circumstances, ought to
be. Often had I read how these islanders possess a tradition that a
wonderful white man, a being all sweetness and lucidity, landed in their
midst, taught them the knowledge of the arts, converted them to peace and
good manners, and at last mysteriously departed, promising that he would
return again. I had hopes--such things have happened--that the islanders
might take me for this wonderful white man of their traditions, come back
according to his promise. If this delusion should occur, I would not at
once undeceive them, but take advantage of the situation, and so bring
them all into the Bungletonian fold. I knew there was no time to waste.
Lutheran, French, or Church of England schemers, in schooners, might even
now be approaching the island, with their erroneous and deplorable
tenets. Again, I had reckoned, if my hopes proved false, on attaining,
not without dignity, the crown of the proto-martyr of my Connection.
Beyond occasional confinement in police cells, consequent on the
strategic manoeuvres of the Salvation Army, none of us had ever known
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 Cla