They told me, that when they were so knocked down, the rest of their company rescued them, and stood over them fighting till they were come to themselves, all but he who they thought had been dead; and then they made their way with their halberts and pieces, standing close together in a line, through a body of above a thousand savages, beating down all that came in their way, got the victory over their enemies, but to their great sorrow, because it was with the loss of their friend; whom the other party, finding him alive, carried off with some others, as I gave an account in my former.

They described, most affectionately, how they were surprised with joy at the return of their friend and companion in misery, who they thought had been devoured by wild beasts of the worst kind, viz. by wild men; and yet how more and more they were surprised with the account he gave them of his errand, and that there was a Christian in a place near, much more one that was able, and had humanity enough to contribute to their deliverance.

They described how they were astonished at the sight of the relief I sent them, and at the appearance of loaves of bread, things they had not seen since their coming to that miserable place; how often they crossed it, and blessed it as bread sent from heaven; and what a reviving cordial it was to their spirits to taste it, as also of the other things I had sent for their supply. And, after all, they would have told me something of the joy they were in at the sight of a boat and pilots to carry them away to the person and place from whence all these new comforts came; but they told me it was impossible to express it by words, for their excessive joy driving them to unbecoming extravagancies, they had no way to describe them but by telling me that they bordered upon lunacy, having no way to give vent to their passion suitable to the sense that was upon them; that in some it worked one way, and in some another; and that some of them, through a surprise of joy, would burst out into tears; others be half mad, and others immediately faint. This discourse extremely affected me, and called to my mind Friday's ecstasy when he met his father, and the poor people's ecstasy when I took them up at sea, after their ship was on fire; the mate of the ship's joy, when he found himself delivered in the place where he expected to perish; and my own joy, when after twenty-eight years captivity I found a good ship ready to carry me to my own country. All these things made me more sensible of the relation of these poor men, and more affected with it.

Having thus given a view of the state of things as I found them, I must relate the heads of what I did for these people, and the condition in which I left them. It was their opinion, and mine too, that they would be troubled no more with the savages; or that, if they were, they would be able to cut them off, if they were twice as many as before; so that they had no concern about that. Then I entered into a serious discourse with the Spaniard whom I called governor, about their stay in the island; for as I was not come to carry any of them off, so it would not be just to carry off some and leave others, who perhaps would be unwilling to stay if their strength was diminished.

On the other hand I told them, I came to establish them there, not to remove them; and then I let them know that I had brought with me relief of sundry kinds for them; that I had been at a great charge to supply them with all things necessary, as well for their convenience as their defence; and that I had such particular persons with me, as well to increase and recruit their number, as by the particular necessary employments which they were bred to, being artificers, to assist them in those things in which at present they were to seek.

They were all together when I talked thus to them; and before I delivered to them the stores I had brought, I asked them, one by one, if they had entirely forgot and buried the first animosities that had been among them, and could shake hands with one another, and engage in a strict friendship and union of interest, so that there might be no more misunderstandings or jealousies.

William Atkins, with abundance of frankness and good humour, said, they had met with afflictions enough to make them all sober, and enemies enough to make them all friends: that for his part he would live and die with them; and was so far from designing any thing against the Spaniards, that he owned they had done nothing to him but what his own bad humour made necessary, and what he would have done, and perhaps much worse, in their case; and that he would ask them pardon, if I desired it, for the foolish and brutish things he had done to them; and was very willing and desirous of living on terms of entire friendship and union with them; and would do any thing that lay in his power, to convince them of it: and as for going to England, he cared not if he did not go thither these twenty years.

The Spaniards said, they had indeed at first disarmed and excluded William Atkins and his two countrymen, for their ill conduct, as they had let me know; and they appealed to me for the necessity they were under to do so; but that William Atkins had behaved himself so bravely in the great fight they had with the savages, and on several occasions since, and had shewed himself so faithful to, and concerned for the general interest of them all, that they had forgotten all that was past, and thought he merited as much to be trusted with arms, and supplied with necessaries, as any of them; and that they had testified their satisfaction in him, by committing the command to him, next to the governor himself; and as they had an entire confidence in him and all his countrymen, so they acknowledged they had merited that confidence by all the methods that honest men could merit to be valued and trusted; and they most heartily embraced the occasion of giving me this assurance, that they would never have any interest separate from one another.

Upon these frank and open declarations of friendship, we appointed the next day to dine all together, and indeed we made a splendid feast. I caused the ship's cook and his mate to come on shore and dress our dinner, and the old cook's mate we had on shore assisted. We brought on shore six pieces of good beef, and four pieces of pork, out of the ship's provision, with our punch-bowl, and materials to fill it; and, in particular, I gave them ten bottles of French claret, and ten bottles of English beer, things that neither the Spaniards nor the Englishmen had tasted for many years; and which it may be supposed they were exceeding glad of.

The Spaniards added to our feast five whole kids, which the cooks roasted; and three of them were sent, covered up close, on board our ship to the seamen, that they might feast on fresh meat from on shore, as we did with their salt meal from on board.

After this feast, at which we were very innocently merry, I brought out my cargo of goods, wherein, that there might be no dispute about dividing, I shewed them that there was sufficient for them all; and desired that they might all take an equal quantity of the goods that were for wearing; that is to say, equal when made up. As first, I distributed linen sufficient to make every one of them four shirts; and, at the Spaniards' request, afterwards made them up six; these were exceeding comfortable to them, having been what, as I may say, they had long since forgot the use of, or what it was to wear them.

I allotted the thin English stuffs, which I mentioned before, to make every one a light coat like a frock, which I judged fittest for the heat of the season, cool and loose; and ordered, that whenever they decayed, they should make more, as they thought fit. The like for pumps, shoes, stockings, and hats, &c.

I cannot express what pleasure, what satisfaction, sat upon the countenances of all these poor men when they saw the care I had taken of them, and how well I had furnished them; they told me I was a father to them; and that having such a correspondent as I was, in so remote a part of the world, it would make them forget that they were left in a desolate place; and they all voluntarily engaged to me not to leave the place without my consent.

Then I presented to them the people I had brought with me, particularly the tailor, the smith, and the two carpenters, all of them most necessary people; but above all, my general artificer, than whom they could not name any thing that was more needful to them; and the tailor, to shew his concern for them, went to work immediately, and, with my leave, made them every one a shirt the first thing he did; and, which was still more, he taught the women not only how to sew and stitch, and use the needle, but made them assist to make the shirts for their husbands and for all the rest.

As for the carpenters, I scarce need mention how useful they were, for they took in pieces all my clumsy unhandy things, and made them clever convenient tables, stools, bedsteads, cupboards, lockers, shelves, and every thing they wanted of that kind.

But to let them see how nature made artificers at first, I carried the carpenters to see William Atkins's basket house, as I called it, and they both owned they never saw an instance of such natural ingenuity before, nor any thing so regular and so handily built, at least of its kind; and one of them, when he saw it, after musing a good while, turning about to me, "I am sure," says he, "that man has no need of us; you need do nothing but give him tools."

Then I brought them out all my store of tools, and gave every man a digging spade, a shovel, and a rake, for we had no harrows or ploughs; and to every separate place a pickaxe, a crow, a broadaxe, and a saw; always appointing, that as often as any were broken, or worn out, they should be supplied, without grudging, out of the general stores that I left behind.

Nails, staples, hinges, hammers, chisels, knives, scissors, and all sorts of tools and iron-work, they had without tale as they required; for no man would care to take more than he wanted, and he must be a fool that would waste or spoil them on any account whatever. And for the use of the smith I left two tons of unwrought iron for a supply.

My magazine of powder and arms which I brought them, was such, even to profusion, that they could not but rejoice at them; for now they could march, as I used to do, with a musket upon each shoulder, if there was occasion; and were able to fight a thousand savages, if they had but some little advantages of situation, which also they could not miss of if they had occasion.

