“This is the righteous maid, the comforter.”
Thus ended the hopes of the West. The time that followed was one of wild
confusion. Violence was the only law, and those who escaped in that
terrible day yielded themselves in hopeless misery to the disorders they
could not avert or control. Some few there always were who longed for
order and peace, and mourned in silence for their lost leaders; but none
had the courage to speak out.
It was in these days that a ship of strange appearance was seen
approaching the entrance of the Lagoon, which, passing quickly round to
the north of the Island, a bare, rocky region not yet inhabited, landed
there a large number of passengers, and before the rest of the
inhabitants could cross the mountain and discover who were the
new-comers, the ship which brought them had vanished again into the open
sea.
A stealthy departure and scarcely to be wondered at, for the government
of Burmah had grave fears whether even on the Island of Outlaws its
passengers could be welcomed or endured. They were a large company of an
entirely lawless robber race known at that time by the name of
Dacoits—the terror of the Burmese country.
These men soon found that they had been put ashore on the least fertile
part of the Island, and they began to come over the heights and plunder
the older settlers for whatever they needed, even driving them from
their homes and taking possession of these.
There was no government or settled order to which anyone could
appeal—“each man for himself” was the only rule. The number of the early
settlers was much diminished by the years of strife and violence, and
though some of those who came as children to the Island were now growing
to man’s and woman’s estate, these were not many, and the fact that
among the older settlers there were some who had families was a great
source of weakness to them as against the new-comers, for even the most
lawless of the old Southern men dreaded the attacks of these wild
marauders upon their feeble women and children.
Thus the presence of the Dacoits wrought a change at once on the island.
The common trouble to which they were now exposed inclined the earlier
settlers to look upon one another with more friendly eyes, and indeed I
think by this time they were all beginning a little to weary of
conflict, and so they drew together and determined on measures in which
they should all unite for driving the Dacoits back to the North, or at
any rate reducing them to some sort of subjection.
But this was by no means easy. Men who had no scruple at midnight
murder, and delighted in the torture of little children in the sight of
their mothers, could not be met by any force but that of perfectly
organized and strong repression, and the leaders of the party who now
represented the order of the Island began to dread whether they would
not indeed all perish at the hands of these savage invaders. It might be
so, but all that was best in these men rose up to meet the danger and to
defend their homes. They were beginning to understand the meaning of
union, of some sort of law, of the sacrifice of the will of each one to
the good of the whole, when a new thing happened.
Some Dacoits who had just been driven back from a plundering expedition
were men who had learnt a few words of English, and as they sullenly
retired they uttered terrible threats against their opponents, which
they said they would perform when the next moon was round, for then
ships would come bringing their friends, and they made signs to show
that these would come in great numbers.
Here were indeed tidings of despair for the settlers. They met once
again in the green amphitheatre in which they had been convened before,
and many of them remembered sadly how things had changed for the worse
since that day. The presence of this terror made them all of one accord,
though there seemed nothing to be done. The shipbuilding projects had
been long abandoned among the pre-occupations of their internal
conflicts, and the little boats in which they crossed the Lagoon were
perfectly useless for long voyages at this time of year; but indeed,
since all could not leave the Island, none of them would dream of
deserting their companions in misery.
Further, if other reason were needed for their remaining, all but the
children and quite young men and, women bore the brand which made life
impossible for them elsewhere.
And now a voice was heard among the anxious company to which all
listened, for most of them knew it well. It was a woman’s voice, the
voice of one who came among the first settlers of the West, drawn there
not by political sympathy or communistic fellow-feeling with them, but
simply by the thought that here, if anywhere, would be sick souls to
heal, sick bodies to tend, and women and little children needing help
and care. She was called “Our Sister,” and no one had learnt anything of
her family or her history. Of those whom she comforted in sickness or
trouble, each one felt assured that she held the creed his mother had
taught him as a little child; some would have sworn she belonged to the
Church of Rome; the Russians claimed her as theirs; some wild Welsh
Home-Rulers were certain that she belonged to the Primitive Methodist
Connexion; and a company of rough men from the English iron districts
were still more certain that her gentle voice was that of a Quakeress
from a secluded Yorkshire valley.
It did hot matter.
She had escaped, almost alone of the inmost circle of the West, at the
time of the burning of the church, by the fact that she was that day
nursing a little child who was sick of a fever and whose mother had just
died. Since that time evil habits and careless living had led to a great
spread of this terrible disease, and the Sister had gone from one sick
bed to another bringing medicine and the healing of her presence, and
there were those who said that something miraculous lay in the touch of
her hands and the whisper of her prayer.
It was her voice that spoke in the midst of the people that day. She
stood on a little mound among the tangled growth of scented
flowers—almost amidst of the great amphitheatre—and in the perfect hush
of her hearers and the stillness of the clear windless air every
syllable was heard.
She said that these troubles had come upon them, as they knew, through
their own folly and dissensions; that they might now, if they were
indeed united, resist their enemies and oblige them to live peaceably in
their own part of the Island, getting their supplies from the northern
reef, which was very fruitful, and not crossing the hills; that if,
taking warning from the weakness which their disorders had brought, they
would set themselves to strengthen some simple form of government, they
might even yet live peaceable and happy lives on the Island. If the new
company of Dacoits found them thus united and strong they might submit
to the same rule as the others; but alas! the moon was near the full.
There was but little time for such measures, even if all did their best.
But there was one weapon they had all long neglected, the weapon of
Prayer, and she entreated them all to kneel down around her.
The wild multitude thus taken unawares in a serious mood did not bethink
them of scoffing, indeed they loved her, and that was enough.
Her sweet, piercing voice seemed to touch the cloudless sky as she
confessed the sins of that company and acknowledged their need of all
things; and with words that claimed as the gift certain to be given by a
loving father’s hand, what others would timidly have asked as a doubtful
favour from a distant king, she seemed to lay hold at once with a strong
hand on all the infinite help hidden in the storehouse of the Heavenly
Will.
She claimed for that company, not safety only, but blessings and
gladness undreamed of by any; and when she ended, a great “Amen” went up
from all that strange congregation.
At this moment a wild cry was heard from those who stood on the eastern
ridge of the crater, which commanded the sea and the opening in the reef
by which vessels entered the Lagoon. A ship whose lines were but too
well known was in sight: the Dacoits were coming.
The whole assembly climbed up the sides of the crater and on to the long
ridge of hill beyond, and stood looking seaward. The ship came quickly
nearer—when those who knew the coast observed that, instead of following
the winding channel of deep water that leads to the opening of the
Lagoon, they were hurrying on to a great sunken reef to the north of
this, on which the sea, being unusually calm, was not breaking as it was
wont to do at most seasons.
They saw a crowd of Dacoits rush to the shore making signs to those on
board, but it was too late. The ship struck, and sank at once in the
fathomless depth of water outside the reef. The Dacoits on shore swam
across the Lagoon, and running over the reef again, swam towards the
sunken ship, and dived in the hope of saving their friends. But during
this little space of time, the tide, which turns there very suddenly,
brought great waves again to break over the sunken rocks and on the
outer edge of the reef, and many of those who swam out to the wreck were
drowned.
Why the ship took the wrong course no one could ever know; perhaps,
having made the voyage before, the captain ventured without a pilot.
To all who stood on the mountain ridge and saw what happened in that
short space of time, it seemed only that their prayer had been answered.
[Illustration]