asking you whether by any chance you might have a vacancy aboard for a boat-steerer?” The skipper’s face was a study as he stood transfixed with astonishment and then burst into a roar of happy laughter, while the big tears ran down his russet cheeks. When at last he recovered his breath he gasped—

“Well, now, if that don’t beat all. Ben short of a harponeer goin’ on three months since poor Diego got chawed up, and here’s one ready made for us, that is if he can handle an iron like he can a steer-oar. Can ye now by any happy chance?” he inquired almost wistfully of the young man.

“If you’ll let me try, sir, with one of the irons in the waist-boat I’ll show you,” replied C. B.

The skipper nodded assent, and C. B., shouting to one of his boat’s crew to throw him up the baling gourd, sprang into the waist-boat with it, and when he had bent on a lance warp or short line to a harpoon he flung the gourd well away from the ship into the sea. Then poising the heavy weapon he balanced himself for a moment, a perfect model for a sculptor, and hurled it at the tiny object. The harpoon described a regular parabola and fell, splitting the gourd in half, while an involuntary cheer went up from the crew.

“That’s as good as I want,” muttered the skipper, and then aloud to C. B.: “Had any experience on whale?”

“Oh yes, sir,” brightly responded the young man, “we do considerable whaling here. In fact, we’ve got about thirty barrels of humpback oil here now; we’d be glad to trade with you if we can come to terms.”

“All right,” returned the captain, “we’ll talk about that later; the thing now is to get you. Half the cruise is over, that is I can engage you for about two years at the fiftieth lay and three hundred dollars a ton for sperm oil, market price for black. An’ if you’re willin’, I’ll put you on the articles now.”

“I came principally for that purpose,” replied C. B. with sincerity, and within ten minutes he was enrolled as captain’s boat-steerer of the ship Eliza Adams, presently cruising for sperm whales in the Pacific Ocean with some twenty-two months of her voyage to serve.

I cannot say that C. B. felt excited or uplifted at this accomplishment of his desires, but he certainly felt that satisfaction which arises from the banishment of uncertainty, and with a contented face he took his position in his boat again ready to pilot the skipper in, who was lowering his own boat. A very few words sufficed to convey to his friends in the boat the news of his step, but they were enough to reduce the warm-hearted fellows to tears. For the departure of any one from that happy community, where all were related and where all were friends, was looked upon by everybody in the nature of a personal bereavement, and indeed was considered much more serious than death, because when any one died those remaining really believed that the departed one had entered into a far happier state of life than could be possible on earth, and that sorrow for them was unnatural and wrong.

But no word was spoken as they sped towards the beach, the seasoned hands in the skipper’s boat straining every nerve to keep up with them. A bit of skilful piloting was needed, but the skipper was an old hand at surf boating, and handled his boat with consummate skill. And as soon as she touched the beach there were twenty willing hands ready to grab her and run her up until the wave receded, when all hands jumped out and assisted to drag her high and dry.

In five minutes the news had spread to every member of the community that C. B. was going away, and great were the lamentations. Indeed, it was fortunate that the captain of the Thetis demanded their attention as he had to hurry away, as that took the edge off somewhat. C. B.’s boat with a fresh crew was requisitioned to carry off the huge load of fresh fruit, meat and vegetables that had been collected, while the captain with the two desperadoes would go off in a boat free from a hampering load of provisions. Glad as they were to get rid of the terrible creatures that had worried them so long, and also that they had been of service to a man-o’-war, there were few of the usual demonstrations as the boats pushed off, for their hearts were very heavy at the loss of C. B., in spite of all they had felt lately.

CHAPTER VI C. B.’s Departure

Now that this momentous time in our hero’s life had arrived, all the affection felt for him by every member of the community welled up, and the slight reserve, manifested in spite of all efforts to hide it, because of his furious onslaught upon the savage strangers, melted away, leaving not a trace behind. He was hardly left alone a minute; both men and women crowded around him as if eager to see everything they could of him as long as they could. Many of the girls wept copiously, for he had been secretly worshipped by a goodly number of them, although he was quite fancy free, and had never singled one out for special notice. He might have been affianced to any girl he chose, for he possessed all the qualities that make a man beloved, but by some curious twist, the delights of love for the other sex had never appealed to him—as yet the love of one Christian for another, fostered by the love of God as it should be, had been found all sufficient for the needs of his heart.