I carried on shore with me the young man whose mother was starved to death, and the maid also: she was a sober, well-educated, religious young woman, and behaved so inoffensively, that every one gave her a good word. She had, indeed, an unhappy life with us, there being no woman in the ship but herself; but she bore it with patience. After a while, seeing things so well ordered, and in so fine a way of thriving upon my island, and considering that they had neither business nor acquaintance in the East Indies, or reason for taking so long a voyage; I say, considering all this, both of them came to me, and desired I would give them leave to remain on the island, and be entered among my family, as they called it.

I agreed to it readily, and they had a little plot of ground allotted to them, where they had three tents or houses set up, surrounded with a basket-work, palisaded like Atkins's, and adjoining to his plantation. Their tents were contrived so, that they had each of them a room, a part to lodge in, and a middle tent, like a great storehouse, to lay all their goods in, and to eat and drink in. And now the other two Englishmen moved their habitation to the same place, and so the island was divided into three colonies, and no more; viz. the Spaniards, with old Friday, and the first servants, at my old habitation under the hill, which was, in a word, the capital city, and where they had so enlarged and extended their works, as well under as on the outside of the hill, that they lived, though perfectly concealed, yet full at large. Never was there such a little city in a wood, and so hid, I believe, in any part of the world; for I verily believe a thousand men might have ranged the island a month, and if they had not known there was such a thing, and looked on purpose for it, they would not have found it; for the trees stood so thick and so close, and grew so fast matted into one another, that nothing but cutting them down first, could discover the place, except the two narrow entrances where they went in and out, could be found, which was not very easy. One of them was just down at the water's edge, on the side of the creek; and it was afterwards above two hundred yards to the place; and the other was up the ladder at twice, as I have already formerly described it; and they had a large wood, thick planted, also on the top of the hill, which contained above an acre, which grew apace, and covered the place from all discovery there, with only one narrow place between two trees, not easy to be discovered, to enter on that side.

The other colony was that of Will Atkins, where there were four families of Englishmen, I mean those I had left there, with their wives and children; three savages that were slaves; the widow and children of the Englishman that was killed; the young man and the maid; and by the way, we made a wife of her also before we went away. There were also the two carpenters and the tailor, whom I brought with me for them; also the smith, who was a very necessary man to them, especially as the gunsmith, to take care of their arms; and my other man, whom I called Jack of all Trades, who was himself as good almost as twenty men, for he was not only a very ingenious fellow, but a very merry fellow; and before I went away we married him to the honest maid that came with the youth in the ship, whom I mentioned before.

And now I speak of marrying, it brings me naturally to say something of the French ecclesiastic that I had brought with me out of the ship's crew whom I took at sea. It is true, this man was a Roman, and perhaps it may give offence to some hereafter, if I leave any thing extraordinary upon record of a man, whom, before I begin, I must (to set him out in just colours) represent in terms very much to his disadvantage in the account of Protestants; as, first, that he was a Papist; secondly, a Popish priest; and thirdly, a French Popish priest.

But justice demands of me to give him a due character; and I must say, he was a grave, sober, pious, and most religious person; exact in his life, extensive in his charity, and exemplary in almost every thing he did. What then can any one say against my being very sensible of the value of such a man, notwithstanding his profession? though it may be my opinion, perhaps as well as the opinion of others who shall read this, that he was mistaken.

The first hour that I began to converse with him, after he had agreed to go with me to the East Indies, I found reason to delight exceedingly in his conversation; and he first began with me about religion, in the most obliging manner imaginable.

"Sir," says he, "you have not only, under God" (and at that he crossed his breast), "saved my life, but you have admitted me to go this voyage in your ship, and by your obliging civility have taken me into your family, giving me an opportunity of free conversation. Now, Sir," says he, "you see by my habit what my profession is, and I guess by your nation what yours is. I may think it is my duty, and doubtless it is so, to use my utmost endeavours on all occasions to bring all the souls that I can to the knowledge of the truth, and to embrace the Catholic doctrine; but as I am here under your permission, and in your family, I am bound in justice to your kindness, as well as in decency and good manners, to be under your government; and therefore I shall not, without your leave, enter into any debates on the points of religion, in which we may not agree, farther than you shall give me leave."

I told him his carriage was so modest that I could not but acknowledge it; that it was true, we were such people as they call heretics, but that he was not the first Catholic that I had conversed with without falling into any inconveniencies, or carrying the questions to any height in debate; that he should not find himself the worse used for being of a different opinion from us; and if we did not converse without any dislike on either side, upon that score, it would be his fault, not ours.

He replied, that he thought our conversation might be easily separated from disputes; that it was not his business to cap principles with every man he discoursed with; and that he rather desired me to converse with him as a gentleman than as a religieux; that if I would give him leave at any time to discourse upon religious subjects, he would readily comply with it; and that then he did not doubt but I would allow him also to defend his own opinions as well as he could; but that without my leave he would not break in upon me with any such thing.

He told me farther, that he would not cease to do all that became him in his office as a priest, as well as a private Christian, to procure the good of the ship, and the safety of all that was in her; and though perhaps we would not join with him, and he could not pray with us, he hoped he might pray for us, which he would do upon all occasions. In this manner we conversed; and as he was of a most obliging gentleman-like behaviour, so he was, if I may be allowed to say so, a man of good sense, and, as I believe, of great learning.

He gave me a most diverting account of his life, and of the many extraordinary events of it; of many adventures which had befallen him in the few years that he had been abroad in the world, and particularly this was very remarkable; viz. that during the voyage he was now engaged in he had the misfortune to be five times shipped and unshipped, and never to go to the place whither any of the ships he was in were at first designed: that his first intent was to have gone to Martinico, and that he went on board a ship bound thither at St. Maloes; but being forced into Lisbon in bad weather, the ship received some damage by running aground in the mouth of the river Tagus, and was obliged to unload her cargo there: that finding a Portuguese ship there, bound to the Madeiras, and ready to sail, and supposing he should easily meet with a vessel there bound to Martinico, he went on board in order to sail to the Madeiras; but the master of the Portuguese ship being but an indifferent mariner, had been out in his reckoning, and they drove to Fyal; where, however, he happened to find a very good market for his cargo, which was corn, and therefore resolved not to go to the Madeiras, but to load salt at the isle of May, to go away to Newfoundland. He had no remedy in the exigence but to go with the ship, and had a pretty good voyage as far as the Banks, (so they call the place where they catch the fish) where meeting with a French ship bound from France to Quebec, in the river of Canada, and from thence to Martinico, to carry provisions, he thought he should have an opportunity to complete his first design. But when he came to Quebec the master of the ship died, and the ship proceeded no farther. So the next voyage he shipped himself for France, in the ship that was burnt, when we took them up at sea, and then shipped them with us for the East Indies, as I have already said. Thus he had been disappointed in five voyages, all, as I may call it, in one voyage, besides what I shall have occasion to mention farther of the same person.

But I shall not make digressions into other men's stories which have no relation to my own. I return to what concerns our affair in the island. He came to me one morning, for he lodged among us all the while we were upon the island, and it happened to be just when I was going to visit the Englishmen's colony at the farthest part of the island; I say, he came to me, and told me with a very grave countenance, that he had for two or three days desired an opportunity of some discourse with me, which he hoped would not be displeasing to me, because he thought it might in some measure correspond with my general design, which was the prosperity of my new colony, and perhaps might put it at least more than he yet thought it was in the way of God's blessing.

I looked a little surprised at the last part of his discourse, and turning a little short, "How, Sir," said I, "can it be said, that we are not in the way of God's blessing, after such visible assistances and wonderful deliverances as we have seen here, and of which I have given you a large account?"

