In the Wrong Paradise, and Other Stories

by James H. Schmitz

  VII. FLIGHT.

  "Flog us first, and roast us afterwards." I repeated mechanically thewords of William Bludger. "Why, you must be mad; they are more likely tofall down and worship us,--_me_ at any rate."

  "No, Capt'n," replied William; "that's your mistake. They say we're bothCatharmata; that's what they call us; and you're no better than me."

  "And what are Catharmata?" I inquired, remembering that this word, orsomething like it, had been constantly used by the natives in my hearing.

  "Well, Capt'n, it means, first and foremost, just the off-scourings ofcreation, the very dust and sweepings of the shop," answered Bludger, whohad somehow regained his confidence. To have a fellow-sufferer, and tosee the pallor which, doubtless, overspread my features, was a source ofcomfort to this hardened man. At the same time I confess that, ifWilliam Bludger alone had been destined to suffer, I could havecontemplated the decree with Christian resignation.

  "I speak the beggars' patter pretty well now," Bludger went on; "and Isee Catharmata means more than just mere dirt. It means two unluckydevils."

  "William?" I exclaimed.

  "It means, saving your presence, two poor coves, as has no luck, like youand me, and that can be got rid of once a year, at an entertainment theycall the Thargeelyah, I dunno why, a kind o' friendly lead. They choosefellows as either behaves ill, or has no friends to make a fuss aboutthem, and they gives them three dozen, or more, and takes them down tothe beach, and burns them alive over a slow fire. And then they toss theashes out to sea, and think all the bad luck goes away with the tide. Oh,I never was in such a hole as this!"

  Bludger's words made me shudder. I had never forgotten the hideoussacrifice, doubtless the Thargeelyah, as they called it, that greeted mewhen I was first cast ashore on the island. To think that I had onlybeen saved that I might figure as a victim of some of their heathen gods!

  Oh, now the thought came back to me with a bitter repentance, that if Ihad only converted all the islanders, they would never have dreamed ofsacrificing me in honour of a mere idol! Why had I been so lukewarm, whyhad I backslidden, why had I endeavoured to make myself agreeable byjoining in promiscuous dances, when I should have been thundering againstPagan idolatry, holy water, idols, sacrifices and the whole abominablesystem of life on the island? True, I might have goaded them intoslaying me; I might have suffered as a martyr; but, at the least, I wouldhave deserved the martyr's crown. And now I was to perish at the stake,without even the precious consolation of being a real martyr, and was tobe flogged into the bargain.

  I gave a hollow groan as these reflections passed through my mind, andthis appeared to afford William Bludger some consolation.

  "You don't seem to like it yourself, Capt'n; what's your advice? We'reboth in the same boat; leastways I wish we _were_ in a boat; anyhow we'reboth in the same hole."

  There was no denying this, and it was high time to mature some plan ofescape. Already I must have been missed by my attendants, my gaolersrather, who would have returned from their festival, and would be lookingfor me everywhere.

  I bitterly turned over in my mind the facts of our situation; "ours,"for, as a just punishment of my remissness, I was in the same quandary asa drunken, dissipated sailor before the mast.

  If William had but possessed a sweet and tuneful voice (often a giftfound in the most depraved natures), and if I had been able to borrow aharmonium on wheels, I would not, even now, have despaired of convertingthe whole island in the course of the week. As remarkable feats havebeen performed, with equal alacrity, by precious Messrs. Moody andSankey, and I am informed that expeditious conversions are by no meansinfrequent among politicians. But it was vain to think of this resource,as William had no voice, and knew no hymns, while I had no means ofaccess to a perambulating harmonium.

  "I'll tell you what it is, sir," said Bludger; "I have a notion."

  "Name it, William," I replied, my heart and manner softened by communityin suffering and terror.

  "Well, if I were you, sir, I would not go home to-night at all; I'd stopwhere you are. The beggars won't find you, let them hunt as they like;they daren't come near this place, bless you, it's an 'Arnt;" by which hemeant that it was haunted.

  "Well," said I, "but how should we be any better off to-morrow morning?"

  "That's just it, sir," said Bludger. "We'll be up with the first strokeof dawn, nip down to the harbour, get on board a boat, and be off beforeany of them are stirring."

  "But, even if we manage to secure a boat," I said, "what aboutprovisions, and where are we to sail for?"

  "Oh, never mind that," said Bill; "we can't be worse off than we are, andI'll slip out to-night, and lay in some prog in the town. Also somegrog, if I can lay my hands on it," he added, with an unholy smile.

  "No, William," I murmured; "no grog; our lives depend on our sobriety."

  "Always a-preaching, the old tub-thumper," I heard William say tohimself; but he made no further reference to the subject.

  It was now quite dark, and we lay whispering, in the damp hollow underthe great stone. Our plan was to crawl away at the first blush of dawn,when men generally sleep most soundly; that William should enter one ofthe unguarded houses (for these people never stole, and did not know themeaning of the word "thief"), that he should help himself to provisions,and that meanwhile I should have a boat ready to start in the harbour.

