A Whale Hunt

Happy, says the proverb, is the nation that has no history. And since history is so largely made up of the unspeakable horrors of war with all its attendant retinue of resultant miseries, there would really seem to be more truth in this proverb than in most. Yet it must not be forgotten that, surfeited as we are with tales wherein all those things that make life a burden almost too grievous to be borne are set forth in hideous detail, it is no easy task to make a peaceful narrative interesting nowadays. As difficult as to wean the epicure’s palate from highly seasoned and mysteriously concocted dishes back to the simple luxuries of childhood.

Nevertheless it is an inestimable privilege to be allowed to try, and I do hope to show that these simple happy folk possessed the true grit and manliness that all must admire while being totally free from that whining hypocrisy and hateful assumption of spurious virtue that makes the world generally disgusted with so many professed religionists. And here let me say that these happy islanders were what they were from love of the infinitely good and in no wise from the fear of a punishing hell too terrible even to be thought of by their simple trustful minds.

Very early the next morning, Grace, in perfect health and strength, and in accordance with time-honoured custom, took her babe down to the sea and bathed him in those waters which henceforth would be as familiar to him as the dry land. And as she laved his tiny limbs in the shining waves, she noted with swelling heart how strongly and sturdily he kicked, and she longed to take him in her arms and plunge into deep water at once. But she realized that so severe an ordeal could not be good for him, and although she sorely missed her morning swim, was about to return when she heard her husband’s voice behind her.

“Give him to me, Grace,” he cried.

“Thank you, dear,” she replied, and laying the babe in his strong arms, she turned back and sprang joyously into the sea, plunging and flashing through the surf like a fish or a seal in the perfect abandonment of delight that these children of the wave know when in the element they love so well. Prudence restrained her from going too far yet, so in a few minutes she returned, and taking the crowing babe from Philip she sat sedately down upon a fallen tree trunk and watched her mighty husband as he in turn hurled himself through the surf and sported like a porpoise. His bath over, they returned to their home and breakfasted as they had supped, simply and heartily, and then, leaving Grace to receive the visits of matrons and maidens who would presently come trooping along, he departed to his work of cultivating their tiny fields.

But it was ordained that on this eventful day he was not to remain long at that peaceful task. He had not been thus engaged for more than an hour when a long-drawn cry arrested his attention and caused him to drop the tool he was using. It was the signal,