"If you had pleased, Sir," said he, with a world of modesty, and yet with great readiness, "to have heard me, you would have found no room to have been displeased, much less to think so hard of me, that I should suggest, that you have not had wonderful assistances and deliverances; and I hope, on your behalf, that you are in the way of God's blessing, and your design is exceeding good, and will prosper. But, Sir," said he, "though it were more so than is even possible to you, yet there may be some among you that are not equally right in their actions; and you know that in the story of Israel, one Achan, in the camp, removed God's blessing from them, and turned his hand so against them, that thirty-six of them, though not concerned in the crime, were the objects of divine vengeance, and bore the weight of that punishment."

I was sensibly touched with this discourse, and told him his inference was so just, and the whole design seemed so sincere, and was really so religious in its own nature, that I was very sorry I had interrupted him, and begged him to go on; and in the meantime, because it seemed that what we had both to say might take up some time, I told him I was going to the Englishmens' plantation, and asked him to go with me, and we might discourse of it by the way. He told me he would more willingly wait on me thither, because there, partly, the thing was acted which he desired to speak to me about. So we walked on, and I pressed him to be free and plain with me in what he had to say.

"Why then, Sir," says he, "be pleased to give me leave to lay down a few propositions as the foundation of what I have to say, that we may not differ in the general principles, though we may be of some differing opinions in the practice of particulars. First, Sir, though we differ in some of the doctrinal articles of religion, and it is very unhappy that it is so, especially in the case before us, as I shall shew afterwards, yet there are some general principles in which we both agree; viz. first, that there is a God, and that this God, having given us some stated general rules for our service and obedience, we ought not willingly and knowingly to offend him, either by neglecting to do what he has commanded, or by doing what he has expressly forbidden; and let our different religions be what they will, this general principle is readily owned by us all, that the blessing of God does not ordinarily follow a presumptuous sinning against his command; and every good Christian will be affectionately concerned to prevent any that are under his care, living in a total neglect of God and his commands. It is not your men being Protestants, whatever my opinion may be of such, that discharges me from being concerned for their souls, and from endeavouring, if it lies before me, that they should live in as little distance from and enmity with their Maker as possible; especially if you give me leave to meddle so far in your circuit."

I could not yet imagine, what he aimed at, and told him I granted all he had said; and thanked him that he would so far concern himself for us; and begged he would explain the particulars of what he had observed, that, like Joshua, (to take his own parable) I might put away the accursed thing from us.

"Why then, Sir," says he, "I will take the liberty you give me; and there are three things which, if I am right, must stand in the way of God's blessing upon your endeavours here, and which I should rejoice, for your sake, and their own, to see removed. And, Sir," says he, "I promise myself that you will fully agree with me in them all as soon as I name them; especially because I shall convince you that every one of them may with great ease, and very much to your satisfaction, be remedied."

He gave me no leave to put in any more civilities, but went on: "First, Sir," says he, "you have here four Englishmen, who have fetched women from among the savages, and have taken them as their wives, and have had many children by them all, and yet are not married to them after any stated legal manner, as the laws of God and man require; and therefore are yet, in the sense of both, no less than adulterers, and living in adultery. To this, Sir," says he, "I know you will object, that there was no clergyman or priest of any kind, or of any profession, to perform the ceremony; nor any pen and ink, or paper, to write down a contract of marriage, and have it signed between them. And I know also, Sir, what the Spaniard governor has told you; I mean of the agreement that he obliged them to make when they took these women, viz. that they should choose them out by consent, and keep separately to them; which, by the way, is nothing of a marriage, no agreement with the women as wives, but only an agreement among themselves, to keep them from quarrelling.

"But, Sir, the essence of the sacrament of matrimony (so he called it, being a Roman) consists not only in the mutual consent of the parties to take one another as man and wife, but in the formal and legal obligation that there is in the contract to compel the man and woman at all times to own and acknowledge each other; obliging the man to abstain from all other women, to engage in no other contract while these subsist; and on all occasions, as ability allows, to provide honestly for them and their children; and to oblige the women to the same, on like conditions, mutatis mutandis, on their side.

"Now, Sir," says he, "these men may, when they please, or when occasion presents, abandon these women, disown their children, leave them to perish, and take other women and marry them whilst these are living." And here he added, with some warmth, "How, Sir, is God honoured in this unlawful liberty? And how shall a blessing succeed your endeavours in this place, however good in themselves, and however sincere in your design, while these men, who at present are your subjects, under your absolute government and dominion, are allowed by you to live in open adultery?"

I confess I was struck at the thing itself, but much more with the convincing arguments he supported it with. For it was certainly true, that though they had no clergyman on the spot, yet a formal contract on both sides, made before witnesses, and confirmed by any token which they had all agreed to be bound by, though it had been but the breaking a stick between them, engaging the men to own these women for their wives upon all occasions, and never to abandon them or their children, and the women to the same with their husbands, had been an effectual lawful marriage in the sight of God, and it was a great neglect that it was not done.

But I thought to have gotten off with my young priest by telling him, that all that part was done when I was not here; and they had lived so many years with them now, that if it was adultery it was past remedy, they could do nothing in it now.

"Sir," says he, "asking your pardon for such freedom, you are right in this; that it being done in your absence, you could not be charged with that part of the crime. But I beseech you, matter not yourself that you are not therefore under an obligation to do your uttermost now to put an end to it. How can you think, but that, let the time past lie on whom it will, all the guilt for the future will lie entirely upon you? Because it is certainly in your power now to put an end to it, and in nobody's power but yours."

I was so dull still, that I did not take him right, but I imagined that by putting an end to it he meant that I should part them, and not suffer them to live together any longer; and I said to him I could not do that by any means, for that it would put the whole island in confusion. He seemed surprised that I should so far mistake him. "No, Sir," says he, "I do not mean that you should separate them, but legally and effectually marry them now. And, Sir, as my way of marrying may not be so easy to reconcile them to, though it will be as effectual even by your own laws; so your way may be as well before God, and as valid among men; I mean by a written contract signed by both man and woman, and by all the witnesses present; which all the laws of Europe would decree to be valid."

I was amazed to see so much true piety, and so much sincerity of zeal, besides the unusual impartiality in his discourse, as to his own party or church, and such a true warmth for the preserving people that he had no knowledge of or relation to; I say, for preserving them from transgressing the laws of God; the like of which I had indeed not met with any where. But recollecting what he had said of marrying them by a written contract, which I knew would stand too, I returned it back upon him, and told him I granted all that he had said to be just, and on his part very kind; that I would discourse with the men upon the point now when I came to them. And I knew no reason why they should scruple to let him marry them all; which I knew well enough would be granted to be as authentic and valid in England as if they were married by one of our own clergymen. What was afterwards done in this matter I shall speak of by itself.

I then pressed him to tell me what was the second complaint which he had to make, acknowledging I was very much his debtor for the first, and thanked him heartily for it. He told me he would use the same freedom and plainness in the second, and hoped I would take it as well; and this was, that notwithstanding these English subjects of mine, as he called them, had lived with these women for almost seven years, and had taught them to speak English, and even to read it, and that they were, as he perceived, women of tolerable understanding and capable of instruction; yet they had not, to this hour taught them any thing of the Christian religion; no not so much as to know that there was a God, or a worship, or in what manner God was to be served; or that their own idolatry, and worshipping they knew not who, was false and absurd.

This, he said, was an unaccountable neglect, and what God would certainly call them to an account for; and perhaps at last take the work out of their hands. He spoke this very affectionately and warmly. "I am persuaded," says he, "had those men lived in the savage country whence their wives came, the savages would have taken more pains to have brought them to be idolaters, and to worship the devil, than any of these men, so far as I can see, has taken with them to teach them the knowledge of the true God. Now, Sir," said he, "though I do not acknowledge your religion, or you mine, yet we should be all glad to see the devil's servants, and the subjects of his kingdom, taught to know the general principles of the Christian religion; that they might at least hear of God, and of a Redeemer, and of the resurrection, and of a future state, things which we all believe; they had at least been so much nearer coming into the bosom of the true church, than they are now in the public profession of idolatry and devil-worship."