At all this display of affection Captain Taber looked on amazed, for he had never seen anything like it before. In his experience people were shy of showing how much they loved a popular favourite, but these simple children of the sun believed in showing their love and were in no wise ashamed of doing so. He kept close by C. B.’s mother, who exercised a sort of fascination over him, and in response to her repeated entreaties that he would be good to her boy, replied—

“My dear lady, for lady you are of the greatest, I regard your son as a holy trust. He’s just the finest man to look at and hear speak I ever set eyes on, and as far as I am concerned, you may take it that he’ll do well. I have no favourites; as long as a man does his duty on board my ship he’s entitled to and gets the best treatment I can give him, and I take care that he isn’t put upon by anybody. But be comforted, marm, your son’s bound to make his way anywhere. He’ll get imposed upon, of course, until he learns that people such as you are very scarce outside this island. But that won’t do him much harm, I take it. Hallo! what’s this?”

This was the gathering together of the entire population of the island, including the temporary visitors, upon an open grassy knoll almost in the centre of the settlement, which was quite near to where Captain Taber and Grace were standing. As the people disposed themselves in picturesque attitudes upon the grass, Grace said to the captain—

“They are about to hold a prayer meeting to commend my son to the care of God while he is absent from us. We always do it when any one leaves the island, for we know how lonely they will feel but for the fellowship of Jesus.”

The captain bowed his head gravely, but did not trust himself to say anything. For one thing he felt sad and ashamed, knowing how careless and lax in respect to spiritual things he had long been, although his innate kindliness and sweet temper had preserved him from much evil.

The captain of the Thetis drew near and exchanged a cordial handshake with his American compeer, saying as he did so—

“We are apparently about to witness a peculiar sight—a whole people at prayer who all believe in what they’re doing. It is a moving spectacle.”

There was no time for more conversation, for all had arrived, and without further delay the white-haired old patriarch took up his parable, saying to his assembled flock—

“My beloved ones, let us in accordance with our valued custom commend our brother Christmas Bounty Adams to our loving Father. He goes out from us for a time into a world where we have heard that the name of God is lightly esteemed, where the worship of God is performed at stated intervals, but the life that has God for its centre and circumference is known to and lived by but a very few. But our God is able to keep our dear brother as he kept Philip his father, and we send him away full of confidence that he will live so as to show every one with whom he comes in contact that he is a Christ’s man and that it is a good and pleasant thing to be so. Now let us sing our favourite hymn, ‘O God of Bethel, by whose Hand.’”

The two captains turned pale under their tan, and their frames trembled with emotion as the glorious burst of human melody, unaided by any instrument, rose upon the still air. Never had they imagined anything like it, nor could they hardly believe their eyes when they saw the tears streaming down nearly every face. And when at last the sweet strains ceased, it seemed as if a certain beauty had suddenly left the world. Then the grand old leader’s voice arose in tenderest, most intimate intercourse with their Friend and Father. Nothing of the stereotyped, pumped-up oration, utterly misnamed prayer, so often heard in pseudo prayer meetings, but the close confidence of beloved children with a Father whose love was known and proved hourly throughout life. When he had finished, Philip stood up in touching simplicity and blessed God for his son’s strength and beauty and good life, held him up in his spiritual arms as it were, and gave him to the Father as Abraham did Isaac. Grace followed in an even deeper, sweeter strain, and then as her voice faltered and died away, as if at a preconcerted signal, all the gathering broke out in the majestic strains of St. Ann’s to “O God, our help in ages past,” followed immediately by the Old Hundredth.

