by Daniel Defoe
have been satisfied if they had been sent to any country, so they
had never seen their own. I was confounded at his discourse, and
knew not what answer to make him.
He looked earnestly at me, seeing my confusion. "Sir," says 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 on the owners' account. It is
true, I agreed to be allowed twelve days here, and if I stay more,
I must pay three pounds sterling per diem demurrage; nor can I stay
upon demurrage above eight days more, and I have been here thirteen
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 thirty-seven souls was not worth venturing all I had in the
world for. I was not so sensible of that as he was. I replied to
him thus: "Why, sir, it is a valuable thing, indeed, to be an
instrument in God's hand to convert thirty-seven heathens to the
knowledge of Christ: but as you are an ecclesiastic, and are given
over to the work, so it seems so naturally to fall in the way of
your profession; how is it, then, that you do not rather offer
yourself to undertake it than to press me to do it?"
Upon this he faced about just before me, as he walked along, and
putting me to a full stop, made me a very low bow. "I most
heartily thank God and you, sir," said 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 the hazards and
difficulties of such a broken, disappointed voyage as I have met
with, that I am 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 glowed, and his colour
came and went; in a word, he was fired with the joy 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 who seemed possessed of a zeal beyond
the ordinary rate of men. But after I had considered it a while, I
asked him seriously if he was in earnest, and that he would
venture, on the single consideration of an attempt to convert 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 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?"--"ay," 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 thirty-seven men to the faith of Jesus 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 God thanks all my
days if I could be made the happy instrument of saving the souls of
those poor men, though I were never to get my foot off this island
or see my native country any more. But since you will honour me
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 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 touched 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 religion; 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 be of much more value than the keeping or parting with a
servant. On the other hand, I was persuaded that Friday would by
no means agree to part with me; and I could not force him to it
without his consent, without manifest injustice; because I had
promised I would never send him away, and he had promised and
engaged that he would never leave me, unless I sent 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 of his. To remove this difficulty, I
told him Friday's father had learned Spanish, which I found he also
understood, and he should serve him as an interpreter. So he was
much better satisfied, and nothing could persuade him but he would
stay and endeavour to convert them; but Providence gave another
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
account 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 very 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 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 showed 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 call them their
wives,
and have so many children by them, and not be lawfully married to
them? They all gave me the answer I expected, viz. that there was
nobody to marry them; that they agreed before the governor to keep
them as their wives, and to maintain 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 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 me 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 went on as I expected; and they told me, especially Will
Atkins, who now seemed 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 on any account whatever; and they did
verily believe that 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 woman could possibly do: and they would not part
with them on any account. Will Atkins, for his own particular,
added that if any man would take him away, and offer to carry him
home to England, and 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 he was not far off; so to try him further, I told
him I had a clergyman with me, and, if he was sincere, I would have
him married 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 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. We then parted, and I
went back to my clergyman, and Will Atkins went in to talk with his
companions. I desired the French gentleman not to say anything to
them till the business was thoroughly 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 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 with
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, in the meantime, 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 his
interpreter. But the seriousness of his behaviour to them, and the
scruples 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 not. Indeed, I was afraid his
scruples 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
indifferent men, and in the sense of the laws of society, they had
lived all this while in a state of sin; and that it was true that
nothing but the consenting to marry, or effectually separating them
from one another, could now 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, 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 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 them he doubted they were but indifferent
Christians themselves; that they had but little knowledge of God or
of 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 that I was of his mind; and I always very
carefully distinguished between what I said from myself and what
were the clergyman's words. They told me it was very true what the
gentleman said, that they were 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 talk to them of God and Jesus Christ, and heaven and
hell, it would make them laugh at us, and ask us what we believe
ourselves. And if we should tell them that we believe all the
things 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 intend
to go ourselves, that believe all this, and are such wicked fellows
as we indeed are? Why, sir; 'tis enough to give them a surfeit of
religion at first hearing; folks must have some religion themselves
before they begin to teach other people."--"Will Atkins," said I to
him, "though I am afraid that what you say has too much truth in
it, yet can you not tell your wife 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; and 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 is true, sir," said Atkins; "but with what face
can I say anything 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 everybody 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
informed the clergyman of what Atkins had said, for he was
impatient to know. "Oh," 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; 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 lead him to teach his wife
the doctrine of the resurrection and of the last judgment. Let him
but repent 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, as 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 have not the impudence to talk thus to my wife, when God and
my conscience know, and my wife will be an undeniable evidence
against me, that I have lived as if I had never heard of a God or
future state, or anything about it; and to talk of my repenting,
alas!" (and with that he fetched a deep sigh, and I could see that