I could hold no longer; I took him in my arms, and embraced him with an excess of passion. "How far," said I to him, "have I been from understanding the most essential part of a Christian, viz. to love the interest of the Christian church, and the good of other men's souls! I scarce have known what belongs to being a Christian."—"O, Sir, do not say so," replied he; "this thing is not your fault."—"No," said I; "but why did I never lay it to heart as well as you?"—"It is not too late yet," said he; "be not too forward to condemn yourself."—"But what can be done now?" said I; "you see I am going away."—"Will you give me leave," said he, "to talk with these poor men about it?"—"Yes, with all my heart," said I, "and I will oblige them to give heed to what you say too."—"As to that," said he, "we must leave them to the mercy of Christ; but it is our business to assist them, encourage them, and instruct them; and if you will give me leave, and God his blessing, I do not doubt but the poor ignorant souls shall be brought home into the great circle of Christianity, if not into the particular faith that we all embrace; and that even while you stay here." Upon this I said, "I shall not only give you leave, but give you a thousand thanks for it." What followed on this account I shall mention also again in its place.

I now pressed him for the third article in which we were to blame. "Why really," says he, "it is of the same nature, and I will proceed (asking your leave) with the same plainness as before; it is about your poor savages yonder, who are, as I may say, your conquered subjects. It is a maxim, Sir, that is, or ought to be received among all Christians, of what church, or pretended church soever, viz. that Christian knowledge ought to be propagated by all possible means, and on all possible occasions. It is on this principle that our church sends missionaries into Persia, India, and China; and that our clergy, even of the superior sort, willingly engage in the most hazardous voyages, and the most dangerous residence among murderers and barbarians, to teach them the knowledge of the true God, and to bring them over to embrace the Christian faith. Now, Sir, you have an opportunity here to have six or seven-and-thirty poor savages brought over from idolatry to the knowledge of God, their Maker and Redeemer, that I wonder how you can pass by such an occasion of doing good, which is really worth the expense of a man's whole life."

I was now struck dumb indeed, and had not one word to say; I had here a spirit of true Christian zeal for God and religion before me, let his particular principles be of what kind soever. As for me, I had not so much as entertained a thought of this in my heart before, and I believe should not have thought of it; for I looked upon these savages as slaves, and people whom, had we any work for them to do, we would have used as such, or would have been glad to have transported them to any other part of the world; for our business was to get rid of them, and we would all have been satisfied if they had been sent to any country, so they had never seen their own. But to the case: I say I was confounded at his discourse, and knew not what answer to make him. He looked earnestly at me, seeing me in some disorder; "Sir," said he, "I shall be very sorry, if what I have said gives you any offence."—"No, no," said I, "I am offended with nobody but myself; but I am perfectly confounded, not only to think that I should never take any notice of this before, but with reflecting what notice I am able to take of it now. You know, Sir," said I, "what circumstances I am in; I am bound to the East Indies, in a ship freighted by merchants, and to whom it would be an insufferable piece of injustice to detain their ship here, the men lying all this while at victuals and wages upon the owners' account. It is true, I agreed to be allowed twelve days here, and if I stay more I must pay 32 sterling per diem demurrage; nor can I stay upon demurrage above eight days more, and I have been here thirteen days already; so that I am perfectly unable to engage in this work; unless I would suffer myself to be left behind here again; in which case, if this single ship should miscarry in any part of her voyage, I should be just in the same condition that I was left in here at first, and from which I have been so wonderfully delivered."

He owned the case was very hard upon me as to my voyage, but laid it home upon my conscience, whether the blessing of saving seven-and-thirty souls was not worth my venturing all I had in the world for. I was not so sensible of that as he was, and I returned upon him thus: "Why, Sir, it is a valuable thing indeed to be an instrument in God's hand to convert seven-and-thirty heathens to the knowledge of Christ: but as you are an ecclesiastic, and are given over to that work, so that it seems naturally to fall into the way of your profession, how is it then that you do not rather offer yourself to undertake it, than press me to it!"

Upon this he faced about, just before me, as he walked along, and pulling me to a full stop, made me a very low bow: "I most heartily thank God, and you, Sir," says he, "for giving me so evident a call to so blessed a work; and if you think yourself discharged from it, and desire me to undertake it, I will most readily do it, and think it a happy reward for all of the hazards and difficulties of such a broken disappointed voyage as I have met with, that I have dropped at last into so glorious a work."

I discovered a kind of rapture in his face while he spoke this to me; his eyes sparkled like fire, his face bowed, and his colour came and went as if he had been falling into fits; in a word, he was tired with the agony of being embarked in such a work. I paused a considerable while before I could tell what to say to him, for I was really surprised to find a man of such sincerity and zeal, and carried out in his zeal beyond the ordinary rate of men, not of his profession only, but even of any profession whatsoever. But after I had considered it awhile, I asked him seriously if he was in earnest, and that he would venture on the single consideration of an attempt on those poor people, to be locked up in an unplanted island for perhaps his life, and at last might not know whether he should be able to do them any good or not?

He turned short upon me, and asked me what I called a venture? "Pray, Sir," said he, "what do you think I consented to go in your ship to the East Indies for?"—"Nay," said I, "that I know not, unless it was to preach to the Indians."—"Doubtless it was," said he; "and do you think if I can convert these seven-and-thirty men to the faith of Christ, it is not worth my time, though I should never be fetched off the island again? Nay, is it not infinitely of more worth to save so many souls than my life is, or the life of twenty more of the same profession? Yes, Sir," says he, "I would give Christ and the Blessed Virgin thanks all my days, if I could be made the least happy instrument of saving the souls of these poor men though I was never to set my foot off this island, or see my native country any more. But since you will honour me," says he, "with putting me into this work, (for which I will pray for you all the days of my life) I have one humble petition to you," said he "besides."—"What is that?" said I. "Why," says he, "it is, that you will leave your man Friday with me, to be my interpreter to them, and to assist me for without some help I cannot speak to them, or they to me."

I was sensibly troubled at his requesting Friday, because I could not think of parting with him, and that for many reasons. He had been the companion of my travels; he was not only faithful to me, but sincerely affectionate to the last degree; and I had resolved to do something considerable for him if he out-lived me, as it was probable he would. Then I knew that as I had bred Friday up to be a Protestant, it would quite confound him to bring him to embrace another profession; and he would never, while his eyes were open, believe that his old master was a heretic, and would be damned; and this might in the end ruin the poor fellow's principles, and so turn him back again to his first idolatry.

However, a sudden thought relieved me in this strait, and it was this: I told him I could not say that I was willing to part with Friday on any account whatever; though a work that to him was of more value than his life, ought to me to be of much more value than the keeping or parting with a servant. But on the other hand, I was persuaded, that Friday would by no means consent to part with me; and then to force him to it without his consent would be manifest injustice, because I had promised I would never put him away, and he had promised and engaged to me that he would never leave me unless I put him away.

He seemed very much concerned at it; for he had no rational access to these poor people, seeing he did not understand one word of their language, nor they one word of his. To remove this difficulty, I told him Friday's father had learnt Spanish, which I found he also understood, and he should serve him for an interpreter; so he was much better satisfied, and nothing could persuade him but he would stay to endeavour to convert them; but Providence gave another and very happy turn to all this.

I come back now to the first part of his objections. When we came to the Englishmen I sent for them all together; and after some accounts given them of what I had done for them, viz. what necessary things I had provided for them, and how they were distributed, which they were sensible of, and very thankful for; I began to talk to them of the scandalous life they led, and gave them a full account of the notice the clergyman had already taken of it; and arguing how unchristian and irreligious a life it was, I first asked them if they were married men or bachelors? They soon explained their condition to me, and shewed me that two of them were widowers, and the other three were single men or bachelors. I asked them with what conscience they could take these women, and lie with them as they had done, call them their wives, and have so many children by them, and not be married lawfully to them?

They all gave me the answer that I expected, viz. that there was nobody to marry them; that they agreed before the governor to keep them as their wives; and to keep them and own them as their wives; and they thought, as things stood with them, they were as legally married as if they had been married by a parson, and with all the formalities in the world.