The two captains were close together all the time, but neither spoke, hardly breathed, so impressed were they by the simple yet tremendous scene. When all was over, Captain Taber said sententiously—

“This just lays over all my experience. I’ve been to camp meetin’s before now and they begun quiet enough, but before they got far there was mor’en half of ’em just crazy, jumping mad, howlin’ and screechin’ like ’sif they was possessed with devils, as the Scripture says. But these folks seems full of earnestness, yet quiet and reverent all the time.”

“Yes,” responded the British captain, “though I’ve never been to a camp meeting, I’ve been to some other meetings in England where the behaviour of the folks has made me blush all over my body. And then again I’ve been to other meetings where everything was so formal and perfunctory that I could not think that any of them believed what they were saying or what they were hearing.”

Just then the old patriarch came up and claimed his guest, the British captain, but the latter said that he must rejoin his ship at once if the stuff was ready that he had purchased. He was amazed to find that during his stay ashore one heavy boatload had already been taken aboard, inquiring as he did so if his two passengers were ready and he would see them put on board. They were brought along helpless to hurt anybody, but using their foul tongues to their full power. The captain had serious thoughts of gagging them, but exercised his patience, remembering that once in the cells on board of his ship they might curse themselves dumb and hurt nobody’s ears.

So he departed, never to forget that visit and never to be forgotten by the people whom he had relieved, and in an hour’s time the Thetis turned on her heel and sped seaward on her way to Sydney. Then came C. B.’s turn. All his farewells were said, his exceedingly scanty wardrobe was packed in a mat, and all being snugly stowed in the whaleship’s boat, he, at the captain’s request, took the steer oar, while willing, loving hands ran the boat out on the crest of a departing roller and, the oars being handled with the usual skill, she shot out into the smooth beyond, amidst a chorus of farewells rapidly growing fainter as she receded.

Reaching the ship the ample load of fresh provisions was taken aboard with the usual smartness, and the boat hoisted into her place, while the new-comer gazed with keenest interest as the sails were trimmed and the ship filled away. For it must be remembered that for all his skill in handling a boat, whether under sail or oars, and his many visits to vessels, he had hitherto never been on board one of them while she was being handled, and consequently the whole business was of the newest and strangest to him. And here I must say that in all my conversations with landsmen about the sea life, I have ever found it one of the hardest tasks to explain that even the most experienced sailors, upon first going on board ship, have some considerable difficulty in becoming acquainted with her details. To the untrained eye she may look precisely the same as the ship our sailor has just left, but to the man who has to find in the blackest depth of night the gear about the deck by means of which the sails high over head are worked, there are certain to be many acute differences leading to much blundering and botherment until he gets used to them.

But this is very technical and needs much more space than can be spared to elucidate it properly, and even then I doubt very much whether the result would be considered worth while. So I fall back upon the fact that C. B., grand fellow as he undoubtedly was, stood and looked at what was going on, as the Eliza Adams’ yards were trimmed for standing off to sea, with a sense of utter bewilderment, which went far to dispel the admiration that his fine physique had excited among the crew in the morning—especially among his fellows, the other harponeers, who were all Portuguese, all full of enthusiasm for their business as well as of skill in carrying it on, but absolutely destitute of the finer feelings of humanity, ruthless and cruel beyond belief, and only restrained from excesses among their boats’ crews while on a whale by a wholesome respect for the strong man who ruled them.

These men bore no good will towards C. B. as a stranger and an interloper, and besides, they were jealous of the favour with which the skipper regarded him. Therefore, when he exhibited his ignorance of the handling of the ship, they were unrestrained in their jeering at him, and used their coarse limited English to its full extent in letting him see how they regarded him. But he only looked at them thoughtfully and wondered why they thus spoke to him, seeing that he had not offended them in any way as far as he could tell. And then the ship being fairly on her course for the south-east the mate, Mr. Winsloe, came to him and said—

“Now then, C. B., you had better see your quarters and make yourself acquainted with your shipmates. I can see you know but dern little about a ship, but I guess you’ll learn mighty quick. Come along.”

