The island of anarchy: A fragment of history in the 20th century

by Elizabeth Waterhouse

Thus the presence of the Dacoits wrought a change at once on the island.

The common trouble to which they were now exposed inclined the earlier settlers to look upon one another with more friendly eyes, and indeed I think by this time they were all beginning a little to weary of conflict, and so they drew together and determined on measures in which they should all unite for driving the Dacoits back to the North, or at any rate reducing them to some sort of subjection.

But this was by no means easy. Men who had no scruple at midnight murder, and delighted in the torture of little children in the sight of their mothers, could not be met by any force but that of perfectly organized and strong repression, and the leaders of the party who now represented the order of the Island began to dread whether they would not indeed all perish at the hands of these savage invaders. It might be so, but all that was best in these men rose up to meet the danger and to defend their homes. They were beginning to understand the meaning of union, of some sort of law, of the sacrifice of the will of each one to the good of the whole, when a new thing happened.

Some Dacoits who had just been driven back from a plundering expedition were men who had learnt a few words of English, and as they sullenly retired they uttered terrible threats against their opponents, which they said they would perform when the next moon was round, for then ships would come bringing their friends, and they made signs to show that these would come in great numbers.

Here were indeed tidings of despair for the settlers. They met once again in the green amphitheatre in which they had been convened before, and many of them remembered sadly how things had changed for the worse since that day. The presence of this terror made them all of one accord, though there seemed nothing to be done. The shipbuilding projects had been long abandoned among the pre-occupations of their internal conflicts, and the little boats in which they crossed the Lagoon were perfectly useless for long voyages at this time of year; but indeed, since all could not leave the Island, none of them would dream of deserting their companions in misery.

Further, if other reason were needed for their remaining, all but the children and quite young men and, women bore the brand which made life impossible for them elsewhere.

And now a voice was heard among the anxious company to which all listened, for most of them knew it well. It was a woman’s voice, the voice of one who came among the first settlers of the West, drawn there not by political sympathy or communistic fellow-feeling with them, but simply by the thought that here, if anywhere, would be sick souls to heal, sick bodies to tend, and women and little children needing help and care. She was called “Our Sister,” and no one had learnt anything of her family or her history. Of those whom she comforted in sickness or trouble, each one felt assured that she held the creed his mother had taught him as a little child; some would have sworn she belonged to the Church of Rome; the Russians claimed her as theirs; some wild Welsh Home-Rulers were certain that she belonged to the Primitive Methodist Connexion; and a company of rough men from the English iron districts were still more certain that her gentle voice was that of a Quakeress from a secluded Yorkshire valley.

It did hot matter.

She had escaped, almost alone of the inmost circle of the West, at the time of the burning of the church, by the fact that she was that day nursing a little child who was sick of a fever and whose mother had just died. Since that time evil habits and careless living had led to a great spread of this terrible disease, and the Sister had gone from one sick bed to another bringing medicine and the healing of her presence, and there were those who said that something miraculous lay in the touch of her hands and the whisper of her prayer.

It was her voice that spoke in the midst of the people that day. She stood on a little mound among the tangled growth of scented flowers—almost amidst of the great amphitheatre—and in the perfect hush of her hearers and the stillness of the clear windless air every syllable was heard.