Yet I was not wholly discouraged; indeed, my infatuation for Doto made me overlook much profligate behaviour that I do not care to mention in a tract which may fall into the hands of the young.  One other example of the native barbarity, however, I must narrate.

A respected couple in the vicinity had long been childless.  At length their wishes were crowned with success, and a little baby girl was born to them.  But the priest, who had curious ideas of his own, insisted on consulting, as to this child, a certain witch, a woman who dwelt apart in a cave where there was a sulphurous hot-water spring, surrounded by laurel bushes, regarded as sacred by the benighted islanders.  This spring, or the fumes that arose from it, was supposed to confer on the dweller in the cave the gift of prophecy.  She was the servant of Apollon, and was credited with possessing a spirit of divination.  The woman, after undergoing, or simulating, an epileptic attack, declared, in rhythmical language, that the babe must not be allowed to live.  She averred that it would “bring destruction on Scheria,” the native name for the island, which I have styled Boothland, in honour of the Salvation Army.  This was enough for the priests, who did not actually slay the infant, but exposed it on the side of a mountain, where the beasts and birds were likely to have their way with it.

Now it chanced that I had climbed the hill-top that day to watch for a sail, for I never quite lost hope of being taken away by some British or continental vessel.  My attendants, for a wonder, were all absent at some feast—­Carneia, I think they called it—­of their heathen gods.  The time was early summer; it only wanted a fortnight of the date, as far as I could reckon, at which I had first been cast on the island, a year before.

As I descended the hillside, pleased, I must own, by the warm blight sunlight, the colour of the sea, and the smell of the aromatic herbs,—­pleased, and half forgetful of the horrid heathenism that surrounded me, I heard a low wail as of an infant.  I searched about, in surprise, and came on a beautiful baby, in rich swaddling bands, with a gold signet ring tied round its neck.  Such an occurrence was not very unusual, as the natives, like most savages, were in the habit of keeping down the surplus population, by thus exposing their little ones.  The history of the island was full of legends of exposed children, picked up by the charitable (there was, oddly enough, no prohibition against this), and afterwards recognized and welcomed by their families.  As any Englishman would have done, I lifted the dear little thing in my arms, and, a happy thought occurring to me, carried it off as a present to Doto, who doted on babies, as all girls do.  The gift proved to be the most welcome that I had ever offered, though Doto, as usual, would not accept it from my hands, but made me lay it down beside the hearth, which they regarded as a sacred place.  Even if an enemy reached the hearth of his foe, he would, thenceforth, be quite safe in his house.  Doto then picked up the child, warmed and caressed it, sent for milk for its entertainment, and was full of pleasure in her new pet.