He led C. B. below to the narrow apartment on the port side where the harponeers, the carpenter and cooper, cook and steward lived together in a certain state, waited upon by a mulatto lad, and fed in precisely the same way as the captain and officers. Here Mr. Winsloe introduced him to the senior harponeer, a huge black Portuguese from Terceira, saying—

“Pepe, just take this chap in hand and show him the ropes. I believe he’s a boss whaleman, but a ship’s strange to him, and we want him to get used to her as soon as may be. And say”—here his voice dropped to a whisper—“just pass the word to the other fellows that there’s to be no fool hazing of this chap. He’s too good for it and we don’t want him spoiled. Besides, he’s quite up to acting ugly, and if he does and gets a knife between his ribs there’s going to be big trouble with the old man, an’ a joke ain’t worth all that.”

Fortunately C. B. heard nothing of this, but he noted the deep scowl on Pepe’s face as he replied—

“All right, sir. But you don’t ’spects me to look after him ’n keep d’other fellows from hazin’ ’im, do ye? Kaze if ye do I cain’t say as I thinks it far an’ reasonable, specially as he’s such a greenie.”

“Now, that’s enough er that guff, Pepe,” returned the mate warningly; “I know all about you and you know all about me.” Then turning to C. B. the mate went on—

“Now, young man, this is your home and this man is the boss of the show, not but what you’re all equal in theory; but there, you’ll find out what I mean quick enough, and I hope you’ll learn how to take a good-natured joke if you don’t know already.” And he departed on deck again, leaving the two men face to face.

For a while they eyed each other in silence, each apparently engaged in taking the other’s measure; but while C. B.’s gaze was full of kindly consideration, Pepe’s looked full of scowling hatred. At last Pepe muttered some foul remark and turned away somewhat discomfited. He could not understand the calm untroubled gaze, and he was far too good a judge of men not to know that the young giant that stood before him would be much too big a handful for even him to manage, big as he was, if it came to a rough and tumble. This in itself was enough to make him dislike the new-comer, for no man likes being suddenly deposed from a position of supremacy over his fellows.

Then the other harponeers came trooping down to supper, followed by the carpenter and cooper, who were both taciturn Down East Yankees of a good type, but, like most of their kind, utterly callous and godless, although splendid workmen and brave men. In the babel that ensued C. B. could not but notice that there were many blasphemous remarks levelled at him obliquely, although no one spoke to him direct. And this was in truth a fiery ordeal, seeing that he had never in his life heard anything of the kind except a few broken words that the two escaped prisoners used so freely, and they were scarcely intelligible to him. But far harder to bear than that, he noted with surprise, was the air of enmity aroused by his presence; he who was so sensitive that even the slight reserve manifested towards him after his outbreak in defence of his sister had cut him to the very soul.

But his father had warned him that he might expect something of the sort and that he must steel his heart against it, be strong to endure and rest in the Lord, like the three holy children before the king of Babylon. So he breathed an inward prayer for strength, and drawing up to a vacant place at the table, helped himself to some food. From life-long habit he bowed his head over his plate in thanks to the Giver for a moment, and there burst out a roar of harsh laughter. But this created a diversion, for the cooper growled—

“Shet up, ye heathen, an’ don’t jeer a better man than yerselves when he’s asking a blessin’. Doan’t ye take no notice of ’em, youngster; they don’t know no better.”

C. B. gave him a grateful glance and bravely attacked his food, having a perfectly healthy appetite, and the meal proceeded in silence. But when all hands lit pipes and corn cob cigarettes, the reek of the place immediately sickened him, and turning deathly pale he hurried on deck for air. The smell of the place, full as it was of the odours of stale oil, the smoke from the lamp and the effluvia of bilge-water, was bad enough to lungs that had always been accustomed to pure air, and the added fumes of tobacco made the combination unbearable.

