The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe - 48

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, nobody 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 God'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 God 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 shore, every hill, nay, I may say every tree in this island, is witness to the anguish of my soul for my ingratitude 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 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 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, if this one man be made a true penitent, here 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 through 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 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 too full to hold it, and yet have no tongue to express it: but let her have said what she will, and though I cannot give you an account of it, this I 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 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 or 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, or inheritances be settled by a 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 thing among 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 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 they never touch one another 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 in her 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 would be married to me our way? She asked me, what way that was? I told her marriage was appointed of God; and here we had a strange talk together indeed, 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 old Benamuckee 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 my country.

[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, and all things; for he is the only true God; there is no God but he; he lives 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 have not only forgotten to acquaint thee with any thing before, but have lived without God in the world myself.

Wife. What have you de great God in your country, you no know him? No say 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 no God 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, and does 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 I have feared God for his power.

Wife. Then you God no God; me no tink, believe he be such one, great much power, strong; no makee kill you, though you makee him much angry!

W.A. What! will my wicked life hinder you from believing in God! What a dreadful creature am I! And what a sad truth is it, that the horrid lives of Christians hinder the conversion of heathens!

Wife. Now me tink you have great much God up there, (she points up to heaven) and yet no do well, no do good ting? Can he tell? Sure he no tell what you do.

W.A. Yes, yes, he knows and seen all things; he hears us speak, sees what we do, knows what we think, though we do not speak.

Wife What! he no hear you swear, curse, speak the great damn?

W.A. Yes, yes, he hears it all.

Wife. Where be then the muchee great power strong?

W.A. He is merciful; that is all we can say for it; and this proves him to be the true God: he is God, and not man; and therefore we are not consumed.

[Here Will Atkins told us he was struck with horror to think how he could tell his wife so clearly that God sees, and hears, and knows the secret thoughts of the heart, and all that we do; and yet that he had dared to do all the vile things he had done.]

Wife. Merciful! what you call dat?

W.A. He is our father and maker; and he pities and spares us.

Wife. So then he never makee kill, never angry when you do wicked; then he no good himself, or no great able.

W.A. Yes, yes, my dear; he is infinitely good, and infinitely great, and able to punish too; and some times, to shew his justice and vengeance, he lets fly his anger to destroy sinners and make examples; many are cut off in their sins.

Wife. But no makee kill you yet; then he tell you, may be, that he no makee you kill, so you make de bargain with him, you do bad ting, he no be angry at you, when he be angry at other mans?

W.A. No, indeed, my sins are all presumptions upon his goodness; and he would be infinitely just if he destroyed me as he has done other men.

Wife. Well, and yet no kill, no makee you dead! What you say to him for that? You no tell him tankee for all that too!

W.A. I am an unthankful, ungrateful dog, that is true.

Wife. Why he no makee you much good better? You say he makee you.

W.A.. He made me as he made all the world; 'tis I have deformed myself, and abused his goodness, and have made myself an abominable wretch.

Wife. I wish you makee God know me; I no makee him angry; I no do bad wicked ting.

[Here Will Atkins said his heart sunk within him, to hear a poor, untaught creature desire to be taught to know God, and he such a wicked wretch that he could not say one word to her about God, but what the reproach of his own carriage would make most irrational to her to believe; nay, that already she could not believe in God, because he that was so wicked was not destroyed.]

W.A. My dear, you mean you wish I could teach you to know God, not God to know you, for he knows you already, and every thought in your heart.

Wife. Why then he know what I say to you now; he know me wish to know him; how shall me know who makee me?

W.A. Poor creature, he must teach thee, I cannot teach thee; I'll pray to him to teach thee to know him; and to forgive me that I am unworthy to teach thee.

[The poor fellow was in such an agony at her desiring him to make her know God, and her wishing to know him, that he said he fell down on his knees before her, and prayed to God to enlighten her mind with the saving knowledge of Jesus Christ, and to pardon his sins, and accept of his being the unworthy instrument of instructing her in the principles of religion; after which he sat down by her again, and their dialogue went on.]

N.B. This was the time when we saw him kneel down and lift up his hands.

Wife. What you put down the knee for? What you hold up the hand for? What you say? Who you speak to? What is that?

W.A. My dear, I bow my knees in token of my submission to Him that made me: I said O to him, as you call it, and as you say your old men do to their idol Benamuckee; that is, I prayed to him.

