what it was to suffer in the cause. If I were to be the first to testify
with my blood, on this unknown soil, at least I could meet my doom with
dignity. In any case, I should be remembered, I had reckoned, in the
island traditions, either as an isolated and mysterious benefactor, the
child of an otherwise unknown race, or as a solitary martyr from afar.

All these vain hopes of spiritual pride were now blown to the wind by
Bill Bludger's unexpected appearance and characteristic conduct. No
delusions about a divine white stranger from afar could survive the
appearance and behaviour of so compromising an acquaintance as William.
He was one white stranger too many. There he was, still struggling,
shouting, swearing, smelling of rum, and making frantic attempts to reach
me and shake hands with me.

"Let bygones be bygones, Captain Hymn-book, your Reverence," he screamed;
"here's your jolly good health and song," and he put his horrible black
bottle to his unchastened lips. "Here we are, Captain, two Englishmen
agin a lot o' blooming Kanekas; let's clear out their whole blessed town,
and steer for Sydney."

But, perceiving that I did not intend to recognize or carouse with him,
William Bludger now changed his tone; "Yah, you lily-livered
Bible-reader," he exclaimed, "what are you going about in _that_ toggery
for: copying Mr. Toole in Paw Claudian? _You_ call yourself a
missionary? Jove, you're more like a blooming play hactor in a penny
gaff! Easy, then, my hearties," he added, seeing that the fishermen were
approaching him again, with ropes in their hands. "Avast! stow your
handcuffs."

In spite of his oaths and struggles, the inebriated mariner was firmly