In the Wrong Paradise | Page 5

some impulse which I could hardly explain, I stealthily
followed them, and at last found myself on a rocky platform, a kind of
public square, open on one side to the sea, and shut in on either hand,
and at the back, by large houses with smooth round pillars, and
decorated with odd coloured carvings. There was in the open centre of
the square an object which I recognized as an altar, with a fire burning
on it. Some men came out of the chief building, dragging a sheep, with
chains of flowers round its neck. Another man threw something on the
fire, which burned with a curious smell. At once I recognized the
savour of incense, against which (as employed illegally by the
Puseyites) I had often firmly protested in old days at home. The spirit
of a soldier of the Truth entered into me; weary as I was, I rushed from
the dusky corner where I had been hidden in the twilight, ran to the
altar, and held up my hand with my hymn-book as I began to repeat an
address that had often silenced the papistic mummers in England.
Before I had uttered half a dozen words, the men who were dragging
the sheep flew at me, and tried to seize me, while one of them offered a
strange-looking knife at my throat. I thought my last hour had come,
and the old Adam awakening in me, I delivered such a blow with my
right on the eye of the man with the knife, that he reeled and fell
heavily against the altar. Then assuming an attitude of self-defence
(such as was, alas! too familiar to me in my unregenerate days), I
awaited my assailants.
They were coming on in a body when the veil of the large edifice in
front was lifted, and a flash of light streamed out on the dusky square,
as an old man dressed in red hurried to the scene of struggle. He wore a
long white beard, had green leaves twisted in his hair, and carried in his
hand a gilded staff curiously wreathed with wool. When they saw him
approaching, my assailants fell back, each of them kissing his own
hand and bowing slightly in the direction of the temple, as I rightly
supposed it to be. The old man, who was followed by attendants
carrying torches burning, was now close to us, and on beholding me, he
exhibited unusual emotions.
My appearance, no doubt, was at that moment peculiar, and little
creditable, as I have since thought, to a minister, however humble. My

hat was thrust on the back of my head, my coat was torn, my shirt open,
my neck-tie twisted round under my ear, and my whole attitude was not
one generally associated with the peaceful delivery of the message. Still,
I had never conceived that any spectacle, however strange and
unbecoming, could have produced such an effect on the native mind,
especially in a person who was manifestly a chief, or high-priest of
some heathen god. Seeing him pause, and turn pale, I dropped my
hands, and rearranged my dress as best I might. The old Tohunga, as
my New Zealand flock used to call their priest, now lifted his eyes to
heaven with an air of devotion, and remained for some moments like
one absorbed in prayer or meditation. He then rapidly uttered some
words, which, of course, I could not understand, whereon his attendants
approached me gently, with signs of respect and friendship. Not to
appear lacking in courtesy, or inferior in politeness to savages, I turned
and raised my hat, which seemed still more to alarm the old priest. He
spoke to one of his attendants, who instantly ran across the square, and
entered the courtyard of a large house, surrounded by a garden, of
which the tall trees looked over the wall, and wooden palisade. The old
man then withdrew into the temple, and I distinctly saw him scatter,
with the leafy bough of a tree, some water round him as he entered,
from a vessel beside the door. This convinced me that some of the
emissaries of the Scarlet Woman had already been busy among the
benighted people, a conjecture, however, which proved to be erroneous.
I was now left standing by the altar, the attendants observing me with
respect which I feared might at any moment take the blasphemous form
of worship. Nor could I see how I was to check their adoration, and
turn it into the proper channel, if, as happened to Captain Cook, and has
frequently occurred since, these darkened idolaters mistook me for one
of their own deities. I might spurn them, indeed; but when Nicholson
adopted that course, and beat the Fakirs who worshipped him during