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The Lonely Island: The Refuge of the Mutineers

by R. M. Ballantyne · English · Gutenberg #21747 · 516,053 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Lonely Island: The Refuge of the Mutineers

Author: R. M. Ballantyne


        
Release date: June 7, 2007 [eBook #21747]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21747

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LONELY ISLAND: THE REFUGE OF THE MUTINEERS ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




THE LONELY ISLAND; OR, THE REFUGE OF THE MUTINEERS, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE.



CHAPTER ONE.

THE REFUGE OF THE MUTINEERS.

THE MUTINY.

On a profoundly calm and most beautiful evening towards the end of the
last century, a ship lay becalmed on the fair bosom of the Pacific
Ocean.

Although there was nothing piratical in the aspect of the ship--if we
except her guns--a few of the men who formed her crew might have been
easily mistaken for roving buccaneers.  There was a certain swagger in
the gait of some, and a sulky defiance on the brow of others, which told
powerfully of discontent from some cause or other, and suggested the
idea that the peaceful aspect of the sleeping sea was by no means
reflected in the breasts of the men.  They were all British seamen, but
displayed at that time none of the well-known hearty off-hand rollicking
characteristics of the Jack-tar.

It is natural for man to rejoice in sunshine.  His sympathy with cats in
this respect is profound and universal.  Not less deep and wide is his
discord with the moles and bats.  Nevertheless, there was scarcely a man
on board of that ship on the evening in question who vouchsafed even a
passing glance at a sunset which was marked by unwonted splendour.  The
vessel slowly rose and sank on a scarce perceptible ocean-swell in the
centre of a great circular field of liquid glass, on whose undulations
the sun gleamed in dazzling flashes, and in whose depths were reflected
the fantastic forms, snowy lights, and pearly shadows of cloudland.  In
ordinary circumstances such an evening might have raised the thoughts of
ordinary men to their Creator, but the circumstances of the men on board
of that vessel were not ordinary--very much the reverse.

"No, Bill McCoy," muttered one of the sailors, who sat on the breach of
a gun near the forecastle, "I've bin flogged twice for merely growlin',
which is an Englishman's birthright, an' I won't stand it no longer.  A
pretty pass things has come to when a man mayn't growl without tastin'
the cat; but if Captain Bligh won't let me growl, I'll treat him to a
roar that'll make him cock his ears an' wink six times without
speakin'."

The sailor who said this, Matthew Quintal by name, was a short,
thick-set young man of twenty-one or thereabouts, with a forbidding
aspect and a savage expression of face, which was intensified at the
moment by thoughts of recent wrongs.  Bill McCoy, to whom he said it,
was much the same in size and appearance, but a few years older, and
with a cynical expression of countenance.

"Whether you growl or roar, Matt," said McCoy, with a low-toned laugh,
"I'd advise you to do it in the minor key, else the Captain will give
you another taste of the cat.  He's awful savage just now.  You should
have heard him abusin' the officers this afternoon about his
cocoa-nuts."

"So I should," returned Quintal.  "As ill luck would have it, I was
below at the time.  They say he was pretty hard on Mr Christian."

"Hard on him!  I should think he was," rejoined McCoy.  "Why, if Mr
Christian had been one of the worst men in the ship instead of the best
officer, the Cap'n could not have abused him worse.  I heard and saw 'im
with my own ears and eyes.  The cocoa-nuts was lyin', as it might be
here, between the guns, and the Cap'n he came on deck an' said he missed
some of his nuts.  He went into a towerin' rage right off--in the old
style--and sent for all the officers.  When they came aft he says to
them, says he, `Who stole my cocoa-nuts?'  Of course they all said they
didn't know, and hadn't seen any of the people take 'em.  `Then,' says
the Cap'n, fiercer than ever, `you must have stole 'em yourselves, for
they couldn't have been taken away without your knowledge.'  So he
questioned each officer separately.  Mr Christian, when he came to him,
answered, `I don't know, sir, who took the nuts, but I hope you do not
think me so mean as to be guilty of stealing yours.'  Whereupon the
Cap'n he flared up like gunpowder.  `Yes, you hungry hound, I do,' says
he; `you must have stolen them from me, or you would have been able to
give a better account of them.'"

"That was pitchin' into 'im pretty stiff," said Quintal, with a grim
smile.  "What said Mr Christian?"