On deck it was beautiful; a strong breeze was blowing, and the sturdy ship under easy sail was making good way through the water. Under the brilliant moon the bold outlines of his island home were fast fading into indistinctness, and for all his high resolves he felt a pang as he thought of all that he had left and the unknown troubles he was going to meet. And then a deep kindly voice behind him said—

“Well, Mr. Man, feeling a bit homesick, are ye? That’ll wear off mighty sudden, but in the meantime you’ve got to have some clothes. Come down into the cuddy and I’ll fit ye up.”

It was the captain who had sought him out, knowing how easy it is for these islanders to get a chill when first leaving the genial climate of their home for the wide keenness of the sea, and knowing too how scantily his new recruit was provided with clothes. So together they went down into the little cabin, where, aided by the steward, Captain Taber produced a complete outfit of clothes including boots, which C. B. looked dubiously at and then shook his head merrily, saying—

“I’ve never had a boot on in my life, captain, and I’m afraid I shouldn’t be able to walk in them now.”

“True, my boy, I’d forgotten that,” laughed the skipper. “Well, we’ll cut the boots out, and now your account is twenty-two dollars, so you’d better pray for whale to enable you to pay off your score. Cart your dunnage below and get off to ye’er bunk, for I guess you’ve got the middle watch.”

C. B. gathered up his bundle of clothes and carried them to his berth, where he found several of his berth-mates had already turned in, but they were all smoking furiously. So he could only stay below long enough to get into some warm clothing, and then, feeling sick and silly, he climbed on deck again, a blanket on his arm, to seek a spot where he might sleep without fear of being suffocated. This experience of knowing not where to lay his head was totally unexpected by him, for it was the one thing his father had omitted to mention as being among the hardships of a seafaring life. And he began to wonder whether in all his career he should meet with anything harder to bear, being by nature a perfect lover of pure air.

However, he found a corner which struck him as being out of the way, and laid himself down upon the planks, drew the blanket over himself and commended himself to God, and like a perfectly healthy animal was almost immediately fast asleep. He was roughly aroused at midnight by one of the harponeers, who inquired caustically whether he thought he was going to be a passenger and have all night in. He at once sprang up and asked what his duties were, but his interlocutor turned away with a mocking laugh, muttering—

“Ef yew fink Ise goin’ t’ be yer nuss yous way off.”

So he went aft, where his instinct told him he should find the officer of the watch, and when he discovered that functionary, a thickset taciturn Yankee from Providence, Rhode Island, he courteously asked him if he might be told what to do. Mr. Spurrell gave a snort, being in a middle-watch humour, but he was a man of the most inflexible justice, and his leading principle compelled him to answer the honest question straightforwardly, instead of as so often happens overwhelming the novice with contumely for asking. He informed C. B. that his only duty was to keep on the alert, going forward occasionally to see if the lookout was being properly kept by the man, and if any sail-trimming had to be done to try and master the details of it, the how and why, so that presently in case of an emergency he might be able to take the watch himself.

C. B. thanked the officer gravely, and then, a happy thought striking him, asked if he might put in his first watch on deck learning to steer the ship. Steering a boat he was as we know an adept at, but using a ship’s wheel and compass is a very different matter, and he was unwilling to remain ignorant of anything for a moment longer than was necessary for him to learn it. Fortunately there was an able Kanaka from Samoa at the wheel, who spoke reasonably understandable English and was delighted to show C. B. all he knew. Thus it came about that at four bells, that is at the end of the Samoan’s trick at the wheel, C. B. could steer almost as well as his teacher. For there are some men born helmsmen, who learn with astounding ease and rapidity, others who to the last day of their lives never seem to be able to keep a ship, a sailing ship that is, anywhere near her course. Of course steering steamships is, like so many other things at sea in steamers, a purely mechanical process, and if a man does not do it well it argues that he is careless or lazy or both.

