by Daniel Defoe
the 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," says he; "I mean 'tis too late, and that is
too true."
I told the clergyman, word for word, what he said, and this
affectionate man could not refrain from tears; but, recovering
himself, 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
passion, "How could any man be easy in a condition that must
certainly end in eternal destruction? that he was far from being
easy; but that, on the contrary, he believed it would one time or
other ruin him."--"What do you mean by that?" said I.--"Why," he
said, "he believed he should one time or other cut his throat, to
put an end to the terror of it."
The clergyman shook his head, with great concern in his face, when
I told him all this; but turning quick to me upon it, says, "If
that be his case, we may assure 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 passion
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 God may refuse to
hear, but that it is 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 it is 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 a while, and we talked to the rest. I perceived they were all
stupidly ignorant as to matters of religion, as much as I was when
I went rambling away from my father; yet 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 endeavours 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 further 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 Will Atkin's, I believe
he is the only sincere convert among them: I will not despair of
the rest; but that man is apparently struck with the sense of his
past life, and I doubt not, 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.
If that poor Atkins begins but once to talk seriously of Jesus
Christ to his wife, he will assuredly talk himself into a thorough
convert, make 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 two other couple; but Will Atkins and his wife were not
yet come in. After this, my clergyman, waiting a while, was
curious to know where Atkins was gone, and turning to me, said, "I
entreat you, sir, let us walk out of your labyrinth here and look;
I daresay we shall find this poor man somewhere or other talking
seriously to 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 very thick 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 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 showed 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,
and then down to the earth, then out to the sea, then to himself,
then to her, to the woods, to the trees. "Now," says the
clergyman, "you see my words are made good, the man preaches to
her; mark him now, he is telling her that our God has made him,
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 upon his feet, fall down on his knees, and lift up
both his hands. We supposed he said something, but we could not
hear him; it was too far 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 anything to him 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 anything that passed 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 most passionately;
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 a while, that we
might see an end of the scene, which to me, I must confess, was the
most affecting that ever I saw in my life. Well, he strove with
himself for a while, but was in such raptures 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 the way of giving God thanks for so miraculous a testimony of
the success of our endeavours. Some he spoke softly, and I could
not well hear others; some
things he said in Latin, some in French;
then two or three times the tears would interrupt him, that he
could not speak at all; but I begged that he would contain himself,
and let us more narrowly and fully observe what was before us,
which he did for a time, the scene not being near ended 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
her motion, that she was greatly affected with what he said, by her
frequently lifting up her hands, laying her hand to her breast, and
such other postures as express the greatest seriousness and
attention; this continued about half a quarter of an hour, and then
they walked away, so we could see no more of them in that
situation.
I took this interval to say to the clergyman, first, that 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 might both be, and I hoped such a
beginning would yet have a more happy end. "But, my friend," added
I, "will you give me leave to start one difficulty here? I cannot
tell how to object the least thing against that affectionate
concern which you show for the turning of 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, as effectually
lost as the pagans themselves."
To this he answered, with abundance of candour, 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 that I do not speak in compliment
to you, or in respect to my circumstances 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) that you cannot be saved; I will by no
means limit the mercy of Christ so far as think that He cannot
receive you into the bosom of His Church, in a manner to us
unperceivable; and I hope you have the same charity for us: I pray
daily for you being all restored to Christ's Church, by whatsoever
method He, who is all-wise, is pleased to direct. In the meantime,
surely you will allow it consists with me as a Roman to distinguish
far between a Protestant and a pagan; between one that calls on
Jesus Christ, though in a way which I do not think is according to
the true faith, and a savage or a barbarian, that knows no God, no
Christ, no Redeemer; and if you are not within the pale of the
Catholic Church, we hope you are nearer being restored to it than
those who know nothing of God or of His Church: and 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 God, from whom every such work proceeds, will
sensibly touch his heart, and bring him to the further knowledge of
that truth in His own time; and if God 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 desire it,
leaving it to the goodness of Christ to perfect His work in His own
time, and in his own way? Certainly, I would rejoice if all the
savages in America were brought, like this poor woman, to pray to
God, though they were all to be Protestants at first, rather than
they should continue pagans or heathens; firmly believing, that He
that had bestowed the first light on 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."
