One morning John Adams, instead of going to work in his garden, as was
his wont, took down his musket from its accustomed pegs above the door,
and sallied forth into the woods behind the village. He had not gone
far when he heard a rustling of the leaves, and looking back, beheld the
graceful form of Sally bounding towards him.
"Are you going to shoot, father?" she said, on coming up.
The young people of the village had by this time got into the habit of
calling Adams "father," and regarded him as the head of the community;
not because of his age, for at this time he was only between thirty and
forty years, but because of his sedate, quiet character, and a certain
air of elderly wisdom which distinguished him. Even Edward Young, who
was about the same age, but more juvenile both in feeling and
appearance, felt the influence of his solid, unpretending temperament,
and laughingly acknowledged him King of Pitcairn.
"No, dear, I'm not goin' to shoot," said Adams, in reply, "I'm only
going up to Christian's outlook to try if I can find somethin' there,
an' I always like to have the old blunderbuss with me. It feels sort of
company, you know, an' minds me of old times; but you'll not understand
what I mean, Sall."
"No, because I've no old times to mind about," said Sally, with a
peculiar smile. "May I go with you, father?"
"Of course you may. Come along, lass."
Adams held out his strong hand. Sally put her peculiarly small one into
it, and the two went slowly up the mountain-track together.
On reaching the top of a little knoll or plateau, they stopped, and
turned to look back. They could see over the tops of the palm-groves
from that place. The track by which they had ascended was visible here
and there, winding among the flowering shrubs and trees. The village
lay far below, like a gem in a setting of bright green, which contrasted
pleasantly with the warm clouds and the blue sea beyond. The sun was
bright and the air was calm--so calm that the voices of the children at
play came up to them distinctly in silvery ripples.
"How comes it, Sall, that you've deserted your post to-day?"
"Because the guard has been relieved; same as you say they do on board a
man-of-war. I left the sprawlers in charge of Bessy Mills, and the
staggerers are shut into the green. You see, I'm feeling a little tired
to-day, and thought I would like to have a quiet walk in the woods."
She finished this explanation with a little sigh.
"Dear, dear me!" exclaimed Adams, with a look of amused surprise,
"you're not becomin' sentimental are you, Sally?"
"What is sentimental, father!"
"Why, it's a--it's a sort of a feelin'--a sensation, you know, a kind of
all-overishness, that--d'ye see--"
He stopped short and stared with a perplexed air at the girl, who burst
into a merry laugh.
"That's one of your puzzlers, I think," she said, looking up slyly from
the corners of her eyes.
"Well, Sall, that _is_ a puzzler," returned Adams, with a
self-condemning shake of the head. "I never before felt so powerfully
the want o' dictionary knowledge. I'll be shot if I can tell you what
sentimental is, though I _know_ what it is as well as I know what
six-water grog or plum-duff is. We must ask Mr Young to explain it.
He's bin to school, you know, an' that's more than I have--more's the
pity."
"Well," said Sally, as they proceeded on their way, "whatever senti--
senti--"
"Mental," said Adams.
"Whatever sentimental is, I'm not that, because I'm just the same as
ever I was, for I often want to be quiet and alone, and I often am quiet
and alone in the bush."
"And what do you think about, Sall, when you're alone in the bush?" said
the seaman, looking down with more interest than usual at the innocent
face beside him.
"Oh, about heaps and heaps of things. I couldn't tell you in a month
all I think about; but one thing I think most about is a man-of-war."
"A man-of-war, Sall?"
"Yes; I would give anything to see a man-of-war, what you've so often
told us about, with all its masts and sails, and bunks and guns and
anchors, and officers and men. I often wonder _so_ much what new faces
would be like. You see I'm so used to the faces of yourself and Mr
Young, and Mainmast and Susannah, and Toc and Matt and Dan and--"
"Just say the rest o' the youngsters, dear," interrupted Adams.
"There's no use in goin' over 'em all by name."