I told them that no doubt they were married in the sight of God, and were bound in conscience to keep them as their wives; but that the laws of men being otherwise, they might pretend they were not married, and so desert the poor women and children hereafter; and that their wives, being poor, desolate women, friendless and moneyless, would have no way to help themselves: I therefore told them, that unless I was assured of their honest intent, I could do nothing for them; but would take care that what I did should be for the women and children without them; and that unless they would give some assurances that they would marry the women, I could not think it was convenient they should continue together as man and wife; for that it was both scandalous to men and offensive to God, who they could not think would bless them if they went on thus.

All this passed as I expected; and they told me, especially Will Atkins, who seemed now to speak for the rest, that they loved their wives as well as if they had been born in their own native country, and would not leave them upon any account whatever; and they did verily believe their wives were as virtuous and as modest, and did to the utmost of their skill as much for them and for their children as any women could possibly do, and they would not part with them on any account: and Will Atkins for his own particular added, if any man would take him away, and offer to carry him home to England, and to make him captain of the best man of war in the navy, he would not go with him if he might not carry his wife and children with him; and if there was a clergyman in the ship, he would be married to her now with all his heart.

This was just as I would have it. The priest was not with me at that moment, but was not far off. So to try him farther, I told him I had a clergyman with me, and if he was sincere I would have him married the next morning, and bade him consider of it, and talk with the rest. He said, as for himself, he need not consider of it at all, for he was very ready to do it, and was glad I had a minister with me; and he believed they would be all willing also. I then told him that my friend the minister was a Frenchman, and could not speak English, but that I would act the clerk between them. He never so much as asked me whether he was a Papist or Protestant, which was indeed what I was afraid of. But I say they never inquired about it. So we parted; I went back to my clergyman, and Will Atkins went in to talk with his companions. I desired the French gentleman not to say any thing to them till the business was thorough ripe, and I told him what answer the men had given me.

Before I went from their quarter they all came to me, and told me, they had been considering what I had said; that they were very glad to hear I had a clergyman in my company; and they were very willing to give me the satisfaction I desired, and to be formally married as soon as I pleased; for they were far from desiring to part from their wives; and that they meant nothing but what was very honest when they chose them. So I appointed them to meet me the next morning, and that in the mean time they should let their wives know the meaning of the marriage law; and that it was not only to prevent any scandal, but also to oblige them that they should not forsake them, whatever might happen.

The women were easily made sensible of the meaning of the thing, and were very well satisfied with it, as indeed they had reason to be; so they failed not to attend all together at my apartment next morning, where I brought out my clergyman: and though he had not on a minister's gown, after the manner of England, or the habit of a priest, after the manner of France; yet having a black vest, something like a cassock, with a sash round it, he did not look very unlike a minister; and as for his language I was interpreter.

But the seriousness of his behaviour to them, and the scruple he made of marrying the women because they were not baptized, and professed Christians, gave them an exceeding reverence for his person; and there was no need after that to inquire whether he was a clergyman or no.

Indeed I was afraid his scruple would have been carried so far as that he would not have married them at all: nay, notwithstanding all I was able to say to him, he resisted me, though modestly, yet very steadily; and at last refused absolutely to marry them, unless he had first talked with the men and the women too; and though at first I was a little backward to it, yet at last I agreed to it with a good will, perceiving the sincerity of his design.

When he came to them, he let them know that I had acquainted him with their circumstances, and with the present design; that he was very willing to perform that part of his function, and marry them as I had desired; but that before he could do it, he must take the liberty to talk with them. He told them that in the sight of all different men, and in the sense of the laws of society, they had lived all this while in an open adultery; and that it was true that nothing but the consenting to marry, or effectually separating them from one another now, could put an end to it; but there was a difficulty in it too, with respect to the laws of Christian matrimony, which he was not fully satisfied about, viz. that of marrying one that is a professed Christian to a savage, an idolater, and a heathen, one that is not baptized; and yet that he did not see that there was time left for it to endeavour to persuade the women to be baptized, or to profess the name of Christ, whom they had, he doubted, heard nothing of, and without which they could not be baptized.

He told me he doubted they were but indifferent Christians themselves; that they had but little knowledge of God or his ways, and therefore he could not expect that they had said much to their wives on that head yet; but that unless they would promise him to use their endeavours with their wives to persuade them to become Christians, and would as well as they could instruct them in the knowledge and belief of God that made them, and to worship Jesus Christ that redeemed them, he could not marry them; for he would have no hand in joining Christians with savages; nor was it consistent with the principles of the Christian religion, and was indeed expressly forbidden in God's law.

They heard all this very attentively, and I delivered it very faithfully to them from his mouth, as near his own words as I could, only sometimes adding something of my own, to convince them how just it was, and how I was of his mind: and I always very faithfully distinguished between what I said from myself and what were the clergyman's words. They told me it was very true what the gentleman had said, that they were but very indifferent Christians themselves, and that they had never talked to their wives about religion.—"Lord, Sir," says Will Atkins, "how should we teach them religion? Why, we know nothing ourselves; and besides, Sir," said he, "should we go to talk to them of God, and Jesus Christ, and heaven and hell, it would be to make them laugh at us, and ask us what we believe ourselves? and if we should tell them we believe all the things that we speak of to them, such as of good people going to heaven, and wicked people to the devil, they would ask us, where we intended to go ourselves who believe all this, and yet are such wicked fellows, as we indeed are: why, Sir," said Will, "'tis enough to give them a surfeit of religion, at that hearing: folks must have some religion themselves before they pretend to teach other people."—"Will Atkins," said I to him, "though I am afraid what you say has too much truth in it, yet can you not tell your wife that she is in the wrong; that there is a God, and a religion better than her own; that her gods are idols; that they can neither hear nor speak; that there is a great Being that made all things, and that can destroy all that he has made; that he rewards the good, and punishes the bad; that we are to be judged by him, at last, for all we do here? You are not so ignorant but even nature itself will teach you that all this is true; and I am satisfied you know it all to be true, and believe it yourself."

"That's true, Sir," said Atkins; "but with what face can I say any thing to my wife of all this, when she will tell me immediately it cannot be true?"

"Not true!" said I; "what do you mean by that?"—"Why, Sir," said he, "she will tell me it cannot be true: that this God (I shall tell her of) can be just, or can punish or reward, since I am not punished and sent to the devil, that have been such a wicked creature as she knows I have been, even to her, and to every body else; and that I should be suffered to live, that have been always acting so contrary to what I must tell her is good, and to what I ought to have done."

"Why truly, Atkins," said I, "I am afraid thou speakest too much truth;" and with that I let the clergyman know what Atkins had said, for he was impatient to know. "O!" said the priest, "tell him there is one thing will make him the best minister in the world to his wife, and that is repentance; for none teach repentance like true penitents. He wants nothing but to repent, and then he will be so much the better qualified to instruct his wife; he will then be able to tell her, that there is not only a God, and that he is the just rewarder of good and evil; but that he is a merciful Being, and, with infinite goodness and long-suffering, forbears to punish those that offend; waiting to be gracious, and willing not the death of a sinner, but rather that he should return and live; that he often suffers wicked men to go on a long time, and even reserves damnation to the general day of retribution: that it is a clear evidence of God, and of a future state, that righteous men receive not their reward, or wicked men their punishment, till they come into another world; and this will lend him to teach his wife the doctrine of the resurrection, and of the last judgment: let him but repent for himself, he will be an excellent preacher of repentance to his wife."

I repeated all this to Atkins, who looked very serious all the while, and who, we could easily perceive, was more than ordinarily affected with it: when being eager, and hardly suffering me to make an end—"I know all this, master," says he, "and a great deal more; but I han't the impudence to talk thus to my wife, when God and my own conscience knows, and my wife will be an undeniable evidence against me, that I have lived as if I never heard of God, or a future state, or any thing about it; and to talk of my repenting, alas! (and with that he fetched a deep sigh; and I could see that tears stood in his eyes,) 'tis past all that with me."—"Past it, Atkins!" said I; "what dost thou mean by that?"—"I know well enough what I mean, Sir," says he; "I mean 'tis too late; and that is too true."

