but Him. 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 anything before, but
have lived without God in the world myself.
Wife.--What, have you a great God in your country, you no know Him?
No say O to Him? No do good ting for Him? That no possible.
W.A.--It is 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 makee kill when He will: why He no makee 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 you not tell God thankee for that too?
W. A.--No, indeed, I have not thanked God for His mercy, any more
than I have feared God from His power.
Wife.--Then you God no God; me no think, believe He be such one,
great much power, strong: no makee kill you, though you make 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.--How 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 sees 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 curse, swear, speak de great damn?
W.A.--Yes, yes, He hears it all.
Wife.--Where be then the much 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 sometimes, to show 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, maybe, that He
no makee you kill: so you makee the bargain with Him, you do bad
thing, 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 thankee 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: it is I have deformed
myself and abused His goodness, and made myself an abominable
wretch.
Wife.--I wish you makee God know me. I no makee Him angry--I no do
bad wicked thing.
[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 had told him that 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
will pray to Him to teach thee to know Him, and forgive me, that 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. This was the time
when we saw him kneel down and hold 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 all 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 your old men do
to their idol Benamuckee; that is, I prayed to Him.
Wife.--What say you 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 now He 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 has
revealed Himself to us by His word, and what His word was; but at
last he told it to 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, and help 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 Him?
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
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br /> consequence.
Wife.--That me would understand, that me fain see; if He teachee
all good thing, He makee all good thing, He give all thing, He hear
me when I say O to Him, as you do just now; He makee me good if I
wish to be good; He spare me, no makee kill me, when I no be good:
all this you say He do, yet He be great God; me take, think,
believe Him to be great God; me say O to Him with you, my dear.
Here the poor man could forbear no longer, but raised 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
it 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; and
particularly she made him promise that, since he confessed his own
life had been a wicked, abominable course of provocations against
God, that he would reform it, and not make God angry any more, lest
He should make him dead, as she called it, and then she would be
left alone, and never be taught to know this God better; and lest
he should be miserable, as he had told her wicked men would be
after death.
This was a strange account, and very affecting to us both, but
particularly to 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 that 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. I
agreed with him in that part readily, and wished it to be done
presently. "No, no; hold, sir," says he; "though I would have her
be baptized, by all means, for I must observe that Will Atkins, her
husband, has indeed brought her, in a wonderful manner, to be
willing to embrace a religious life, and has given her just ideas
of the being of a God; of His power, justice, and mercy: yet I
desire to know of him if he has said anything to her of Jesus
Christ, and of the salvation of sinners; of the nature of faith in
Him, and redemption by Him; of the Holy Spirit, the resurrection,
the last judgment, and the future state."
I called Will Atkins again, and asked him; but the poor fellow fell
immediately into tears, and told us he had said something to her of
all those things, but that he was himself so wicked a creature, and
his own conscience so reproached him with his horrid, ungodly life,
that he trembled at the apprehensions that her knowledge of him
should lessen the attention she should give to those things, and
make her rather contemn religion than receive it; but he was
assured, he said, that her mind was so disposed to receive due
impressions of all those things, and that if I would but discourse
with her, she would make it appear to my satisfaction that my
labour would not be lost upon her.
Accordingly I called her in, and placing myself as interpreter
between my religious priest and the woman, I entreated him to begin
with her; but sure such a sermon was never preached by a Popish
priest in these latter ages of the world; and as I told him, I
thought he had all the zeal, all the knowledge, all the sincerity
of a Christian, without the error of a Roman Catholic; and that I
took him to be such a clergyman as the Roman bishops were before
the Church of Rome assumed spiritual sovereignty over the
consciences of men. In a word, he brought the poor woman to
embrace the knowledge of Christ, and of redemption by Him, not with
wonder and astonishment only, as she did the first notions of a
God, but with joy and faith; with an affection, and a surprising
degree of understanding, scarce to be imagined, much less to be
expressed; and, at her own request, she was baptized.
When he was preparing to baptize her, I entreated him that he would
perform that office with some caution, that the man might not
perceive he was of the Roman Church, if possible, because of other
ill consequences which might attend a difference among us in that
very religion which we were instructing the other in. He told me
that as he had no consecrated chapel, nor proper things for the
office, I should see he would do it in a manner that I should not
know by it that he was a Roman Catholic myself, if I had not known
it before; and so he did; for saying only some words over to
himself in Latin, which I could not understand, he poured a whole
dishful of water upon the woman's head, pronouncing in French, very
loud, "Mary" (which was the name her husband desired me to give
her, for I was her godfather), "I baptize thee in the name of the
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost;" so that none could
know anything by it what religion he was of. He gave the
benediction afterwards in Latin, but either Will Atkins did not
know but it was French, or else did not take notice of it at that
time.
