It was Fletcher Christian’s voice,—there could be no doubt about that; but it was raised in very unfamiliar tones, and it went on steadily, with inflections, as if in pathos and entreaty.

 

“Can he be praying?” thought Adams, in surprise, for the tones, though audible, were not articulate. Suddenly they waxed louder, and “God be merciful to me, a sinner!” broke on the listener’s ear. “Oh bless and deliver the men whom I have led astray—poor Edward Young, John Adams, Isaac Martin—”

 

The tones here sank and again became inarticulate, but Adams could not doubt that Christian was praying, by name, for the rest of his companions. Presently the name of Jesus was heard distinctly, and then the voice ceased.

 

Ashamed to have been thus unintentionally led into eavesdropping, Adams coughed, and made as much noise as possible while stooping to pass under the low entrance to the cave. There was no door of any kind, but a turn in the short passage concealed the cave itself from view. Before entering, Adams stopped.

 

“May I come in, sir?” he called out.

 

“Is that you, Adams? By all means come in.”

 

Christian was seated, partly in the shadow, partly in the light that streamed in from the seaward opening. A quiet smile was on his lips, and his hand rested on an open book. It was the old Bible of the Bounty.

 

“Beg pardon, sir,” said Adams, touching his hat. “Hope I don’t intrude. I heard you was—was—”

 

“Praying,” said Christian. “Yes, Adams, I have been praying.”

 

“Well, sir,” said Adams, feeling rather awkward, but assuming an air of encouragement, “you’ve got no reason to be ashamed of that.”

 

“Quite true, Adams, and I’m not ashamed of it. I’ve not only got no reason to be ashamed of praying, but I have strong reason to be thankful that I’m inclined to pray. Sit down, Adams, on the ledge opposite. You’ve got something on your mind, I see, that you want to get rid of. Come, let’s have it.”

 

There was nothing but good-natured encouragement in Christian’s look and tone; nevertheless, John Adams felt it extremely difficult to speak, and wished with all his heart that he had not come to the cave. But he was too bold and outspoken a man to be long oppressed with such feelings. Clearing his voice, he said, “Well, Mr Christian, here’s what I’ve got to say. I’ve bin thinkin’ for a long time past that it’s of no manner of use your comin’ up here day after day an’ mopin’ away about what can’t be mended, an’ goin’ into the blues. You’ll excuse me, sir, for bein’ so free, but you shouldn’t do it, sir. You can’t alter what’s bin done by cryin’ over spilt milk, an’ it comes heavy on the rest of us, like. Indeed it do. So I’ve made so bold as to come an’ say you’d better drop it and come along with me for a day’s shootin’ of the cats an’ pigs, and then we’ll go home an’ have a royal supper an’ a song or two, or maybe a game at blind-man’s-buff with the child’n. That’s what’ll do you good, sir, an’ make you forget what’s past, take my word for it, Mister Christian.”

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