I told my clergyman word for word what he said. The poor zealous priest (I must call him so; for, be his opinion what it will, he had certainly a most singular affection for the good of other men's souls; and it would be hard to think he had not the like for his own)—I say, this zealous, affectionate man could not refrain tears also: but recovering himself, he said to me, "Ask him but one question: Is he easy that it is too late, or is he troubled, and wishes it were not so?" I put the question fairly to Atkins; and he answered with a great deal of passion, "How could any man be easy in a condition that certainly must end in eternal destruction? That he was far from being easy; but that, on the contrary, he believed it would one time or the other ruin him."

"What do you mean by that?" said I.—"Why," he said, "he believed he should, one time or another, cut his own throat to put an end to the terror of it."

The clergyman shook his head, with a great concern in his face, when I told him all this; but turning quick to me upon it, said, "If that be his case, you may assure him it is not too late; Christ will give him repentance. But pray," says he, "explain this to him, that as no man is saved but by Christ, and the merit of his passion, procuring divine mercy for him, how can it be too late for any man to receive mercy? Does he think he is able to sin beyond the power or reach of divine mercy? Pray tell him, there may be a time when provoked mercy will no longer strive, and when God may refuse to hear; but that 'tis never too late for men to ask mercy; and we that are Christ's servants are commanded to preach mercy at all times, in the name of Jesus Christ, to all those that sincerely repent: so that 'tis never too late to repent."

I told Atkins all this, and he heard me with great earnestness; but it seemed as if he turned off the discourse to the rest; for he said to me he would go and have some talk with his wife: so he went out awhile, and we talked to the rest. I perceived they were all stupidly ignorant as to matters of religion; much as I was when I went rambling away from my father; and yet that there were none of them backward to hear what had been said; and all of them seriously promised that they would talk with their wives about it, and do their endeavour to persuade them to turn Christians.

The clergyman smiled upon me when I reported what answer they gave, but said nothing a good while; but at last shaking his head, "We that are Christ's servants," says he, "can go no farther than to exhort and instruct; and when men comply, submit to the reproof, and promise what we ask, 'tis all we can do; we are bound to accept their good words; but believe me, Sir," said he, "whatever you may have known of the life of that man you call William Atkins, I believe he is the only sincere convert among them; I take that man to be a true penitent; I won't despair of the rest; but that man is perfectly struck with the sense of his past life; and I doubt not but when he comes to talk of religion to his wife, he will talk himself effectually into it; for attempting to teach others is sometimes the best way of teaching ourselves. I knew a man," added he, "who having nothing but a summary notion of religion himself, and being wicked and profligate to the last degree in his life, made a thorough reformation in himself by labouring to convert a Jew: and if that poor Atkins begins but once to talk seriously of Jesus Christ to his wife, my life for it he talks himself into a thorough convert, makes himself a penitent; and who knows what may follow?"

Upon this discourse, however, and their promising as above to endeavour to persuade their wives to embrace Christianity, he married the other three couple; but Will Atkins and his wife were not yet come in. After this, my clergyman waiting awhile, was curious to know where Atkins was gone; and turning to me, says he, "I entreat you, Sir, let us walk out of your labyrinth here and look; I dare say we shall find this poor man somewhere or other, talking seriously with his wife, and teaching her already something of religion." I began to be of the same mind; so we went out together, and I carried him a way which none knew but myself, and where the trees were so thick set, as that it was not easy to see through the thicket of leaves, and far harder to see in than to see out; when coming to the edge of the wood I saw Atkins, and his tawny savage wife, sitting under the shade of a bush, very eager in discourse. I stopped short till my clergyman came up to me, and then having shewed him where they were, we stood and looked very steadily at them a good while.

We observed him very earnest with her, pointing up to the sun, and to every quarter of the heavens; then down to the earth, then out to the sea, then to himself, then to her, to the woods, to the trees. "Now," says my clergyman, "you see my words are made good; the man preaches to her; mark him; now he is telling her that our God has made him, and her, and the heavens, the earth, the sea, the woods, the trees, &c."—"I believe he is," said I. Immediately we perceived Will Atkins start up upon his feet, fall down upon his knees, and lift up both his hands; we supposed he said something, but we could not hear him; it was too far off for that: he did not continue kneeling half a minute, but comes and sits down again by his wife, and talks to her again. We perceived then the woman very attentive, but whether she said any thing or no we could not tell. While the poor fellow was upon his knees, I could see the tears run plentifully down my clergyman's cheeks; and I could hardly forbear myself; but it was a great affliction to us both, that we were not near enough to hear any thing that passed between them.

Well, however, we could come no nearer for fear of disturbing them; so we resolved to see an end of this piece of still conversation, and it spoke loud enough to us without the help of voice. He sat down again, as I have said, close by her, and talked again earnestly to her, and two or three times we could see him embrace her passionately; another time we saw him take out his handkerchief and wipe her eyes, and then kiss her again, with a kind of transport very unusual; and after several of these things, we saw him on a sudden jump up again and lend her his hand to help her up, when immediately leading her by the hand a step or two, they both kneeled down together, and continued so about two minutes.

My friend could bear it no longer, but cries out aloud, "St. Paul, St. Paul, behold he prayeth!"—I was afraid Atkins would hear him; therefore I entreated him to withhold himself awhile, that we might see an end of the scene, which to me, I must confess, was the most affecting, and yet the most agreeable, that ever I saw in my life. Well, he strove with himself, and contained himself for awhile, but was in such raptures of joy to think that the poor heathen woman was become a Christian, that he was not able to contain himself; he wept several times: then throwing up his hands, and crossing his breast, said over several things ejaculatory, and by way of giving God thanks for so miraculous a testimony of the success of our endeavours: some he spoke softly, and I could not well hear; others audibly; some in Latin, some in French; then two or three times the tears of joy would interrupt him, that he could not speak at all. But I begged that he would compose himself, and let us more narrowly and fully observe what was before us, which he did for a time, and the scene was not ended there yet; for after the poor man and his wife were risen again from their knees, we observed he stood talking still eagerly to her; and we observed by her motion that she was greatly affected with what he said, by her frequent lifting up her hands, laying her hand to her breast, and such other postures as usually express the greatest seriousness and attention. This continued about half a quarter of an hour, and then they walked away too; so that we could see no more of them in that situation.

I took this interval to talk with my clergyman: and first I told him, I was glad to see the particulars we had both been witnesses to; that though I was hard enough of belief in such cases, yet that I began to think it was all very sincere here, both in the man and his wife, however ignorant they both might be; and I hoped such a beginning would have yet a more happy end: "And who knows," said I, "but these two may in time, by instruction and example, work upon some of the others?"—"Some of them!" said he, turning quick upon me, "ay, upon all of them: depend upon it, if those two savages (for he has been but little better as you relate it) should embrace Jesus Christ, they will never leave till they work upon all the rest; for true religion is naturally communicative, and he that is once made a Christian will never leave a Pagan behind him if be can help it," I owned it was a most Christian principle to think so, and a testimony of a true zeal, as well as a generous heart in him. "But, my friend," said I, "will you give me liberty to start one difficulty here? I cannot tell how to object the least thing against that affectionate concern which you shew for the turning the poor people from their Paganism to the Christian religion; but how does this comfort you, while these people are, in your account, out of the pale of the Catholic church, without which, you believe, there is no salvation; so that you esteem these but heretics still; and, for other reasons, as effectually lost as the Pagans themselves?"