  This larcenous but inevitable programme we carried out, after waitingthrough dreadful hours of cold and shivering anxiety. Every cry of anight bird from the marsh or the wood sent my heart into my mouth. Ifelt inconceivably mean and remorseful, my vanity having received adreadful shock from the discovery that, far from being a god, I was to bea kind of burnt-offering.

  At last the east grew faintly grey, and we started, not keeping together,but Bludger marching cautiously in my rear, at a considerable distance.We only met one person, a dissipated young man, who, I greatly fear, hadbeen paying his court to a shepherdess in the hills. When he shouted achallenge, I replied, Erastes eimi, which means, I am sorry to say, "I ama lover," and implied that I, also, had been engaged in low intrigue."Farewell, with good fortune," he replied, and went on his way, singingsome catch about Amaryllis, who, I presume, was the object of hisunhallowed attentions.

  We slipped into the silent town, unwalled and unguarded as it was, for asone of their own poets had said, "We dwell by the wash of the waves, faroff from toilsome men, and with us are no folk conversant." They were arace that knew war only by a vague tradition, that they had dwelt, atsome former age, in an island, perhaps New Zealand, where they weresubject to constant annoyance from Giants,--a likely story. Thence theyhad migrated to their present home, where only one white man had everbeen cast away--one Odysseus, so their traditions declared--before ourarrival. Him, however, they had treated hospitably, very unlike theircontemplated behaviour to Bludger and me.

  I am obliged to make this historical digression that the reader mayunderstand how it happened, under Providence, that we were not detectedin passing through the town, and how Bludger successfully accomplishedwhat, I fear, was by no means his first burglary.

  We parted at the chief's house, Bill to secure provisions, and I tounmoor a boat, and bring her round to a lonely bay on the coast, where mycompanion was to join me.

  I accomplished my task without the slightest difficulty, selected a lightcraft,--they did not use canoes, but rowed boats like coracles,--and waslying at anchor, moored with a heavy stone, in the bay.

  The dawn was now breaking in the most beautiful colours--gold, purple,crimson, and green--across the sea. All nature was still, save for thefirst pipe of awakening birds.

  There was a delicate fragrance in the air, which was at once soft andkeen, and, as I watched the red sunlight on the high cliffs, and on thesmooth trunks of the palm trees, I felt, strange to say, a kind ofreluctance to leave the island.

  The people, apart from their cruel and abominable religion, were thegentlest and most peaceful I have
ever known. They were beautiful tolook upon, so finely made and shapely that I have never seen their like.Their language was exquisitely sweet and melodious, and though, excepthymns, I do not care for poetry, yet I must admit that some of theircompositions in verse were extremely pleasing, though they were ignorantof the art of rhyme. All about them was beautifully made, and they wereignorant of poverty. I never saw a beggar on the island; and Christians,unhappily, do not share their goods with each other, and with the poor,so freely as did these benighted heathens. Often have I laboured to makethem understand what our Pauper Question means, but they could notcomprehend me.

  "How can a man lack home, and food, and fire?" they would say; "do peoplenot love each other in your country?"

  I explained that we love each other _as Christians_, but this did notseem to enlighten their benighted minds. On the other hand, it is truethat they settle their population question by strangling or exposing themajority of their infant daughters.

  Rocked on the smooth green swell of the sea, beneath the white rocks, Iwas brooding over these and many other matters, when I heard sudden andviolent movements in the deep vegetation on the hillside. The laurelgroves were stirred, and Bill Bludger, with a basket in his hand, boundeddown the slope, and swam for dear life to the boat.

  "They're after me," he cried; and at that moment an arrow quivered in theside of the boat.

  I helped William on board as well as I might, under a shower of arrowsfrom the hill-top, most of which, owing to the distance, were illdirected and fell short, or went wide.

  Into the boat, at last, I got him, and thrusting an oar in his direction,I said, "Pull for your life," and began rowing. To my horror, the boatmade no way, but kept spinning round. A glance in the bow showed me whatwas the matter: _William Bludger was hopelessly intoxicated_! He had gotat the jars of wine in the chief's cellar,--thalamos, they call it,--andhad not taken the precaution of mixing the liquor with water, as thenatives invariably do when they drink. The excitement of running hadsent the alcoholic fumes direct to his brain, and now he lay, a uselessand embarrassing cargo, in the bows. Meanwhile, the shouts of thenatives rang nearer and louder, and I knew that boats would soon belaunched for our capture. I thought of throwing Bludger overboard, andsculling, but determined not to stain what might be my last moments withan act of selfishness. I therefore pulled hard for the open sea, but tono avail. On every side boats crowded round me, and I should probablyhave been shot, or speared, but for the old priest, who, erect in thebows of the largest vessel, kept yelling that we were to be taken alive.

  Alas! I well knew the secret of his cruel mercies.

  He meant to reserve us for the sacrifice.