"Well, I'm so used to them that I can't fancy how any other faces can be
different, and yet I heard Mr Young say the other day that there's no
two faces in the world exactly alike, and you know there must be
hundreds and hundreds of faces in the world."
"Ay, there's thousands and thousands--for the matter o' that, there's
millions and millions of 'em--an it's quite true that you can't ever
pick out two that would fit into the same mould. Of course," continued
Adams, in an argumentative tone, "I'm not goin' for to say but that you
could find a dozen men any day with hook noses an' black eyes an' lanky
hair, just as you can find another dozen with turn-up noses an' grey
eyes an' carroty hair; but what I mean to say is, that you won't find no
two of 'em that han't got a difference of some sort somewheres. It's
very odd, but it's a fact."
"Another puzzler," said Sally, with a laugh.
"_Just_ so. But what else do you think about, Sall?"
"Sometimes I think about those fine ladies you've told us of, who drive
about in grand carriages with horses. Oh, these horses; what I would
give to see horses! Have they got tails, father?"
"Tails!" cried Adams, with a laugh, "of course they have; long hairy
ones, and manes too; that's hair down the back o' their necks, dear.
See here, fetch me that bit of red stone and I'll draw you a horse."
Sally brought the piece of red stone, and her companion, sitting down
beside a smooth rock, from which he wiped the dust with the sleeve of
his shirt, began, slowly and with compressed lips, frowning eyebrows,
and many a hard-drawn sigh, to draw the portrait of a horse.
Adams was not an artist. The drawing might have served almost equally
well for an ass, or even for a cow, but Sally watched it with intense
interest.
"You see, dear," said the artist, commenting as the work proceeded,
"this is his head, with a turn-up--there--like that, for his nose. A
little too bluff, no doubt, but no matter. Then comes the ears, two of
'em, somewhat longish--so, not exactly fore an' aft, as I've made 'em,
but ath'ort ships, so to speak, only I never could understand how
painters manage to make one thing look as if it was behind another. I
can't get behind the one ear to put on the other one nohow."
"A puzzler!" ejaculated Sally.
"Just so. Well, you have them both, anyhow, only fore an' aft, as I
said before. Well, then comes his back with a hollow--so, for people to
sit in when they go cruisin' about on shore; then here's his legs--
somethin' like that, the fore ones straight an' the aft ones crooked."
"Has he only two legs," asked Sally, in surprise, "one before an' one
behind?"
"No, dear, he's got four, but I've the same difficulty wi' them that I
had wi' the ears--one behind the other, you know. However, there you
have 'em--so, in the fore-an'-aft style. Then he's got hoofs at the end
o' the legs, like the goats, you know, only not split up the middle,
though why they're not split is more than I can tell; an' there's a sort
o' curl behind, a little above it--the fetlock I think they call it, but
that's far beyond my powers o' drawin'."
"But you've forgot the tail," said Sally.
"So I have; think o' that now, to forget his tail! He'd never do that
himself if he was alive. It sticks out from hereabouts. There you have
it, flowin' quite graceful down a'most to his heels. Now, Sally, that's
a horse, an' not much to boast of after all in the way of a likeness,
though I say it that shouldn't."
"How I _should_ like to see a real one!" said the girl, gazing intently
at the wild caricature, while her instructor looked on with a benignant
smile.
"Then I often think of the poor people Mr Young is so fond of telling
us stories about," continued Sally, as they resumed their upward path,
"though I'm much puzzled about them. Why are they poor? Why are they
not rich like other people?"
"There's a many reasons why, dear," continued Adams, whose knowledge of
political economy was limited; "some of 'em don't work, an' some of 'em
won't work, and some of 'em can't work, an' what between one thing an'
another, there's a powerful lot of 'em everywhere."