To this he answered with abundance of candour and Christian charity, thus: "Sir, I am a Catholic of the Roman church, and a priest of the order of St. Benedict, and I embrace all the principles of the Roman faith. But yet, if you will believe me, and this I do not speak in compliment to you, or in respect to my circumstances and your civilities; I say, nevertheless, I do not look upon you, who call yourselves reformed, without some charity: I dare not say, though I know it is our opinion in general, yet I dare not say, that you cannot be saved; I will by no means limit the mercy of Christ, so far as to think that he cannot receive you into the bosom of his church, in a manner to us imperceivable, and which it is impossible for us to know; and I hope you have the same charity for us. I pray daily for your being all restored to Christ's church, by whatsoever methods he, who is all-wise, is pleased to direct. In the mean time, sure you will allow it to consist with me, as a Roman, to distinguish far between a Protestant and a Pagan; between him that calls on Jesus Christ, though in a way which I do not think is according to the true faith; and a savage, a barbarian, that knows no God, no Christ, no Redeemer at all; and if you are not within the pale of the Catholic church, we hope you are nearer being restored to it than those that know nothing at all of God or his church. I rejoice, therefore, when I see this poor man, who, you say, has been a profligate, and almost a murderer, kneel down and pray to Jesus Christ, as we suppose he did, though not fully enlightened; believing that God, from whom every such work proceeds, will sensibly touch his heart, and bring him to the further knowledge of the truth in his own time; and if God shall influence this poor man to convert and instruct the ignorant savage his wife, I can never believe that he shall be cast away himself; and have I not reason then to rejoice, the nearer any are brought to the knowledge of Christ, though they may not be brought quite home into the bosom of the Catholic church, just at the time when I may desire it; leaving it to the goodness of Christ to perfect his work in his own time, and his own way? Certainly I would rejoice if all the savages in America were brought, like this poor woman, to pray to God, though they were to be all Protestants at first, rather than they should continue pagans and heathens; firmly believing, that He who had bestowed that first light upon them, would farther illuminate them with a beam of his heavenly grace, and bring them into the pale of his church, when he should see good."

I was astonished at the sincerity and temper of this truly pious Papist, as much as I was oppressed by the power of his reasoning; and it presently occurred to my thoughts, that if such a temper was universal, we might be all Catholic Christians, whatever church or particular profession we were joined to, or joined in; that a spirit of charity would soon work us all up into right principles; and, in a word, as he thought that the like charity would make us all Catholics, as I told him, I believed had all the members of his church the like moderation they would soon be all Protestants; and there we left that part, for we never disputed at all.

However, I talked to him another way; and taking him by the hand, "My friend," said I, "I wish all the clergy of the Roman church were blessed with such moderation, and an equal share of your charity. I am entirely of your opinion; but I must tell you, that if you should preach such doctrine in Spain or Italy, they would put you into the Inquisition."

"It may be so," said he; "I know not what they might do in Spain and Italy; but I will not say they would be the better Christians for that severity; for I am sure there is no heresy in too much charity."

Well, as Will Atkins and his wife were gone, our business there was over; so we went back our own way; and when we came back we found them waiting to be called in. Observing this, I asked my clergyman if we should discover to him that we had seen him under the bush, or no; and it was his opinion we should not; but that we should talk-to him first, and hear what he would say to us: so we called him in alone, nobody being in the place but ourselves; and I began with him thus:

"Will Atkins," said I, "pr'ythee what education had you? What was your father?"

W.A. A better man than ever I shall be. Sir, my father was a clergyman.

R.C. What education did he give you?

W.A. He would have taught me well, Sir; but I despised all education, instruction, or correction, like a beast as I was.

R.C. It is true, Solomon says, "He that despiseth reproof is brutish."

W.A. Ay, Sir, I was brutish indeed; I murdered my father; for God's sake, Sir, talk no more about that, Sir; I murdered my poor father.

Priest. Ha! a murderer?

[Here the priest started (for I interpreted every word as he spoke it), and looked pale: it seems he believed that Will had really killed his own father.]

R.C. No, no, Sir, I do not understand him so. Will Atkins, explain yourself: you did not kill your father, did you, with your own hands?

W.A. No, Sir; I did not cut his throat; but I cut the thread of all his comforts, and shortened his days; I broke his heart by the most ungrateful, unnatural return for the most tender, affectionate treatment that ever father gave, or child could receive.

R.C. Well, I did not ask you about your father to extort this confession; I pray God give you repentance for it, and forgive you that and all your other sins; but I asked you, because I see that, though you have not much learning, yet you are not so ignorant as some are in things that are good; that you have known more of religion a great deal than you have practised.

W.A. Though you, Sir, did not extort the confession that I make about my father, conscience does; and whenever we come to look back upon our lives, the sins against our indulgent parents are certainly the first that touch us; the wounds they make lie deepest; and the weight they leave will lie heaviest upon the mind of all the sins we can commit.

R.C. You talk too feelingly and sensible for me, Atkins; I cannot bear it.

W.A. You bear it, master! I dare say you know nothing of it.

R.C. Yes, Atkins, every shore, every hill, nay, I may say every tree in this island, is witness to the anguish of my soul for my ingratitude and base usage of a good tender father; a father much like yours by your description; and I murdered my father as well as you, Will Atkins; but think for all that, my repentance is short of yours too, by a great deal.

[I would have said more, if I could have restrained my passions; but I thought this poor man's repentance was so much sincerer than mine, that I was going to leave off the discourse and retire, for I was surprised with what he said, and thought, that, instead of my going about to teach and instruct him, the man was made a teacher and instructor to me, in a most surprising and unexpected manner.]

I laid all this before the young clergyman, who was greatly affected with it, and said to me, "Did I not say, Sir, that when this man was converted he would preach to us all? I tell you, Sir, if this one man be made a true penitent, here will be no need of me, he will make Christians of all in the island." But having a little composed myself I renewed my discourse with Will Atkins.

"But, Will," said I, "how comes the sense of this matter to touch you just now?"

W.A. Sir, you have set me about a work that has struck a dart through my very soul; I have been talking about God and religion to my wife, in order, as you directed me, to make a Christian of her; and she has preached such a sermon to me as I shall never forget while I live.

R.C. No, no; it is not your wife has preached to you; but when you were moving religious arguments to her, conscience has flung them back upon you.

W.A. Ay, Sir, with such a force as is not to be resisted.

R.C. Pray, Will, let us know what passed between you and your wife; for I know something of it already.

W.A. Sir, it is impossible to give you a full account of it: I am too full to hold it, and yet have no tongue to express it: but let her have said what she will, and though I cannot give you an account of it, this I can tell you of it, that I resolve to amend and reform my life.

R.C. But tell us some of it. How did you begin Will? for this has been an extraordinary case, that is certain; she has preached a sermon indeed, if she has wrought this upon you.

W.A. Why, I first told her the nature of our laws about marriage, and what the reasons were that men and women were obliged to enter into such compacts as it was neither in the power of one or other to break; that otherwise, order and justice could not be maintained, and men would run from their wives and abandon their children, mix confusedly with one another, and neither families be kept entire, or inheritances be settled by a legal descent.

R.C. You talk like a civilian, Will. Could you make her understand what you meant by inheritance and families? They know no such thing among the savages, but marry any how, without any regard to relation, consanguinity, or family; brother and sister, nay, as I have been told, even the father and daughter, and the son and the mother.

W.A. I believe, Sir, you are misinformed;—my wife assures me of the contrary, and that they abhor it. Perhaps for any further relations they may not be so exact as we are; but she tells me they never touch one another in the near relations you speak of.

R.C. Well, what did she say to what you told her?

W.A. She said she liked it very well; and it was much better than in her country.

R.C. But did you tell her what marriage was?

W.A. Ay, ay, there began all our dialogue. I asked her, if she would be married to me our way? She asked me, what way that was? I told her marriage was appointed of God; and here we had a strange talk together indeed, as ever man and wife had, I believe.

[N.B. This dialogue between W. Atkins and his wife, as I took it down in writing just after he told it me, was as follows:]

Wife. Appointed by your God! Why, have you a God in your country?

