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 us.
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.
