________________________________________________
_ A DAY or two after the events just related, we were lounging in the
Calabooza Beretanee, when we were honoured by a visit from three of
the French Priests; and as about the only notice ever taken of us by
the English missionaries was their leaving their cards for us, in the
shape of a package of tracts, we could not help thinking that the
Frenchmen, in making a personal call, were at least much better bred.
By this time they had settled themselves down quite near our
habitation. A pleasant little stroll down the Broom Road, and a
rustic cross peeped through the trees; and soon you came to as
charming a place as one would wish to see: a soft knoll, planted with
old breadfruit trees; in front, a savannah, sloping to a grove of
palms, and, between these, glimpses of blue, sunny waves.
On the summit of the knoll was a rude chapel, of bamboos; quite small,
and surmounted by the cross. Between the canes, at nightfall, the
natives stole peeps at a small portable altar; a crucifix to
correspond, and gilded candlesticks and censers. Their curiosity
carried them no further; nothing could induce them to worship there.
Such queer ideas as they entertained of the hated strangers. Masses
and chants were nothing more than evil spells. As for the priests
themselves, they were no better than diabolical sorcerers; like those
who, in old times, terrified their fathers.
Close by the chapel was a range of native houses; rented from a chief,
and handsomely furnished. Here lived the priests; and very
comfortably, too. They looked sanctimonious enough abroad; but that
went for nothing; since, at home, in their retreat, they were a club
of Friar Tucks; holding priestly wassail over many a good cup of red
brandy, and rising late in the morning.
Pity it was they couldn't marry--pity for the ladies of the island, I
mean, and the cause of morality; for what business had the
ecclesiastical old bachelors with such a set of trim little native
handmaidens? These damsels were their first converts; and devoted
ones they were.
The priests, as I have said before, were accounted necromancers: the
appearance of two of our three visitors might have justified the
conceit.
They were little, dried-up Frenchmen, in long, straight gowns of black
cloth, and unsightly three-cornered hats--so preposterously big that,
in putting them on, the reverend fathers seemed to extinguish
themselves.
Their companion was dressed differently. He wore a sort of yellow,
flannel morning gown, and a broad-brimmed Manilla hat. Large and
portly, he was also hale and fifty; with a complexion like an
autumnal leaf--handsome blue eyes--fine teeth, and a racy Milesian
brogue. In short, he was an Irishman; Father Murphy, by name; and, as
such, pretty well known, and very thoroughly disliked, throughout all
the Protestant missionary settlements in Polynesia. In early youth,
he had been sent to a religious seminary in France; and, taking
orders there, had but once or twice afterwards revisited his native
land.
Father Murphy marched up to us briskly; and the first words he uttered
were, to ask whether there were any of his countrymen among tis.
There were two of them; one, a lad of sixteen--a bright, curly-headed
rascal--and, being a young Irishman, of course, his name was Pat. The
other was an ugly, and rather melancholy-looking scamp; one M'Gee,
whose prospects in life had been blasted by a premature
transportation to Sydney. This was the report, at least, though it
might have been scandal.
In most of my shipmates were some redeeming qualities; but about
M'Gee, there was nothing of the kind; and forced to consort with him,
I could not help regretting, a thousand times, that the gallows had
been so tardy. As if impelled, against her will, to send him into the
world, Nature had done all she could to insure his being taken for
what he was. About the eyes there was no mistaking him; with a
villainous cast in one, they seemed suspicious of each other.
Glancing away from him at once, the bluff priest rested his gaze on
the good-humoured face of Pat, who, with a pleasant roguishness, was
"twigging" the enormous hats (or "Hytee Belteezers," as land beavers
are called by sailors), from under which, like a couple of snails,
peeped the two little Frenchmen.
Pat and the priest were both from the same town in Meath; and, when
this was found out, there was no end to the questions of the latter.
To him, Pat seemed a letter from home, and said a hundred times as
much.
After a long talk between these two, and a little broken English from
the Frenchmen, our visitors took leave; but Father Murphy had hardly
gone a dozen rods when back he came, inquiring whether we were in
want of anything.
"Yes," cried one, "something to eat." Upon this he promised to send us
some fresh wheat bread, of his own baking; a great luxury in Tahiti.
We all felicitated Pat upon picking up such a friend, and told him his
fortune was made.
The next morning, a French servant of the priest's made his appearance
with a small bundle of clothing for our young Hibernian; and the
promised bread for the party. Pat being out at the knees and elbows,
and, like the rest of us, not full inside, the present was acceptable
all round.
In the afternoon, Father Murphy himself came along; and, in addition
to his previous gifts, gave Pat a good deal of advice: said he was
sorry to see him in limbo, and that he would have a talk with the
consul about having him set free.
We saw nothing more of him for two or three days; at the end of which
time he paid us another call, telling Pat that Wilson was inexorable,
having refused to set him at liberty, unless to go aboard the ship.
This, the priest now besought him to do forthwith; and so escape the
punishment which, it seems, Wilson had been hinting at to his
intercessor. Pat, however, was staunch against entreaties; and, with
all the ardour of a sophomorean sailor, protested his intention to
hold out to the last. With none of the meekness of a good little boy
about him, the blunt youngster stormed away at such a rate that it
was hard to pacify him; and the priest said no more.
How it came to pass--whether from Murphy's speaking to the consul, or
otherwise, we could not tell--but the next day, Pat was sent for by
Wilson, and being escorted to the village by our good old keeper,
three days elapsed before he returned.
Bent upon reclaiming him, they had taken him on board the ship;
feasted him in the cabin; and, finding that of no avail, down they
thrust him into the hold, in double irons, and on bread and water.
All would not do; and so he was sent back to the Calabooza. Boy that
he was, they must have counted upon his being more susceptible to
discipline than the rest.
The interest felt in Pat's welfare, by his benevolent countryman, was
very serviceable to the rest of us; especially as we all turned
Catholics, and went to mass every morning, much to Captain Bob's
consternation. Upon finding it out, he threatened to keep us in the
stocks if we did not desist. He went no farther than this, though;
and so, every few days, we strolled down to the priest's residence,
and had a mouthful to eat, and something generous to drink. In
particular, Dr. Long Ghost and myself became huge favourites with
Pat's friend; and many a time he regaled us from a quaint-looking
travelling case for spirits, stowed away in one corner of his
dwelling. It held four square flasks, which, somehow or other, always
contained just enough to need emptying. In truth, the fine old
Irishman was a rosy fellow in canonicals. His countenance and his
soul were always in a glow. It may be ungenerous to reveal his
failings, but he often talked thick, and sometimes was perceptibly
eccentric in his gait.
I never drink French brandy but I pledge Father Murphy. His health
again! And many jolly proselytes may he make in Polynesia! _
Read next: PART I: CHAPTER XXXVIII. LITTLE JULIA SAILS WITHOUT US
Read previous: PART I: CHAPTER XXXVI. WE ARE CARRIED BEFORE THE CONSUL AND CAPTAIN
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