converse in the cave—cruelty, punishment, and revelry.
it was fletcher christian’s voice,—there could be no doubt about that; but it was raised in very unfamiliar tones, and it went on steadily, with inflections, as if in pathos and entreaty.
“can he be praying?” thought adams, in surprise, for the tones, though audible, were not articulate. suddenly they waxed louder, and “god be merciful to me, a sinner!” broke on the listener’s ear. “oh bless and deliver the men whom i have led astray—poor edward young, john adams, isaac martin—”
the tones here sank and again became inarticulate, but adams could not doubt that christian was praying, by name, for the rest of his companions. presently the name of jesus was heard distinctly, and then the voice ceased.
ashamed to have been thus unintentionally led into eavesdropping, adams coughed, and made as much noise as possible while stooping to pass under the low entrance to the cave. there was no door of any kind, but a turn in the short passage concealed the cave itself from view. before entering, adams stopped.
“may i come in, sir?” he called out.
“is that you, adams? by all means come in.”
christian was seated, partly in the shadow, partly in the light that streamed in from the seaward opening. a quiet smile was on his lips, and his hand rested on an open book. it was the old bible of the bounty.
“beg pardon, sir,” said adams, touching his hat. “hope i don’t intrude. i heard you was—was—”
“praying,” said christian. “yes, adams, i have been praying.”
“well, sir,” said adams, feeling rather awkward, but assuming an air of encouragement, “you’ve got no reason to be ashamed of that.”
“quite true, adams, and i’m not ashamed of it. i’ve not only got no reason to be ashamed of praying, but i have strong reason to be thankful that i’m inclined to pray. sit down, adams, on the ledge opposite. you’ve got something on your mind, i see, that you want to get rid of. come, let’s have it.”
there was nothing but good-natured encouragement in christian’s look and tone; nevertheless, john adams felt it extremely difficult to speak, and wished with all his heart that he had not come to the cave. but he was too bold and outspoken a man to be long oppressed with such feelings. clearing his voice, he said, “well, mr christian, here’s what i’ve got to say. i’ve bin thinkin’ for a long time past that it’s of no manner of use your comin’ up here day after day an’ mopin’ away about what can’t be mended, an’ goin’ into the blues. you’ll excuse me, sir, for bein’ so free, but you shouldn’t do it, sir. you can’t alter what’s bin done by cryin’ over spilt milk, an’ it comes heavy on the rest of us, like. indeed it do. so i’ve made so bold as to come an’ say you’d better drop it and come along with me for a day’s shootin’ of the cats an’ pigs, and then we’ll go home an’ have a royal supper an’ a song or two, or maybe a game at blind-man’s-buff with the child’n. that’s what’ll do you good, sir, an’ make you forget what’s past, take my word for it, mister christian.”
while adams was speaking, christian’s expression varied, passing from the kindly smile with which he had received his friend to a look of profound gravity.
“you are both right and wrong, adams, like the rest of us,” he said, grasping the sailor’s extended hand; “thank you all the same for your advice and good feeling. you are wrong in supposing that anything short of death can make me forget the past or lessen my feeling of self-condemnation; but you are right in urging me to cease moping here in solitude. i have been told that already much more strongly than you have put it.”
“have you, sir?” said adams, with a look of surprise.
“yes,” said christian, touching the open bible, “god’s book has told me. it has told me more than that. it has told me there is forgiveness for the chief of sinners.”
“you say the truth, sir,” returned adams, with an approving nod. “repenting as you do, sir, an’ as i may say we all do, of what is past and can’t be helped, a merciful god will no doubt forgive us all.”
“that’s not it, that’s not it,” said christian, quickly. “repentance is not enough. why, man, do you think if i went to england just now, and said ever so earnestly or so truly, ‘i repent,’ that i’d escape swinging at the yard-arm?”
“well, i can’t say you would,” replied the sailor, somewhat puzzled; “but then man’s ways ain’t the same as god’s ways; are they, sir?”
“that’s true, adams; but justice is always the same, whether with god or man. besides, if repentance alone would do, where is the need of a saviour?”
adams’s puzzled look increased, and finally settled on the horizon. the matter had evidently never occurred to him before in that light. after a short silence he turned again to christian.
