Part 4 (1/2)
What was the story of his fate? That he came safely home, rejoicing in his natural freedom; that he could not express his delight at finding home so pleasant; that his days were spent in telling of the wonderful things he had seen: more sects than the G.o.ds of the South Seas; more doubters than believers; contradictions, and insults, and suspicions everywhere. They laughed again, when they thought of us, and pitied us all the while.
But his exhilaration wore off, after a time. Then came the reaction. A restlessness; an undefined, unsatisfied longing. Life became a burden.
The seed of dissension had fallen in fresh and fallow soil: it was a souvenir of his sojourn among us. He, the child of Nature, must now follow out the artificial and hollow life of the world, or die unsatisfied; for he could not return to his original sphere of trust and contentment. He had learned to doubt all things, as naturally as any of us.
For days he moaned in spirit, and was troubled; nothing consoled him; his soul was broken of its rest; he grew desperate and melancholy.
I believe he was distracted with the problem of society, and I cannot wonder at it. One day, when his condition had become no longer endurable, he stole off to sea in his canoe, thinking, perhaps, that he could reach this continent, or some other; possibly hoping never again to meet human faces, for he could not trust them.
It was his heroic exit from a life that no longer interested him. Great was the astonishment of the islanders, who looked upon him as one possessed of the Evil Spirit, and special sacrifices were offered in his behalf; but the G.o.ds were inexorable; and, after several days upon the solitary sea, a shadow, a mote, drifted toward the valley,--a canoe, with a famis.h.i.+ng and delirious voyager, that was presently tossed and broken in the surges; then, a dark body glistened for a moment, wet with spray, and sank for ever, while the s.h.i.+ning coral reef was stained with the blood of the first-born.
I heard it all in the desolate wail of the mother, yet could not weep; my eyes burned like fire.
Little Niga came for me presently, and led me into the great grove of _kamane_-trees, up the valley. He insisted upon holding me by the hand: it was all he could do to comfort me, and he did that with his whole soul.
In silence we pressed on to one of the largest of the trees. I recognized it at once. Niga and I, one day, went thither, and I cut a name upon the soft bark of the tree.
When we reached it we paused. Niga pointed with his finger; I looked. It was there yet,--a simple name, carved in the rudest fas.h.i.+on. I read the letters, which had since become an epitaph. They were these:--
”KaNA-ANa, _aet. 16 yrs._”
Under them were three initials,--my own,--cut by the hand of Kana-ana, after his return from America.
We sat down in the gloomy grove. ”Tell me,” I said, ”tell me, Niga, where has his spirit gone?”
”He is here, now,” said Niga; ”he can see us. Perhaps, some day, we shall see him.”
”You have more faith than our philosophers, for they have reasoned themselves out of everything. Would you like to be a philosopher, Niga?”
I asked.
Niga thought, if they were going to die, body and soul, that he wouldn't like to be anything of the sort, and that he had rather be a first-cla.s.s savage than a fourth-rate Christian, any day.
I interrupted him at this alarming a.s.sertion. ”The philosophers would call your faith a superst.i.tion, Niga; they do not realize that there is no true faith unmixed with superst.i.tion, since faith implies a belief in something unseen, and is, therefore, itself a superst.i.tion. Blessed is the man who believes blindly,--call it what you please,--for peace shall dwell in his soul. But, Niga,” I continued, ”where is G.o.d?”
”Here, and here, and here,” said Niga, pointing me to a grotesque carving in the sacred grove, to a monument upon the distant precipice, and to a heap of rocks in the sea; and the smile of recognition with which the little votary greeted his idols was a solemn proof of his sincerity.
”Niga,” I said, ”we call you and your kind heathens. It is a harmless anathema, which cannot, in the least, affect you personally. Ask us if we love G.o.d! Of course we do. Do we love Him above all things, animate or inanimate? Undoubtedly! Undoubtedly is easily said, and let us give ourselves credit for some honesty. We believe that we do love G.o.d above all; that we have no other G.o.ds before Him; yet, who of us will give up wealth, home, friends, and follow Him? Not one! The G.o.d we love is a very vague, invisible, forbearing essence. He can afford to be lenient with us while we are debating whether our neighbour is serving Him in the right fas.h.i.+on, or not. We'd rather not have other G.o.ds before Him: one is as many as we find it convenient to serve. The lover kisses pa.s.sionately a miniature. It is not, however, an image of his Creator, nor any memorial of his Redeemer's pa.s.sion, but only a portrait of his mistress. Do you blame us, Niga? It is the strongest instinct of our nature to wors.h.i.+p something. Man is a born idolater, and not one of us is exempted by reason of any scruples under the sun. You see it daily and hourly: each one has his idols.”
Little Niga, who sympathized deeply with me, seemed to have gotten some knowledge of our peculiarly mixed theories concerning G.o.d and the future state, from conversations overheard after the return of Kana-ana. He tried to console me with the a.s.surance that Kana-ana died a devoted and unshaken adherent to the faith of his fathers.
I couldn't but feel that his blood was off my hands when I learned this; and I believe I gave Niga a regular hug in that moment of joy.
Then we walked here and there, through the valley, and visited the old haunts, made memorable by many incidents in that romantic and chivalrous life of the South. Every one we met had some word to add concerning the Pride of the Valley, dead in his glorious youth.
Over and over, they a.s.sured me of his fidelity to me, his white brother, adding that Kana-ana had, more than once, expressed the deepest regret at not having brought me back with him.
He even meditated sending for me, in the same manner that I had sent for him; and, if he had done so, it was his purpose to see that I was at once made familiar with their Articles of Faith; for he antic.i.p.ated a willing convert in me, and it was the desire of his heart that I should know that perfect trust, peculiar to his people, and which is begotten of the brief gospel, so often quoted out of place: namely, that ”seeing is believing.”
It was a kind thought of his, and I wish he had carried it into execution, for then he might have lived. It was his susceptible nature that had come in contact with the great world, and received its death-wound. Had I been there to help him, I would have planned something to divert his mind until he had recovered himself, and was willing to submit to the monotony of life over yonder. Had he not done as much for me? Had he not striven, day after day, to charm me with his barbarism, and come very near to success? I should say he had. Dear little martyr! was he not the only boy I ever truly loved,--dead now in his blossoming prime!