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 G.o.d 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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sures 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 G.o.d; 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 G.o.d! Why, have you a G.o.d in your country?

_W.A._ Yes, my dear; G.o.d is in every country.

_Wife._ No your G.o.d in my country; my country have the great old Benamnekee G.o.d.

_W.A._ Child, I am very unfit to shew you who G.o.d is; G.o.d 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 G.o.d makee de earth; no make my country.

[W.A. laughed a little at her expression of G.o.d not making her country.]

_W.A._ 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 G.o.d make all?

_W.A._ Yes, child, our G.o.d made the whole world, and you, and me, and all things; for he is the only true G.o.d; there is no G.o.d 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 G.o.d in the world myself.

_Wife._ What have you de great G.o.d 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 G.o.d in heaven, or that he had no power on earth.

_Wife._ But why G.o.d 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 G.o.d is merciful, and does not deal with us as we deserve.

_Wife._ But then do not you tell G.o.d tankee for that too?

_W.A._ No, Indeed; I have not thanked G.o.d for his mercy, any more than I have feared G.o.d for his power.

_Wife._ Then you G.o.d no G.o.d; 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 G.o.d! 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 G.o.d 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 d.a.m.n?

_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 G.o.d: he is G.o.d, 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 G.o.d 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.