The ablest of the islanders in the matter of simple surgery soon arrived, and after keen examination of the insensible man declared that he was suffering from three broken ribs, a mere trifle in these stalwart men’s eyes. What else there might be internally he could not tell, but he did what he could in bandaging the massive body tightly, and then suggested that they should all kneel and pray for the success of the means used. Which was done in simplest fashion, and as the prayer ended, all were startled to hear a sonorous amen from the hitherto unconscious man. It needed no ordinary restraint to keep them from bursting into cries of joy, but they did refrain, and with murmured thanksgivings all went away except the impromptu surgeon, Grace and her son, the younger children having been taken away by helpful neighbours.
The scene that ensued was a delightful one, Grace and her boy welcoming back the friend and father, who, except for an occasional spasm of pain flitting across his bronzed features, seemed to have entirely recovered from his recent terrible experience, and inclined to blame himself severely for letting “such a trifle upset him,” as he put it. Indeed, except for the pain of his grating ribs, which at each movement reminded him of the mischief done, he was quite impatient of lying there, wanted to be up and doing, although there was nothing to be done.
Suddenly his roving glance fell upon C. B., who, having finished some small task he had been engaged upon for his mother, was standing near gazing upon his father with eyes humid with love. Philip half raised himself, suppressing a groan of pain, and beckoning to his boy said, “Grace, this son of ours is a man. He has done a deed to-day of which any man might be proud and few men would even attempt. More than that he has saved me for you.”
Grace replied, with one of her beautiful smiles shining on her still comely cheeks: “For that, if he had been a bad boy all his life instead of a very crown of rejoicing, he should possess the very core of my heart. But being what he is and has always been, I can only, as I have continually done since he was born, bless God for him humbly as I do for you.”
Then Philip, putting his arm round the boy’s neck, said slowly: “From this out my son, you are my partner as well. I look upon you no longer as a boy but a man, not merely as a son but as a brother, equal in all things. Grace, you must say good-bye to your little boy, who has attained unto the full stature of a man.” At which his brothers and sisters, who had now returned, burst into loud lamentations, not realizing the importance of the occasion, only feeling that they had lost their playmate.
But C. B. drew himself up with an air of native dignity and replied, “I felt like a man, dad, when I dived after you, but now I know I am one, and I hope, like you, I shall never do what a man ought to be ashamed to do.”
There was another cheerful gathering at Philip’s home that evening, and the usual round of prayer and praise which was the keynote of all their festivities, praise especially, floods of melody rising and falling across those peaceful savannahs and making them echo again. In all the pleasant exercises C. B. took his part, being now recognized as no longer a child, but he listened with greater interest than ever to the thousand-times repeated tale of the Lord’s wondrous dealing with this little band of people descended from murderers and savages, yet by the special grace of Providence developing into the most consistently Christian people upon earth. And so, with a final triumphant outburst of the Old Hundredth, the happy meeting terminated, and the revellers dispersed across the scented meadows to their several homes.
One of the most remarkable things about primitive peoples is the way they recover from hurts; wounds, bruises, fractures that would mean long and severe illness to civilized folk being treated by them as of little or no account. This is, of course, to be noted among animals, who recover with surprising rapidity and ease from the most shocking wounds, and with only the most rough and careless methods of surgery if they receive any attention at all. I have a big Labrador dog which was recently kicked in the face by a skittish horse. Owing to my absence from home nothing was done to the poor beast, whose jaw was exposed to a cut three inches long for four days. And the ghastly wound could not heal, because when it irritated him the dog would rub his face against a quickset hedge and tear the wound open again. I took him to a veterinary surgeon, who put three stitches in the gaping gash, drawing the ragged edges as closely together as possible, and confining the poor animal for three days with a shield over his head. The result is that now, two months after the accident, it is impossible to see where the injury was.
And in just the same marvellous way will the human animal recover from the most ghastly wounds, although many savage customs militate directly against health. But when perfectly natural living is allied to purity of mind and body and an absence of every kind of stimulant whatever, we have a condition of things making for perfect health, such health as may only be seen among the people of whom I am writing.