It was then that I saw that Grimes had run just as an animal in pain runs—to relieve his feelings.
I did not wonder, or take much notice of his wild remarks; for Grimes and I had had many adventures together, so that his peculiarities had become quite commonplace to me. He was all of a-tremble when I left him.
That night I went up to see old Lydia, and found the poor native woman half demented. She knew me well. I was truly sorry for her and all concerned. She wrung her hands with grief, cried like a child, reiterating the full account of the terrible discovery. With frequent sobs of remorse she related each incident, hiding nothing, behaving as though it relieved her feelings to unburden her mind. “Mees old heathen bitch!” she wailed, as she beat her flanks with her hands. “My pretty Wayee, I send ’er way to the forest. Benbow kill mees when he comes ’ome.” So did the old girl ramble on, uttering a multitude of original phrases that expressed genuine grief and despair.
I took the grieving mother’s hand and swore that I would do my best to find her daughter and persuade her to return home.
Ere I left that little cottage the old woman flung her tawny arms about me, kissed me hysterically, and said: “You bewtifool white mans, you no say much, allee samee good Clistian man.”
Then I went away under the coco-palms to do as I had promised, and see Father O’Leary, and tell him all that the poor mother had confided to me.
I found the old priest at prayers, “My son, I have heard all,” he said, as he lifted his hands to the sky. I felt sorry for him as he lifted his old eyes and said: “My lost sheep, my little Waylao.” Then to my astonishment he said: “Damn!”
This mild oath from the earnest ecclesiastic made me feel more sorry than ever; I saw how intense was his sorrow.
Though I was a Protestant, if anything at all, he took my hand and blessed me. To tell the truth, I loved that old priest. Though I did not agree with half that he said, I admired and respected his sincerity. I feel sure that he liked me, notwithstanding that I shocked him so much at times that he lifted his hands to the skies and asked God to forgive me. But we were pally, that old priest and I, and he was so upset that night that he forgot to toll the mission bell.
I am not going to tell all that I did after I left that priest, or all I felt. No one confesses their innermost thoughts—so why should I?