W.A. Yes, my dear; God is in every country.

Wife. No your God in my country; my country have the great old Benamnekee God.

W.A. Child, I am very unfit to shew you who God is; God is in heaven, and made the heaven and the earth, the sea, and all that in them is.

Wife. No makee de earth; no you God makee de earth; no make my country.

[W.A. laughed a little at her expression of God not making her country.]

W.A. No laugh: why laugh me? This no ting to laugh.

[He was justly reproved by his wife, for she was more serious than he at first.]

W.A. That's true, indeed; I will not laugh any more, my dear.

Wife. Why you say, you God make all?

W.A. Yes, child, our God made the whole world, and you, and me, and all things; for he is the only true God; there is no God but he; he lives for ever in heaven.

Wife. Why you no tell me long ago?

W.A. That's true, indeed; but I have been a wicked wretch, and have not only forgotten to acquaint thee with any thing before, but have lived without God in the world myself.

Wife. What have you de great God in your country, you no know him? No say O to him? No do good ting for him? That no impossible!

W.A. It is too true though, for all that: we live as if there was no God in heaven, or that he had no power on earth.

Wife. But why God let you do so? Why he no makee you good live!

W.A. It is all our own fault.

Wife. But you say me he is great, much great, have much great power; can make kill when he will: why he no make kill when you no serve him? no say O to him? no be good mans?

W.A. That is true; he might strike me dead, and I ought to expect it; for I have been a wicked wretch, that is true: but God is merciful, and does not deal with us as we deserve.

Wife. But then do not you tell God tankee for that too?

W.A. No, Indeed; I have not thanked God for his mercy, any more than I have feared God for his power.

Wife. Then you God no God; me no tink, believe he be such one, great much power, strong; no makee kill you, though you makee him much angry!

W.A. What! will my wicked life hinder you from believing in God! What a dreadful creature am I! And what a sad truth is it, that the horrid lives of Christians hinder the conversion of heathens!

Wife. Now me tink you have great much God up there, (she points up to heaven) and yet no do well, no do good ting? Can he tell? Sure he no tell what you do.

W.A. Yes, yes, he knows and seen all things; he hears us speak, sees what we do, knows what we think, though we do not speak.

Wife What! he no hear you swear, curse, speak the great damn?

W.A. Yes, yes, he hears it all.

Wife. Where be then the muchee great power strong?

W.A. He is merciful; that is all we can say for it; and this proves him to be the true God: he is God, and not man; and therefore we are not consumed.

[Here Will Atkins told us he was struck with horror to think how he could tell his wife so clearly that God sees, and hears, and knows the secret thoughts of the heart, and all that we do; and yet that he had dared to do all the vile things he had done.]

Wife. Merciful! what you call dat?

W.A. He is our father and maker; and he pities and spares us.

Wife. So then he never makee kill, never angry when you do wicked; then he no good himself, or no great able.

W.A. Yes, yes, my dear; he is infinitely good, and infinitely great, and able to punish too; and some times, to shew his justice and vengeance, he lets fly his anger to destroy sinners and make examples; many are cut off in their sins.

Wife. But no makee kill you yet; then he tell you, may be, that he no makee you kill, so you make de bargain with him, you do bad ting, he no be angry at you, when he be angry at other mans?

W.A. No, indeed, my sins are all presumptions upon his goodness; and he would be infinitely just if he destroyed me as he has done other men.

Wife. Well, and yet no kill, no makee you dead! What you say to him for that? You no tell him tankee for all that too!

W.A. I am an unthankful, ungrateful dog, that is true.

Wife. Why he no makee you much good better? You say he makee you.

W.A.. He made me as he made all the world; 'tis I have deformed myself, and abused his goodness, and have made myself an abominable wretch.

Wife. I wish you makee God know me; I no makee him angry; I no do bad wicked ting.

[Here Will Atkins said his heart sunk within him, to hear a poor, untaught creature desire to be taught to know God, and he such a wicked wretch that he could not say one word to her about God, but what the reproach of his own carriage would make most irrational to her to believe; nay, that already she could not believe in God, because he that was so wicked was not destroyed.]

W.A. My dear, you mean you wish I could teach you to know God, not God to know you, for he knows you already, and every thought in your heart.

Wife. Why then he know what I say to you now; he know me wish to know him; how shall me know who makee me?

W.A. Poor creature, he must teach thee, I cannot teach thee; I'll pray to him to teach thee to know him; and to forgive me that I am unworthy to teach thee.

[The poor fellow was in such an agony at her desiring him to make her know God, and her wishing to know him, that he said he fell down on his knees before her, and prayed to God to enlighten her mind with the saving knowledge of Jesus Christ, and to pardon his sins, and accept of his being the unworthy instrument of instructing her in the principles of religion; after which he sat down by her again, and their dialogue went on.]

N.B. This was the time when we saw him kneel down and lift up his hands.

Wife. What you put down the knee for? What you hold up the hand for? What you say? Who you speak to? What is that?

W.A. My dear, I bow my knees in token of my submission to Him that made me: I said O to him, as you call it, and as you say your old men do to their idol Benamuckee; that is, I prayed to him.

Wife. What you say O to him for?

W.A. I prayed to him to open your eyes and your understanding, that you may know him, and be accepted by him.

Wife. Can he do that too?

W.A. Yes, he can; he can do all things.

Wife. But he no hear what you say?

W.A. Yes, he has bid us pray to him; and promised to hear us.

Wife. Bid you pray? When he bid you? How he bid you? What you hear him speak?

W.A. No, we do not hear him speak; but he has revealed himself many ways to us.

[Here he was at a great loss to make her understand that God had revealed himself to us by his word; and what his word was; but at last he told it her thus:]

W.A. God has spoken to some good men in former days, even from heaven, by plain words; and God has inspired good men by his Spirit; and they have written all his laws down in a book.

Wife. Me no understand that: where is book?

W.A.. Alas! my poor creature, I have not this book; but I hope I shall, one time or other, get it for you to read it.

[Here he embraced her with great affection; but with inexpressible grief, that he had not a Bible.]

Wife. But how you makee me know that God teachee them to write that book?

W.A. By the same rule that we know him to be God.

Wife. What rule? what way you know?

W.A. Because he teaches and commands nothing but what is good, righteous, and holy, and tends to make us perfectly good, as well as perfectly happy; and because he forbids, and commands us to avoid, all that is wicked, that is evil in itself, or evil in its consequences.

Wife. That me would understand, that me fain see; if he reward all good thing, punish all wicked thing, he teachee all good thing, forbid all wicked thing, he makee all thing, he give all thing; he hear me when I say O to him, as you go to do just now; he makee me good if I wish be good; he spare me, no makee kill me when I no be good; all this you say he do: yes, he be great God; me take, think, believe him be great God; me say O to him too with you, my dear.

Here the poor man said he could forbear no longer; but, raising her up, made her kneel by him; and he prayed to God aloud to instruct her in the knowledge of himself by his Spirit; and that by some good providence, if possible, she might some time or other come to have a Bible, that she might read the word of God, and be taught by him to know him.

[This was the time that we saw him lift her up by the hand, and saw him kneel down by her, as above.]

They had several other discourses, it seems, after this, too long to set down here; and particularly she made him promise, that, since he confessed his own life had been a wicked, abominable course of provocation against God, he would reform it, and not make God angry any more, lest he should make him dead, as she called it, and then she should be left alone, and never be taught to know this God better; and lest he should be miserable, as he told her wicked men should be after death.

This was a strange account, and very affecting to us both, but particularly the young clergyman; he was indeed wonderfully surprised with it; but under the greatest affliction imaginable that he could not talk to her; that he could not speak English to make her understand him; and as she spoke but very broken English he could not understand her. However, he turned himself to me, and told me, that he believed there must be more to do with this woman than to marry her. I did not understand him at first, but at length he explained himself, viz. that she ought to be baptized.