"He said nothin', but he looked thunder.  I saw him git as red as a
turkey cock, an' bite his lips till the blood came.  It's my opinion,
messmate," added McCoy, in a lower tone, "that if Cap'n Bligh don't
change his tone there'll be--"

"Come, come, mate," interrupted a voice behind him; "if you talk mutiny
like that you'll swing at the end o' the yard-arm some fine mornin'."

The sailor who joined the others and thus spoke was a short, sturdy
specimen of his class, and much more like a hearty hare-brained tar than
his two comrades.  He was about twenty-two years of age, deeply pitted
with small-pox, and with a jovial carelessness of manner that had won
for him the sobriquet of Reckless Jack.

"I'm not the only one that talks mutiny in this ship," growled McCoy.
"There's a lot of us whose backs have bin made to smart, and whose grog
has been stopped for nothin' but spite, John Adams, and you know it."

"Yes, I do know it," returned Adams, sharply; "and I also know that
there's justice to be had in England.  We've got a good case against the
Captain, so we'd better wait till we get home rather than take the law
into our own hands."

"I don't agree with you, Jack," said Quintal, with much decision, "and I
wonder to see you, of all men, show the white feather."

Adams turned away with a light laugh of contempt, and the other two
joined a group of their mates, who were talking in low tones near the
windlass.

Matthew Quintal was not the only man on board who did not agree with the
more moderate counsels of Reckless Jack, _alias_ John Adams, _alias_
John Smith, for by each of those names was he known.  On the
quarter-deck as well as on the forecastle mutterings of deep indignation
were heard.

The vessel was the celebrated _Bounty_, which had been fitted up for the
express purpose of proceeding to the island of Otaheite, (now named
Tahiti), in the Pacific for plants of the breadfruit tree, it being
thought desirable to introduce that tree into the West India Islands.
We may remark in passing, that the transplantation was afterwards
accomplished, though it failed at this time.

The _Bounty_ had been placed under the command of Lieutenant Bligh of
the Royal Navy.  Her burden was about 215 tons.  She had been fitted
with every appliance and convenience for her special mission, and had
sailed from Spithead on the 23rd December 1787.

Lieutenant Bligh, although an able and energetic seaman, was of an angry
tyrannical disposition.  On the voyage out, and afterwards at Otaheite,
he had behaved so shamefully, and with such unjustifiable severity, both
to officers and men, that he was regarded by a large proportion of them
with bitter hatred.  It is painful to be obliged to write thus of one
who rose to positions of honour in the service; but the evidence led in
open court, coupled with Bligh's own writings, and testimony from other
quarters, proves beyond a doubt that his conduct on board the _Bounty_
was not only dishonourable but absolutely brutal.

When the islanders were asked at first the name of the island, they
replied, "O-Tahiti," which means, "It is Tahiti", hence the earlier form
of the name--_Otaheite_.

It was after the _Bounty_ had taken in the breadfruit trees at Otaheite,
and was advanced a short distance on the homeward voyage, that the
events we are about to narrate occurred.

We have said that mutterings of deep discontent were heard on the
quarter-deck.  Fletcher Christian, acting lieutenant, or master's mate,
leaned over the bulwarks on that lovely evening, and with compressed
lips and frowning brows gazed down into the sea.  The gorgeous clouds
and their grand reflections had no beauty for him, but a shark, which
swam lazily alongside, showing a fin now and then above water, seemed to
afford him a species of savage satisfaction.

"Yes," he muttered, "if one of his legs were once within your ugly jaws,
we'd have something like peace again after these months of torment."

Fletcher Christian, although what is called a high-spirited youth, was
not quick to resent injury or insult.  On the contrary, he had borne
with much forbearance the oft-repeated and coarse insolence of his
superior.  His natural expression was bright and his temperament sunny.
He possessed a powerful frame and commanding stature, was agile and
athletic, and a favourite with officers and men.  But Bligh's conduct
had soured him.  His countenance was now changed.  The last insult about
the cocoa-nuts, delivered openly, was more than he could bear.  "When
Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war."  In this case the tug was
tremendous, the immediate results were disastrous, and the ultimate
issues amazing, as will be seen in the sequel of our tale.