“well, sir, to be frank with you, i must say that i don’t rightly understand it.”
“but i do,” said christian, again laying his hand on the bible, “at least i think i do. god has forgiven me for jesus christ’s sake, and his spirit has made me repent and accept the forgiveness, and now i feel that there is work, serious work, for me to do. i have just been praying that god would help me to do it. i’ll explain more about this hereafter. meanwhile, i will go with you to the settlement, and try at least some parts of your plan. come.”
there was a quiet yet cheerful air of alacrity about fletcher christian that day, so strongly in contrast with his previous sad and even moody deportment, that john adams could only note it in silent surprise.
“have you been readin’ much o’ that book up here, sir?” he asked, as they began to descend the hill.
“do you mean god’s book?”
“yes.”
“well, yes, i’ve been reading it, off and on, for a considerable time past; but i didn’t quite see the way of salvation until recently.”
“ha! that’s it; that’s what must have turned your head.”
“what!” exclaimed christian, with a smiling glance at his perplexed comrade. “do you mean turned in the right or the wrong direction?”
“well, whether right or wrong, it’s not for me to say but for you to prove, mr christian.”
this reply seemed to set the mind of the other wandering, for he continued to lead his companion down the hill in silence after that. at last he said—
“john adams, whatever turn my head may have got, i shall have reason to thank god for it all the days of my life—ay, and afterwards throughout eternity.”
the silence which ensued after this remark was broken soon after by a series of yells, which came from the direction of matthew quintal’s house, and caused both christian and adams to frown as they hastened forward.
“there’s one man that needs forgiveness,” said adams, sternly. “whether he’ll get it or not is a question.”
christian made no reply. he knew full well that both mccoy and quintal were in the habit of flogging their slaves, nehow and timoa, and otherwise treating them with great cruelty. indeed, there had reached him a report of treatment so shocking that he could scarcely credit it, and thought it best at the time to take no notice of the rumour; but afterwards he was told of a repetition of the cruelty, and now he seemed about to witness it with his own eyes. burning indignation at first fired his soul, and he resolved to punish quintal. then came the thought, “who was it that tempted quintal to mutiny, and placed him in his present circumstances?” the continued cries of agony, however, drove all connected thought from his brain as he ran with adams towards the house.
they found poor nehow tied to a cocoa-nut tree, and quintal beside him. he had just finished giving him a cruel flogging, and was now engaged in rubbing salt into the wounds on his lacerated back.
with a furious shout christian rushed forward. quintal faced round quickly. he was livid with passion, and raised a heavy stick to strike the intruders; but christian guarded the blow with his left arm, and with his right fist knocked the monster down. at the same time adams cut the lashings that fastened nehow, who instantly fled to the bush.
quintal, although partially stunned, rose at once and faced his adversary, but although possessed of bulldog courage, he could not withstand the towering wrath of christian. he shrank backward a step, with a growl like a cowed but not conquered tiger.
“the slave is mine!” he hissed between his teeth.
“he is not; he belongs to god,” said christian. “and hark ’ee, matthew quintal, if ever again you do such a dastardly, cowardly, brutal act, i’ll take on myself the office of your executioner, and will beat out your brains. you know me, quintal; i never threaten twice.”
christian’s tone was calm, though firm, but there was something so deadly in the glare of his clear blue eyes, that quintal retreated another step. in doing so he tripped over a root and fell prone upon the ground.
“ha!” exclaimed adams, with a bitter laugh, “you’d better lie still. it’s your suitable position, you blackguard.”
without another word he and christian turned on their heels and walked away.
“this is a bad beginning to my new resolves,” said christian, with a sigh, as they descended the hill.
“a bad beginning,” echoed adams, “to give a well-deserved blow to as great a rascal as ever walked?”
“no, not exactly that; but—well, no matter, we’ll dismiss the subject, and go have a lark with the children.”
christian said this with something like a return to his previous good-humour. a few minutes later they passed under the banyan-tree at the side of adams’s house, and entered the square of the village, where children, kittens, fowls, and pigs were disporting themselves in joyous revelry.
