Part 2 (2/2)
My career of soul-destroying ”amus.e.m.e.nt” (ah, how hollow!) was not uninterrupted by warnings. Every now and again the mask was raised, and I saw clearly the unspeakable horrors of heathen existence.
For example, in an earlier part of this narrative, I have mentioned an old heathen called Elatreus, a good-natured, dull, absent-minded man, who reminded me of a respectable British citizen. How awful was _his_ end, how trebly awful when I reflect how nearly I--but let me not antic.i.p.ate.
Elatreus was the head, and eldest surviving member of a family which had a singular history. I never could make out what the story was, but, in consequence of some ancient crime, the chief of the family was never allowed to enter the town hall. The penalty, if he infringed the law, was terrible. Now it chanced one day that I was wandering down the street, my hands full of rare flowers which I had gathered for Doto, and with four young doves in my hat. It was spring, and at that season the young persons of the island expected to receive such gifts from their admirers. I was also followed by eleven little fawns, which I had tamed for her, and four young whelps of the bear. At the same time, in the lightness of my foolish heart, I was singing a native song, all about one Lityerses, to the tune of ”Barbara Allen.”
At this moment, I observed, coming out of a side street, old Elatreus. He was doddering along, his hands behind his back, and his nose in the air, followed by a small but increasing crowd of the natives, who crept stealthily behind at a considerable distance. I paused to watch what was happening.
Elatreus entered the main street, and lounged along till he came opposite the town hall, on which some repairs were being made. The door stood wide open. He gazed at it, in a vacant but interested way, and went up the steps, where he stood staring in an absent-minded, vacant kind of fas.h.i.+on. I could see that the crowd watching him from the corner of the side street was vastly excited.
Elatreus now pa.s.sed his hand across his brow, seemed vastly puzzled, and yawned. Then he slowly entered the town hall. With a wild yell of savage triumph the mob rushed in after him, and in a few moments came forth again, with Elatreus bound and manacled. Some one sped away, and brought the old priest, who carried the sickle. He appeared full of joy, and l.u.s.tily intoned--for they have this Popish custom of intoning--an unintelligible hymn. By this time Elatreus had been wreathed and crowned with flowers, and the rude mult.i.tude for this purpose seized the interesting orchids which I had gathered for my Doto. They then dragged the old man, pitifully lamenting, to the largest altar in the centre of the square.
Need I say what followed? The scene was too awful. With a horrible expression of joy the priest laid the poor wretch on the great stone altar, and with his keen sickle--but it is too horrible! . . . This was the penalty for a harmless act, forbidden by a senseless law, which Elatreus--a most respectable man for an idolater--had broken in mere innocent absence of mind.
Alas! among such a people, how could I ever hope, alone and unaided, to effect any truly regenerating work?
Yet I was not wholly discouraged; indeed, my _infatuation_ for Doto made me overlook much profligate behaviour that I do not care to mention in a tract which may fall into the hands of the young. One other example of the native barbarity, however, I must narrate.
A respected couple in the vicinity had long been childless. At length their wishes were crowned with success, and a little baby girl was born to them. But the priest, who had curious ideas of his own, insisted on consulting, as to this child, a certain witch, a woman who dwelt apart in a cave where there was a sulphurous hot-water spring, surrounded by laurel bushes, regarded as sacred by the benighted islanders. This spring, or the fumes that arose from it, was supposed to confer on the dweller in the cave the gift of prophecy. She was the servant of Apollon, and was credited with possessing a spirit of divination. The woman, after undergoing, or simulating, an epileptic attack, declared, in rhythmical language, that the babe must not be allowed to live. She averred that it would ”bring destruction on Scheria,” the native name for the island, which I have styled Boothland, in honour of the Salvation Army. This was enough for the priests, who did not actually slay the infant, but exposed it on the side of a mountain, where the beasts and birds were likely to have their way with it.
Now it chanced that I had climbed the hill-top that day to watch for a sail, for I never quite lost hope of being taken away by some British or continental vessel. My attendants, for a wonder, were all absent at some feast--Carneia, I think they called it--of their heathen G.o.ds. The time was early summer; it only wanted a fortnight of the date, as far as I could reckon, at which I had first been cast on the island, a year before.
As I descended the hillside, pleased, I must own, by the warm blight sunlight, the colour of the sea, and the smell of the aromatic herbs,--pleased, and half forgetful of the horrid heathenism that surrounded me, I heard a low wail as of an infant. I searched about, in surprise, and came on a beautiful baby, in rich swaddling bands, with a gold signet ring tied round its neck. Such an occurrence was not very unusual, as the natives, like most savages, were in the habit of keeping down the surplus population, by thus exposing their little ones. The history of the island was full of legends of exposed children, picked up by the charitable (there was, oddly enough, no prohibition against this), and afterwards recognized and welcomed by their families. As any Englishman would have done, I lifted the dear little thing in my arms, and, a happy thought occurring to me, carried it off as a present to Doto, who doted on babies, as all girls do. The gift proved to be the most welcome that I had ever offered, though Doto, as usual, would not accept it from my hands, but made me lay it down beside the hearth, which they regarded as a sacred place. Even if an enemy reached the hearth of his foe, he would, thenceforth, be quite safe in his house. Doto then picked up the child, warmed and caressed it, sent for milk for its entertainment, and was full of pleasure in her new pet.
She was a dear good girl, Doto, in spite of her heathen training. {74}
Strangely enough, as I thought at the time, she burst out weeping when I took my leave of her, and seemed almost as if she had some secret to impart to me. This, at least, showed an interest in me, and I walked to my home with high presumptuous thoughts.
As I pa.s.sed a certain group of rocks, in a lonely uncultivated district, while the grey of evening was falling, I heard a low whistle. The place had a bad reputation, being thought to be haunted. Perhaps I had unconsciously imbibed some of the superst.i.tions of the natives, for I started in alarm.
Then I heard an unmistakably British voice cry, in a suppressed tone, ”Hi!”
The underwood rustled, and I beheld, to my astonishment, the form, the crawling and abject form, of William Bludger!
Since the day of his landing we had never once met, William having been sent off to a distant part of the island.
”Hi!” he said again, and when I exclaimed, naturally, ”Hullo!” he put his finger on his lips, and beckoned to me to join him. This I did, and found that he was lurking in a cavern under the group of grey weather- worn stones.
When I entered the cave, Bludger fell a-trembling so violently that he could not speak. He seemed in the utmost alarm, his face quite ashen with terror.
”What is the matter, William Bludger?” I asked; ”have you had a Call, or why do you thrust yourself on me?”
”Have _you_ sich a thing as a chaw about ye?” he asked in tremulous accents. ”I'm _that_ done; never a drop has pa.s.sed my lips for three days, strike me dead; and I'd give anything for a chaw o' tobacco. A sup of drink you have _not_ got, Capt'n Hymn-book, axing your pardon for the liberty?”
”William,” I said, ”even in this benighted island, you set a pitiful example. You have been drinking, sir; you are reaping what you have sown; and only temperance, strict, undeviating total abstinence rather, can restore your health.”
”So help me!” cried the wretched man, ”except a drop of Pramneian {76} I took, the morning I cut and run,--and that was three days ago,--nothing stronger than castor-oil berries have crossed my lips. It ain't that, sir; it ain't the drink. It's--it's the Thargeelyah. Next week, sir, they are going to roast us--you and me--flog us first, and roast us after. Oh Lord! Oh Lord!”
VII. FLIGHT.
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