by Daniel Defoe
the members of his church the like moderationthey would soon be all Protestants; and there we left that part, for wenever disputed at all.
However, I talked to him another way; and taking him by the hand, "Myfriend," said I, "I wish all the clergy of the Roman church were blessedwith such moderation, and an equal share of your charity. I am entirelyof your opinion; but I must tell you, that if you should preach suchdoctrine 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 andItaly; but I will not say they would be the better Christians for thatseverity; for I am sure there is no heresy in too much charity."
Well, as Will Atkins and his wife were gone, our business there wasover; so we went back our own way; and when we came back we found themwaiting to be called in. Observing this, I asked my clergyman if weshould discover to him that we had seen him under the bush, or no; andit 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, nobodybeing in the place but ourselves; and I began with him thus:
"Will Atkins," said I, "pr'ythee what education had you? What was yourfather?"
_W.A._ A better man than ever I shall be. Sir, my father was aclergyman.
_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'ssake, 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, explainyourself: 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 allhis comforts, and shortened his days; I broke his heart by the mostungrateful, unnatural return for the most tender, affectionate treatmentthat ever father gave, or child could receive.
_R.C._ Well, I did not ask you about your father to extort thisconfession; I pray God give you repentance for it, and forgive you thatand all your other sins; but I asked you, because I see that, though youhave not much learning, yet you are not so ignorant as some are inthings that are good; that you have known more of religion a great dealthan you have practised.
_W.A._ Though you, Sir, did not extort the confession that I make aboutmy father, conscience does; and whenever we come to look back upon ourlives, the sins against our indulgent parents are certainly the firstthat touch us; the wounds they make lie deepest; and the weight theyleave 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 bearit.
_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 treein this island, is witness to the anguish of my soul for my ingratitudeand base usage of a good tender father; a father much like yours by yourdescription; and I murdered my father as well as you, Will Atkins; butthink for all that, my repentance is short of yours too, by agreat 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 affectedwith it, and said to me, "Did I not say, Sir, that when this man wasconverted he would preach to us all? I tell you, Sir, if this one man bemade a true penitent, here will be no need of me, he will makeChristians of all in the island." But having a little composed myself Irenewed my discourse with Will Atkins.
"But, Will," said I, "how comes the sense of this matter to touch youjust now?"
_W.A._ Sir, you have set me about a work that has struck a dart throughmy very soul; I have been talking about God and religion to my wife, inorder, as you directed me, to make a Christian of her; and she haspreached 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 youwere moving religious arguments to her, conscience has flung themback 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 toofull to hold it, and yet have no tongue to express it: but let her havesaid what she will, and though I cannot give you an account of it, thisI 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 beenan extraordinary case, that is certain; she has preached a sermonindeed, if she has wrought this upon you.
_W.A._ Why, I first told her the nature of our laws about marriage, andwhat the reasons were that men and women were obliged to enter into suchcompacts as it was neither in the power of one or other to break; thatotherwise, order and justice could not be maintained, and men would runfrom their wives and abandon their children, mix confusedly with oneanother, and neither families be kept entire, or inheritances be settledby a legal descent.
_R.C._ You talk like a civilian, Will. Could you make her understandwhat you meant by inheritance and families? They know no such thingamong 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 thecontrary, and that they abhor it. Perhaps for any further relations theymay not be so exact as we are; but she tells me they never touch oneanother 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 inher 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 wouldbe married to me our way? She asked me, what way that was? I told hermarriage was appointed of God; and here we had a strange talk togetherindeed, 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 oldBenamuckee 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 mycountry.
[W.A. laughed a little at her expression of God not making her country.]
_Wife._ 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, andall things; for he is the only true God; there is no God but he; helives 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 havenot only forgotten to acquaint thee with any thing before, but h
avelived without God in the world myself.
_Wife._ What have you de great God in your country, you no know him? Nosay 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 noGod 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, anddoes 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 Ihave feared God for his power.
_Wife._ Then you God no God; me no tink, believe he be such one, greatmuch power, strong; no makee kill you, though you makee him much
