CHAPTER TWELVE.
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, thoughaudible, were not articulate. Suddenly they waxed louder, and "God bemerciful to me, a sinner!" broke on the listener's ear. "Oh bless anddeliver 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 notdoubt that Christian was praying, by name, for the rest of hiscompanions. Presently the name of Jesus was heard distinctly, and thenthe voice ceased.
Ashamed to have been thus unintentionally led into eavesdropping, Adamscoughed, and made as much noise as possible while stooping to pass underthe low entrance to the cave. There was no door of any kind, but a turnin the short passage concealed the cave itself from view. Beforeentering, 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 thatstreamed 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 ofencouragement, "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 noreason to be ashamed of praying, but I have strong reason to be thankfulthat 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 andtone; nevertheless, John Adams felt it extremely difficult to speak, andwished with all his heart that he had not come to the cave. But he wastoo 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 gotto say. I've bin thinkin' for a long time past that it's of no mannerof use your comin' up here day after day an' mopin' away about whatcan't be mended, an' goin' into the blues. You'll excuse me, sir, forbein' so free, but you shouldn't do it, sir. You can't alter what's bindone 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'dbetter drop it and come along with me for a day's shootin' of the catsan' pigs, and then we'll go home an' have a royal supper an' a song ortwo, or maybe a game at blind-man's-buff with the child'n. That'swhat'll do you good, sir, an' make you forget what's past, take my wordfor it, Mister Christian."
While Adams was speaking, Christian's expression varied, passing fromthe kindly smile with which he had received his friend to a look ofprofound 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 youradvice and good feeling. You are wrong in supposing that anything shortof death can make me forget the past or lessen my feeling ofself-condemnation; but you are right in urging me to cease moping herein solitude. I have been told that already much more strongly than youhave 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 forthe 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 pastand 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 isnot enough. Why, man, do you think if I went to England just now, andsaid ever so earnestly or so truly, `I repent,' that I'd escape swingingat 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 orman. Besides, if repentance alone would do, where is the need of aSaviour?"
Adams's puzzled look increased, and finally settled on the horizon. Thematter had evidently never occurred to him before in that light. Aftera short silence he turned again to Christian.
"Well, sir, to be frank with you, I must say that I don't rightlyunderstand it."
"But I do," said Christian, again laying his hand on the Bible, "atleast I think I do. God has forgiven me for Jesus Christ's sake, andHis Spirit has made me repent and accept the forgiveness, and now I feelthat there is work, serious work, for me to do. I have just beenpraying that God would help me to do it. I'll explain more about thishereafter. Meanwhile, I will go with you to the settlement, and try atleast some parts of your plan. Come."
There was a quiet yet cheerful air of alacrity about Fletcher Christianthat day, so strongly in contrast with his previous sad and even moodydeportment, that John Adams could only note it in silent surprise.
"Have you been readin' much o' that book up here, sir?" he asked, asthey 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 timepast; 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 perplexedcomrade. "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 toprove, Mr Christian."
This reply seemed to set the mind of the other wandering, for hecontinued to lead his companion down the hill in silence after that. Atlast he said--
"John Adams, whatever turn my head may have got, I shall have reason tothank God for it all the days of my life--ay, and afterwards throughouteternity."
The silence which ensued after this remark was broken soon after by aseries of yells, which came from the direction of Matthew Quintal'shouse, and caused both Christian and Adams to frown as they hastenedforward.
"There's one man that needs forgiveness," said Adams, sternly. "Whetherhe'll get it or not is a question."
Christian made no reply. He knew full well that both McCoy and Quintalwere in the habit of flogging their slaves, Nehow and Timoa, andotherwise treating them with great cruelty. Indeed, there had reachedhim 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; butafterwards he was told of a repetition of the cruelty, and now he seemedabout to witness it with his own eyes. Burning indignation at firstfired his soul, and he resolved to punish Quintal. Then came thethought, "Who was it that tempted Quintal to mutiny, and placed him inhis present circumstances?" The continued cries of agony, however,drove all connected thought from his brain as he ran with Adams towardsthe 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 inrubbing salt into the wounds on his lacerated back.
With a furious shout Christian rushed forward. Quintal faced roundquickly. He was livid with passion, and raised a heavy stick to strikethe intruders; but Christian guarded the blow with his left arm, andwith his right fist knocked the monster down. At the same time Adamscut the lashings that fastened Nehow, who instantly fled to the bush.
Quintal, although partially stunned, rose at once and faced hisadversary, but although possessed of bulldog courage, he could notwithstand the towering wrath of Christian. He shrank backward a step,with a growl like a cowed but not conquered tiger.<
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"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, brutalact, I'll take on myself the office of your executioner, and will beatout your brains. _You_ know me, Quintal; I never threaten twice."
Christian's tone was calm, though firm, but there was something sodeadly in the glare of his clear blue eyes, that Quintal retreatedanother step. In doing so he tripped over a root and fell prone uponthe 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 walkedaway.
"This is a bad beginning to my new resolves," said Christian, with asigh, as they descended the hill.
"A bad beginning," echoed Adams, "to give a well-deserved blow to asgreat 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 previousgood-humour. A few minutes later they passed under the banyan-tree atthe side of Adams's house, and entered the square of the village, wherechildren, kittens, fowls, and pigs were disporting themselves in joyousrevelry.
The Lonely Island: The Refuge of the Mutineers Page 12