The wind held steady, so that the new-comer had no opportunity of learning anything about sail handling this watch, but it had passed away very rapidly and pleasantly, and when eight bells struck C. B. felt more contented than he had been since coming on board. Also he recognized how much he would have to learn, and was correspondingly eager to get on with that learning. But now he had to face the hole below, for the work of cleansing the ship for the day was beginning, the Eliza Adams being, like all those old-time south-seamen from New England, kept as spick and span as any yacht, quite contrary to generally accepted notions, and also in great contrast to the condition in which our English whalers used to be allowed to remain.

The foul atmosphere caught him by the throat as he entered, but he set his teeth and persevered, climbing into his bunk and lying there suffering until he went off into an almost drugged slumber. From this he was aroused at seven bells, 7.20 a.m., to breakfast, which was good and plentiful; but he was not able to eat a morsel, and had to rush on deck for relief. As soon as he appeared the captain saw him, and immediately noticed that there was something wrong with him. Calling him, the skipper inquired in kindly fashion after his health, and on being told what was the matter, raised his eyebrows wonderingly, for the complaint was new to him. And indeed it is nothing short of miraculous to me how men could live at all in such foul dens, reeking with stench and disease-laden air as they were. But of course the poisoning process did not go on long enough to kill, and the strong pure air of heaven when they came on deck soon acted as an antidote to the evil in the blood. A greater mystery still is the way in which our peasantry deliberately choose thus to poison themselves. Working all day in the strong pure breath of the fields, they will go to their cottages and, in company with a large family, close up every cranny whereby a little fresh air can creep in, and soak in that foul fug until the morning. Ugh!

So all the consolation the skipper could give C. B. was that he would soon get used to it as everybody else had to. And with that poor comfort C. B. had to be content. Now while the captain went on talking to him about the island life there was a cry from aloft, “Porps, porps.” A school of porpoises had joined the vessel, and were indulging in their graceful sinewy gambols under the bows as usual.

“Now, my boy,” cried the skipper, “is your time to show your shipmates what you can do with the iron. Your shot yesterday was a fancy one, I’ll admit, but this is a different matter. Come along forrard.”

Already a harpoon had been passed out to the bowsprit and attached to a stout line, which was rove through a block secured there in readiness and the other end passed in on deck. At the skipper’s direction C. B. slid down the martingale on to the guys and stood there, his shoulders braced against the martingale or dolphin-striker, while the old ship plunged along, occasionally bringing his feet within a few inches of the waves.

Beneath him the graceful agile sea-creatures rolled and sprang and plunged like mad things in the seething foam from the bluff bows of the advancing ship. C. B. poised his iron, pointed it at one of the rising porpoises, and at the moment it broke the water beneath him the iron flew from his hands. It struck the creature fairly in the middle of the back and sank through him as C. B. shouted—

“Haul up!”

And the men on deck running away with the line jerked the writhing mass out of the water up to the block, where a running bowline was dropped over its broad tail, by means of which it was hauled inboard. Another iron was hastily bent on and passed out, and the first victim had hardly been cut loose from the barb before another was transfixed in the same manner and lay struggling by the side of its fellow.

Again and again the feat was repeated, for the new harponeer’s aim seemed to be unerring, until eleven large porpoises lay in a heap abaft the windlass. And then a really wonderful thing happened. Two porpoises rose at once, rolling over and over each other as they did so, and just as they broke water the harpoon flew and pierced them both at once! Almost all hands saw the amazing stroke, and a great shout of approbation went up, for none of them had ever seen such a feat performed before.

The pair were hauled inboard and another shot made, but this time the iron went through the creature’s side, and in its tremendous efforts it wrenched the iron out of its body and fell, a torn and bleeding mass, back into the sea. In a moment the whole school rushed after it and, like a pack of starving wolves, rent it in fragments, leaping high into the air in their frenzied eagerness to get a share of the cannibal feast. So there was no more hunting for the time, but C. B.’s reputation as a harponeer was established upon the firmest basis, and only his fellow-harponeers were ungenerous enough to mutter that perhaps he wouldn’t do so well when it came to striking whales.