Sally, whose thirst for knowledge was great, continued to ply poor John
Adams with questions regarding the poor, until he became so involved in
"puzzlers" that he was fain to change the subject, and for a time they
talked pleasantly on many themes. Then they came to the steep parts of
the mountains, and relapsed into silence. On reaching another plateau
or flat knoll, where they turned to survey the magnificent panorama
spread out before them, Sally said, slowly--
"Sometimes when I'm alone in the bush I think of God. Mr Young has
been talking to me about Him lately, and I am wondering and wanting to
know more about Him. Do you know anything about Him, father?"
John Adams had looked at his simple interrogator with surprise and not a
little perplexity.
"Well, to tell you the honest truth," said he, "I can't say that I do
know much about Him, more shame to me; an' some talks I've had lately
with Mr Young have made me see that I know even less than I thought I
did. But we'll ask Mr Young to explain these matters to us when we
return home. As it happens. I've come up here to search for the very
book that tells us about God--His own book, the Bible. Mr Christian
used to read it, an' kept it in his cave."
Soon afterwards the man and child reached the cave referred to. On
entering, they were surprised to find Young himself there before them.
He was reading the Bible, and Adams could not help recalling his
previous visit, when he had found poor Fletcher Christian similarly
occupied.
"I didn't know you was here, Mr Young, else I wouldn't have disturbed
you," said Adams. "I just came up to see if I could find the book, for
it seems to me that if you agree to carry out your notion of turnin'
schoolmaster, it would be as well to have the school-book down beside
us."
"_My_ notion of turning schoolmaster," said Young, with a faint smile;
"it was _your_ notion, Adams. However, I've no objection to fall in
with it, and I quite agree about carrying the Bible home with us, for,
to say truth, I don't feel the climbing of the mountain as easy as I
used to."
Again the faint smile played on the midshipman's lips for a moment or
two.
"I'm sorry to hear you say that, sir," said Adams, with a look of
concern.
"And it can't be age, you know," continued Young, in a tone of
pleasantry, "for I'm not much above thirty. I suspect it's that
asthmatic affection that has troubled me of late. However," he added,
in a heartier tone, "it won't do to get downhearted about that. Come,
what say you to begin school at once? We'll put you at the bottom of
the class, being so stupid, and we'll put Sally at the top. Will you
join, Sall?"
We need scarcely say that Sally, who was always ready for anything,
whether agreeable to her or otherwise, assented heartily to the
proposition, and then and there began to learn to read out of the Bible,
with John Adams for a class-fellow.
Of course it was uphill work at first. It was found that Adams could
blunder on pretty well with the small words, but made sad havoc among
the long ones. Still his condition was pronounced hopeful. As to
Sally, she seemed to take up the letters at the first sitting, and even
began to form some correct notion of the power of syllables. After a
short trial, Young said that that was quite enough for the first day,
and then went on to read a passage or two from the Bible himself.
And now, for the first time, Otaheitan Sally heard the old, old story of
the love of God to man in the gift of Jesus Christ. The name of Jesus
was, indeed, not quite unfamiliar to her; but it was chiefly as an oath
that her associations presented it to her. Now she learned that it was
the name of Immanuel, God with us, the Just One, who died that sinful
man might be justified and saved from the power of sin.
She did not, indeed, learn all this at that time; but she had her
receptive mind opened to the first lessons of the glorious truth on than
summer evening on the mountain-top.
From this date forward, Edward Young became a real schoolmaster; for he
not only taught Adams to read better than he had ever yet read, but he
daily assembled all the children, except the very little ones, and gave
them instruction in reading out of the Word of God. In all this John
Adams gave him hearty assistance, and, when not acting as a pupil, did
good service in teaching the smaller children their letters.
But Young went a step further.
"John Adams," said he, one morning, "it has been much on my mind of late
that God has spared you and me in order that we may teach these women
and children the way of salvation through Jesus Christ."
"It may be as you say, sir," returned Adams, "but I can't exactly feel
that I'm fit to say much to 'em about that. I can only give the little
uns their A B C, an' p'r'aps a little figurin'. But I'll go in with
you, Mr Young, an' do my best."