CHAPTER VII--CONVERSATION BETWIXT WILL ATKINS AND HIS WIFE
I was astonished at the sincerity and temper of this 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 joined in; that a spirit of charity would
soon work us all up into right principles; and as he thought that
the like charity would make us all Catholics, so I told him I
believed, had all the members of his Church the like moderation,
they would soon all be 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," says I, "I wish all
the clergy of the Romish Church were blessed with such moderation,
and had 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 would
do in Spain or Italy; but I will not say they would be the better
Christians for that severity; for I am sure there is no heresy in
abounding with 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
not; 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, nobody being in the place but ourselves, and I began by
asking him some particulars about his parentage and education. He
told me frankly enough that his father was a clergyman who would
have taught him well, but that he, Will Atkins, despised all
instruction and correction; and by his brutish conduct cut the
thread of all his father's comforts and shortened his days, for
that he broke his heart by the most ungrateful, unnatural return
for the most affectionate treatment a father ever gave.
In what he said there seemed so much sincerity of repentance, that
it painfully affected me. I could not but reflect that I, too, had
shortened the life of a good, tender father by my bad conduct and
obstinate self-will. I was, indeed, so surprised with what he had
told me, that I thought, instead of my going about to teach and
instruct him, the man was made a teacher and instructor to me in a
most unexpected manner.
I laid all this before the young clergyman, who was greatly
affected with it, and said to me, "Did I not say, sir, that when
this man was converted he would preach to us all? I tell you, sir,<
br />
if this one man be made a true penitent, there will be no need of
me; he will make Christians of all in the island."--But having a
little composed myself, I renewed my discourse with Will Atkins.
"But, Will," said I, "how comes the sense of this matter to touch
you just now?"
W.A.--Sir, you have set me about a work that has struck a dart
though my very soul; I have been talking about God and religion to
my wife, in order, as you directed me, to make a Christian of her,
and she has preached 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 you
were moving religious arguments to her, conscience has flung them
back upon you.
W.A.--Ay, sir, with such 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
too full to hold it, and yet have no tongue to express it; but let
her have said what she will, though I cannot give you an account of
it, this I can tell you, that I have resolved to amend and reform
my life.
R.C.--But tell us some of it: how did you begin, Will? For this
has been an extraordinary case, that is certain. She has preached
a sermon, indeed, if she has wrought this upon you.
W.A.--Why, I first told her the nature of our laws about marriage,
and what the reasons were that men and women were obliged to enter
into such compacts as it was neither in the power of one nor other
to break; that otherwise, order and justice could not be
maintained, and men would run from their wives, and abandon their
children, mix confusedly with one another, and neither families be
kept entire, nor inheritances be settled by legal descent.
R.C.--You talk like a civilian, Will. Could you make her
understand what you meant by inheritance and families? They know
no such things among the savages, but marry anyhow, without regard
to relation, consanguinity, or family; brother and sister, nay, as
I have been told, even the father and the daughter, and the son and
the mother.
W.A.--I believe, sir, you are misinformed, and my wife assures me
of the contrary, and that they abhor it; perhaps, for any further
relations, they may not be so exact as we are; but she tells me
never in the near relationship you speak of.
R.C.--Well, what did she say to what you told her?
W.A.--She said she liked it very well, as it was much better than
in her country.
R.C.--But did you tell her what marriage was?
W.A.--Ay, ay, there began our dialogue. I asked her if she would
be married to me our way. She asked me what way that was; I told
her marriage was appointed by God; and here we had a strange talk
together, indeed, as ever man and wife had, I believe.
N.B.--This dialogue between Will Atkins and his wife, which I took
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 old
Benamuckee God.
W.A.--Child, I am very unfit to show 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 all earth; no makee my
country.
[Will Atkins 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 makee all?
W.A.--Yes, child, our God made the whole world, and you, and me,
and all things; for He is the only true God, and there is no God