CHAPTER VII C. B. Justifies His Position

It was Captain Taber’s intention to proceed in leisurely fashion towards what we know as the “off-shore” grounds, by which term is meant an immense oblong tract of sea off the west coast of South America, extending for about a thousand miles to the westward and from about 50° south nearly to the Equator. This has always been a favourite habitat of the sperm whale, and although not quite so prolific as the Japan grounds or the vicinity of New Zealand, it has sometimes yielded splendid results. But it will be easily understood that in so vast an area, wherein the vision from the crow’s-nest of a single ship, or say a circle 90 miles in circumference, is but a speck and that only available by day, it is quite possible for a cruising ship to be many weeks on the ground and never see a solitary spout of a payable whale. And this too although the numbers of these creatures then frequenting a favourite haunt may be incalculable.

Few people, even sailors, can realize in any adequate measure the immensity of the ocean, the vastness of the great lone spaces of the deep. The best method I know to bring this home to one’s mind is to come up channel, one of the very busiest of all ocean thoroughfares, on a gloriously fine day and count the number of vessels seen. Of course I assume that the course is in mid-channel, and thus out of the range of the fishing-boats. The result is amazing. I have only just returned from a cruise in the Channel with the Home Fleet, when we were never more than twenty miles off shore, and I do not recall any one time that we had beside our own ships more than three vessels in sight. If then this be the case in the quite narrow waters of the greatest ocean highway in the world, what must it be where the ocean spreads from one quarter of the world to another? And no people realize this more fully than whalers, who know what it is to cruise for months in the unfrequented latitudes where their quarry is most likely to be found, and who, after a month or so’s unsuccessful search are haunted by the idea that just beyond the sea-rim, just over the edge of their little circle, there may be, most likely are, whales in abundance, but in what direction can they steer so as to come up with them?

But to return to C. B. Little by little he became accustomed to the fetid odours of his quarters, could bear to sleep down there even with his berth-mates’ pipes all going. But he felt a wide gap in his soul at the utter absence of one topic from all conversation which during the whole of his life had been ever uppermost as the most vital and interesting of all. His soul hungered for some one to talk to about God; he was horrified almost to faintness at the incessant blasphemy he heard around him continually; and, although he would not have owned it to anybody he grieved bitterly in secret that ever he had desired to leave his home and friends. And a great fear also possessed him occasionally. It was that he should grow quite indifferent to the realities of life in the shape of the things of God. Already he fancied he detected within himself a tolerance of the shameful language current about him, if only he could hear the stories it conveyed of things hitherto beyond any apprehension of his.

In fact, there was going on in the lonely man’s soul a conflict such as few of us ashore are called upon to face, a struggle with all the powers of darkness which has to be waged by every newly converted sailor when he goes to sea again, and finds no fellowship nor friendliness among his shipmates because he is suspected of being a Holy Joe. Few things try my patience more than to listen to hair-splitting doctrinal arguments, whether they be on so-called New Theology, or the cut of ecclesiastical vestments, while my mind reverts to the lonely soul in the ship’s fo’c’sle, who has just given his heart to the Lord, and has been compelled by the exigencies of his calling to go back to the foul life and conversation which never irked him before, but now is torture.

The proverb that a man is known by the company he keeps has no meaning at sea because your company is not of your own choosing. Detest it as you may you cannot get away from it, and although you may loathe every word you hear spoken, being human your gregarious instincts will assert themselves and fight fiercely against your desire to keep your mind and heart clean by trying to drive you into the society of those whose delight it is to outrage every feeling they think you possess of decency or righteousness. In such a situation as nowhere else in the world can a man rest upon the promise, “Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the age.” And happy will he be if the squabbling of the schoolmen as to the authenticity of the dear words has never come within his mental purview.