"Thank you, Adams, thank you. I feel sure that you will do well, and
that God will bless our efforts. Do you know, John, I think my
difficulties about the _way_ are somewhat cleared up. It's simpler than
I thought. The whole work of our salvation is already accomplished by
our blessed Lord Jesus. All we have got to _do_ is, _not to refuse it_.
You see, whatever I know about it is got from the Bible, an' you can
judge of that as well as I. Besides the passages that I have already
shown you about believing, I find this, `Come unto me all ye that labour
and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest;' and this, `Whosoever
will, let him come;' and this, `Turn ye, turn ye, for why will ye die.'
So you see there's no doubt the _offer_ is made to every one who will;
and then it is written that the Holy Spirit is able to make us willing.
If God entreats us to `come,' and provides the `way,' what is it that
hinders but unwillingness? Indeed, the Word says as much, for I find it
written, `Ye _will_ not come to me, that ye might have life.'"
"What you say seems very true, sir," replied Adams, knitting his brows
and shaking his head dubiously; "but then, sir, do you mean to say a
man's good behaviour has nothin' to do with his salvation at all?"
"Nothing whatever, John, as far as I can make out from the Bible--at
least, not in the matter of _procuring_ his salvation. As a consequence
of salvation, yes. Why, is it not said by the Lord, `If ye love me,
keep my commandments?' What could be plainer or stronger than that? If
I won't behave myself because of love to my Lord, I'll not do it on any
lower ground."
Still John Adams shook his head. He admitted that the arguments of his
friend did seem unanswerable, but,--in short, he became an illustration
of the truth of the proverb, `A man convinced against his will is of the
same opinion still.' He had promised, however, to render all the aid in
his power, and he was not the man to draw back from his word. When,
therefore, Edward Young proposed to read daily prayers out of the Church
of England Prayer-book, which had been taken from the _Bounty_ with the
Bible and Carteret's _Voyages_, he made no objection; and he was
similarly `agreeable,' as he expressed it, when Young further proposed
to have service forenoon and afternoon on Sundays.
For some months these various occupations and duties were carried on
with great vigour, much to the interest of all concerned, the native
women being quite as tractable scholars as the children.
We cannot tell now whether it was the extra labour thus undertaken by
Young, or some other cause, that threw him into bad health; but certain
it is, that a very few months later, he began to feel his strength give
way, and a severe attack of his old complaint, asthma, at last obliged
him to give up the work for a time. It is equally certain that at this
important period in the history of the lonely island, the `good seed'
was sown in `good ground,' for Young had laboured in the name of the
Lord Jesus, and the promise regarding such work is sure: "Your labour is
not in vain in the Lord."
"I must knock under for a time, John," he said, with a wearied look, on
the occasion of his ceasing to work. He had of late taken to calling
Adams by his Christian name, and the latter had been made unaccountably
uneasy thereby.
"Never mind, sir," said the bluff seaman, in an encouraging tone. "You
just rest yourself for a bit, an' I'll carry on the school business,
Sunday services an' all. I ain't much of a parson, no doubt, but I'll
do my best, and a man can't do no more."
"All right, John, I hand it over to you. A short time of loafing about
and taking it easy will set me all to rights again, and I'll resume
office as fresh as ever."
Alas! poor Edward Young's day of labour was ended. He never more
resumed office on earth.
Shortly after the above conversation he had another and extremely
violent attack of asthma. It prostrated him completely, so that for
several days he could not speak. Afterwards he became a little better,
but it was evident to every one that he was dying, and it was touching
to see the earnest way in which the tearful women, who were so fond of
him, vied with each other in seeking to relieve his sufferings.
John Adams sat by his bedside almost continually at last. He seemed to
require neither food nor rest, but kept watching on hour after hour,
sometimes moistening the patient's lips with water, sometimes reading a
few verses out of the Bible to him.
"John," said the poor invalid one afternoon, faintly, "your hand. I'm
going--John--to be--for ever with the Lord--the dear Lord!"