Wife. What you say O to him for?

W.A. I prayed to him to open your eyes and your understanding, that you may know him, and be accepted by him.

Wife. Can he do that too?

W.A. Yes, he can; he can do all things.

Wife. But he no hear what you say?

W.A. Yes, he has bid us pray to him; and promised to hear us.

Wife. Bid you pray? When he bid you? How he bid you? What you hear him speak?

W.A. No, we do not hear him speak; but he has revealed himself many ways to us.

[Here he was at a great loss to make her understand that God had revealed himself to us by his word; and what his word was; but at last he told it her thus:]

W.A. God has spoken to some good men in former days, even from heaven, by plain words; and God has inspired good men by his Spirit; and they have written all his laws down in a book.

Wife. Me no understand that: where is book?

W.A.. Alas! my poor creature, I have not this book; but I hope I shall, one time or other, get it for you to read it.

[Here he embraced her with great affection; but with inexpressible grief, that he had not a Bible.]

Wife. But how you makee me know that God teachee them to write that book?

W.A. By the same rule that we know him to be God.

Wife. What rule? what way you know?

W.A. Because he teaches and commands nothing but what is good, righteous, and holy, and tends to make us perfectly good, as well as perfectly happy; and because he forbids, and commands us to avoid, all that is wicked, that is evil in itself, or evil in its consequences.

Wife. That me would understand, that me fain see; if he reward all good thing, punish all wicked thing, he teachee all good thing, forbid all wicked thing, he makee all thing, he give all thing; he hear me when I say O to him, as you go to do just now; he makee me good if I wish be good; he spare me, no makee kill me when I no be good; all this you say he do: yes, he be great God; me take, think, believe him be great God; me say O to him too with you, my dear.

Here the poor man said he could forbear no longer; but, raising her up, made her kneel by him; and he prayed to God aloud to instruct her in the knowledge of himself by his Spirit; and that by some good providence, if possible, she might some time or other come to have a Bible, that she might read the word of God, and be taught by him to know him.

[This was the time that we saw him lift her up by the hand, and saw him kneel down by her, as above.]

They had several other discourses, it seems, after this, too long to set down here; and particularly she made him promise, that, since he confessed his own life had been a wicked, abominable course of provocation against God, he would reform it, and not make God angry any more, lest he should make him dead, as she called it, and then she should be left alone, and never be taught to know this God better; and lest he should be miserable, as he told her wicked men should be after death.

This was a strange account, and very affecting to us both, but particularly the young clergyman; he was indeed wonderfully surprised with it; but under the greatest affliction imaginable that he could not talk to her; that he could not speak English to make her understand him; and as she spoke but very broken English he could not understand her. However, he turned himself to me, and told me, that he believed there must be more to do with this woman than to marry her. I did not understand him at first, but at length he explained himself, viz. that she ought to be baptized.

I agreed with him in that part readily, and was for going about it presently: "No, no; hold, Sir," said he; "though I would have her baptized by all means, yet I must observe, that Will Atkins, her husband, has indeed brought her, in a wonderful manner, to be willing to embrace a religious life; and has given her just ideas of the being of a God, of his power, justice, and mercy; yet I desire to know of him, if he has said any thing to her of Jesus Christ, and of the salvation of sinners; of the nature of faith in him, and the redemption by him; of the Holy Spirit, the Resurrection, the last judgment, and a future state."

I called Will Atkins again, and asked him; but the poor fellow fell immediately into tears, and told us he had said something to her of all those things, but that he was himself so wicked a creature, and his own conscience so reproached him with his horrid, ungodly life, that he trembled at the apprehensions, that her knowledge of him should lessen the attention she should give to those things, and make her rather contemn religion than receive it: but he was assured, he said, that her mind was so disposed to receive due impressions of all those things, that, if I would but discourse with her, she would make it appear to my satisfaction that my labour would not be lost upon her.

Accordingly I called her in, and placing myself as interpreter between my religious priest and the woman, I entreated him to begin with her. But sure such a sermon was never preached by a popish priest in these latter ages of the world: and, as I told him, I thought he had all the zeal, all the knowledge, all the sincerity of a Christian, without the errors of a Roman Catholic; and that I took him to be such a clergyman as the Roman bishops were before the church of Rome assumed spiritual sovereignty over the consciences of men.