As soon as this was over we married them; and after the marriage
was over, he turned to Will Atkins, and in a very affectionate
manner exhorted him, not only to persevere in that good disposition
he was in, but to support the convictions that were upon him by a
resolution to reform his life: told him it was in vain to say he
repented if he did not forsake his crimes; represented to him how
God had honoured him with being the instrument of bringing his wife
to the knowledge of the Christian religion, and that he should be
careful he did not dishonour the grace of God; and that if he did,
he would see the heathen a better Christian than himself; the
savage converted, and the instrument cast away. He said a great
many good things to them both; and then, recommending them to God's
goodness, gave them the benediction again, I repeating everything
to them in English; and thus ended the ceremony. I think it was
the most pleasant and agreeable day to me that ever I passed in my
whole life. But my clergyman had not done yet: his thoughts hung
continually upon the conversion of the thirty-seven savages, and
fain be would have stayed upon the island to have undertaken it;
but I convinced him, first, that his undertaking was impracticable
in itself; and, secondly, that perhaps I would put it into a way of
being done in his absence to his satisfaction.
Having thus brought the affairs of the island to a narrow compass,
I was preparing to go on board the ship, when the young man I had
taken out of the famished ship's company came to me, and told me he
understood I had a clergyman with me, and that I had caused the
Englishmen to be married to the savages; that he had a mat
ch too,
which he desired might be finished before I went, between two
Christians, which he hoped would not be disagreeable to me.
I knew this must be the young woman who was his mother's servant,
for there was no other Christian woman on the island: so I began
to persuade him not to do anything of that kind rashly, or because
be found himself in this solitary circumstance. I represented to
him that he had some considerable substance in the world, and good
friends, as I understood by himself, and the maid also; that the
maid was not only poor, and a servant, but was unequal to him, she
being six or seven and twenty years old, and he not above seventeen
or eighteen; that he might very probably, with my assistance, make
a remove from this wilderness, and come into his own country again;
and that then it would be a thousand to one but he would repent his
choice, and the dislike of that circumstance might be
disadvantageous to both. I was going to say more, but he
interrupted me, smiling, and told me, with a great deal of modesty,
that I mistook in my guesses--that he had nothing of that kind in
his thoughts; and he was very glad to hear that I had an intent of
putting them in a way to see their own country again; and nothing
should have made him think of staying there, but that the voyage I
was going was so exceeding long and hazardous, and would carry him
quite out of the reach of all his friends; that he had nothing to
desire of me but that I would settle him in some little property in
the island where he was, give him a servant or two, and some few
necessaries, and he would live here like a planter, waiting the
good time when, if ever I returned to England, I would redeem him.
He hoped I would not be unmindful of him when I came to England:
that he would give me some letters to his friends in London, to let
them know how good I had been to him, and in what part of the world
and what circumstances I had left him in: and he promised me that
whenever I redeemed him, the plantation, and all the improvements
he had made upon it, let the value be what it would, should be
wholly mine.
His discourse was very prettily delivered, considering his youth,
and was the more agreeable to me, because he told me positively the
match was not for himself. I gave him all possible assurances that
if I lived to come safe to England, I would deliver his letters,
and do his business effectually; and that he might depend I should
never forget the circumstances I had left him in. But still I was
impatient to know who was the person to be married; upon which he
told me it was my Jack-of-all-trades and his maid Susan. I was
most agreeably surprised when he named the match; for, indeed, I
thought it very suitable. The character of that man I have given
already; and as for the maid, she was a very honest, modest, sober,
and religious young woman: had a very good share of sense, was
agreeable enough in her person, spoke very handsomely and to the
purpose, always with decency and good manners, and was neither too
backward to speak when requisite, nor impertinently forward when it
was not her business; very handy and housewifely, and an excellent
manager; fit, indeed, to have been governess to the whole island;
and she knew very well how to behave in every respect.
The match being proposed in this manner, we married them the same
day; and as I was father at the altar, and gave her away, so I gave
her a portion; for I appointed her and her husband a handsome large
space of ground for their plantation; and indeed this match, and
the proposal the young gentleman made to give him a small property
in the island, put me upon parcelling it out amongst them, that
they might not quarrel afterwards about their situation.