I think, however, that C. B.’s plight was rather worse than that of the newly converted sailor. For the latter has been long familiar with the language, has long known the utter absence of all recognition of God as having anything to do with men’s lives, and so, though a return to such environment is utterly distasteful to him, it is not strange, does not come with so much of a shock. But poor C. B., from his earliest infancy, had been steeped in the atmosphere of prayer, of the constant invariable immanence of God and in the belief of His immediate and benevolent interference in the affairs of His children down here. He had not been brought up religiously, for the word is suspect; in fact, as most of us know to our cost, a religious man and an unutterable scoundrel are often synonymous terms. But he had been bred in the belief in the Father’s love and the unseen fellowship with Jesus Christ His Son, Himself manifest in the flesh, and that not because, hateful devilish thought, there was anything to be made out of it, any well-deserved punishment to escape from, but because it was entirely good and pleasant to love the all-Father whose plans and purposes towards them were only love and that continually.

One thing, however, came to his aid early in the struggle. It was the remembrance of a conversation he had had with his parents once upon the possibility of the islanders’ goodness being of a negative character. That is to say, they had never been tempted to do wrong, all their lives had been hemmed in on every side by right-doing and right-thinking and perhaps, he had only hinted at it, if they had been subjected to the same trials and tests as the people in the great world, they would fall, and fall lamentably. He had not claimed for himself any special strength or virtue, whatever his innermost thoughts may have been, but he had really felt at the time that his love for God was so strong and fervent that he would be glad to test it even in the fiercest fires of persecution.

Of course he did not in the least anticipate what the reality would be, no one ever does. He had strung himself up to meet outrage, in a physical sense to be treated in openly severe ways, not by covert sarcasm, persistent blasphemy and ignoring of the very right of God to interfere in the affairs of man. Now he was face to face with the reality he felt dismayed, but he went to the unfailing resource of the Christian, he claimed his dearly purchased right of direct intercourse with the Fountain of love and wisdom and was at once stayed upon the sure sense of being a child well beloved by the Father.

He strove manfully also to acquaint himself with all those details of ship work which he now found to be quite intricate and difficult. Fortunately his fine physique and utter immunity from sea-sickness stood him in good stead and he learned rapidly, so that at the end of a fortnight he began to feel capable of holding his own with his shipmates. And in consequence of the continually flung hints that he would be found out when it came to the actual business of whaling he prayed fervently for a chance to show that in this at any rate he had nothing to learn here. But as day after day slipped by and no whales appeared he had to listen to a fresh set of innuendoes from his berth-mates, who now said that their ill-luck was due to his presence on board.

So when he took his spell at the mainmast head in the crow’s-nest, be sure that his glance never missed any object, however small, that came within the limits of human sight. At last when about halfway across the Pacific it happened to be his first two hours in the main crow’s-nest, from 6 to 8 a.m. The young Kanaka who was with him was sleepy and lethargic, taking little heed of the necessity for keeping a good look out in spite of the substantial bounty offered of twenty dollars for the first sight of an afterwards captured whale making over forty barrels of oil. C. B. was watchful as usual, for so far as he had yet lived he had never allowed himself to scamp or neglect any duty. This was hardly a virtue, it was bred in him.

And consequently at this time, in the full glory of the early dawn, while his heart uplifted itself in praise to the Creator of the beautiful world, all his other senses were concentrated in sight; his vision ranged ceaselessly over every square foot of the huge circle of sea of which he was the centre. Then suddenly, from far away on the Western horizon, there arose from the clear, placid bosom of the deep a tiny puff as of smoke from a pipe. The watcher stiffened into rigid attention. Ha, there it is again! another and another, and then a creamy curdling of the blue water as if its swell had suddenly met an obstruction. It was enough. Uplifting his mellow voice C. B. sent through the quiet air the whaler’s musical long-drawn cry of “Blo-o-o-o-o-w,” the liquid vowels persisting for nearly a minute. As soon as it ceased there arose from the deck the strong voice of the skipper, who had rushed on deck from deep sleep at the first beginning of the cry—

“Where away? keep crying.”

“Bloooooow, Bloooooow,” came the response, and then with a bursting change: “There—ere—she—white waters—and Blows, Blows, Blow. Broad on the starboard beam, sir, about ten miles off—seven or eight whales, sperm whales, Blo-o-o-o-w.”