“Come, John Adams,” he added, after another pause, and jumping up smartly, “this will never do. Rouse yourself, John, an’ give up this mumble-bumble style o’ thing. Why, it’ll kill you in the long-run if you don’t. Besides, you promised Mr Young to carry on the work, and you must keep your promise, old boy.”
“Yes,” rang out a clear sweet voice from the inner end of the cave, “and you promised to give up coming here to mope; so you must keep your promise to me as well, father.”
Otaheitan Sally tripped into the cave, and seating herself on the stone ledge opposite, beamed up in the sailor’s face.
“You’re a good girl, Sall, an’ I’ll keep my promise to you from this day forth; see if I don’t. I’ll make a note of it in the log.”
The log to which Adams here referred was a journal or register, which Edward Young had begun to keep, and in which were inserted the incidents of chief interest, including the births and deaths, that took place on the island from the day of landing. After Young’s death, John Adams continued to post it up from time to time.
The promise to Sally was faithfully kept. From that time forward, Adams gave up going to the outlook, except now and then when anything unusual appeared on the sea, but never again to mope. He also devoted himself with increased assiduity to the instruction of the women and children in Bible truths, although still himself not very clear in his own mind as to the great central truth of all. In this work he was ably assisted by Sally, and also by Young’s widow, Susannah.
We have mentioned this woman as being one of the youngest of the Otaheitans. She was also one of the most graceful, and, strange to say, though it was she who killed Tetaheite, she was by nature one of the gentlest of them all.
The school never became a prison-house to these islanders, either women or children. Adams had wisdom enough at first to start it as a sort of play, and never fell into the civilised error of giving the pupils too much to do at a time. All the children answered the daily summons to school with equal alacrity, though it cannot be said that their performances there were equally creditable. Some were quick and intelligent, others were slow and stupid, while a few were slow but by no means stupid. Charlie Christian was among these last.
“Oh, Charlie, you are such a booby!” one day exclaimed Otaheitan Sally, who, being advanced to the dignity of monitor, devoted much of her time to the instruction of her old favourite. “What can be the matter with your brains?”
The innocent gaze of blank wonder with which the “Challie” of infancy had been wont to receive his companion’s laughing questions, had not quite departed; but it was chastened by this time with a slight puckering of the mouth and a faint twinkle of the eyes that were suggestive.