The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe (1808) Part 29

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 n.o.body 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 G.o.d, 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 a.s.sured 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 a.s.surances 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 G.o.d, who they could not think would bless them if they went on thus.

All this pa.s.sed 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 s.h.i.+p, 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 ca.s.sock, 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 circ.u.mstances, 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d that made them, and to wors.h.i.+p 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 G.o.d'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 G.o.d, and Jesus Christ, and heaven and h.e.l.l, 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 G.o.d, and a religion better than her own; that her G.o.ds 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 G.o.d (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 G.o.d, 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 d.a.m.nation to the general day of retribution: that it is a clear evidence of G.o.d, 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d, 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 pa.s.sion, "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 a.s.sure 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 pa.s.sion, 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sionately; 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 G.o.d 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 circ.u.mstances 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d, 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, n.o.body 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 G.o.d'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 G.o.d 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 sh.o.r.e, every hill, nay, I may say every tree in this island, is witness to the anguish of my soul for my ingrat.i.tude 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 pa.s.sions; 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.]