"To whom does your amiable wish refer?" asked a brother-officer named
Stewart, who came up just then and leaned over the bulwarks beside him.

"Can you not guess?" said the other, sternly.

"Yes, I can guess," returned the midshipman, gazing contemplatively at
the shark's fin.  "But, I say, surely you don't really mean to carry out
your mad intention of deserting."

"Yes, I do," said Christian with emphasis.  "I've been to the
fore-cockpit several times to-day, and seen the boatswain and carpenter,
both of whom have agreed to help me.  I've had a plank rigged up with
staves into a sort of raft, on which I mean to take my chance.  There's
a bag all ready with some victuals in it, and another with a few nails,
beads, etcetera, to propitiate the natives.  Young Hayward is the only
other officer besides yourself to whom I have revealed my intention.
Like you, he attempts to dissuade me, but in vain.  I shall go
to-night."

"But where will you go to?" asked Stewart.

Christian pointed to Tofoa, one of the Friendly Islands, which was then
in sight like a little black speck on the glowing sky where the sun had
just disappeared.

"And how do you propose to escape _him_?" said the midshipman, pointing
significantly to the shark, which at the moment gave a wriggle with its
tail as if it understood the allusion and enjoyed it.

"I'll take my chance of that," said Christian, bitterly, and with a
countenance so haggard yet so fierce that his young companion felt
alarmed.  "See here," he added, tearing open his vest and revealing
within it a deep sea-lead suspended round his neck; "I had rather die
than live in the torments of the last three weeks.  If I fail to escape,
you see, there will be no chance of taking me alive."

"_Better try to take the ship_!" whispered a voice behind him.

Christian started and grew paler, but did not turn his head to see who
had spoken.  The midshipman at his side had evidently not heard the
whisper.

"I cannot help thinking you are wrong," said Stewart.  "We have only to
bear it a little longer, and then we shall have justice done to us in
England."

Well would it have been for Fletcher Christian, and well for all on
board the _Bounty_, if he had taken the advice of his young friend, but
his spirit had been tried beyond its powers of endurance--at least so he
thought--and his mind was made up.  What moral suasion failed to effect,
however, the weather accomplished.  It prevented his first intention
from being carried out.

While the shades of evening fell and deepened into a night of unusual
magnificence, the profound calm continued, and the ship lay motionless
on the sea.  The people, too, kept moving quietly about the deck, either
induced thereto by the sweet influences around them, or by some
indefinable impression that a storm sometimes succeeds a calm as well in
the moral as the material world.  As the ship had no way through the
water, it was impossible for the rash youth to carry out his plan either
during the first or middle watches.  He was therefore compelled to give
it up, at least for that night, and about half-past three in the morning
he lay down to rest a few minutes, as he was to be called by Stewart to
relieve the watch at four o'clock.

He had barely fallen into a troubled slumber when he was awakened by
Stewart, and rose at once to go on deck.  He observed in passing that
young Hayward, the mate of his watch, had lain down to take a nap on the
arm-chest.  Mr Hallet, the other midshipman of the watch, had also gone
to sleep somewhere, for he was not to be seen.  Whether the seriously
reprehensible conduct of these two officers roused his already excited
spirit to an ungovernable pitch, or their absence afforded a favourable
opportunity, we cannot tell, but certain it is that Fletcher Christian
opened his ear at that time to the voice of the tempter.

"_Better try to take the ship_," seemed burning in words of fire into
his brain.

Quick to act as well as to conceive, he looked lustily and earnestly at
the men of his watch.  The one who stood nearest him, looking vacantly
out upon the sea, was Matthew Quintal.  To him Christian revealed his
hastily adopted plan of seizing the ship, and asked if he would join
him.  Quintal was what men call a deep villain.  He was quite ripe for
mutiny, but from some motive known only to himself he held back, and
expressed doubt as to the possibility of carrying out the plan.

"I did not expect to find cowardice in _you_," said Christian, with a
look of scornful indignation.

"It is not cowardice, sir," retorted Quintal.  "I will join if others
do.  Try some one else.  Try Martin there, for instance."

Isaac Martin was a raw-boned, sallow, six-foot man of about thirty, who
had been undeservedly flogged by Bligh.  Christian went to him at once,
and put the question, "Will you join me in taking the ship?"

"The very thing, Mr Christian.  I'm with you," answered Martin,
promptly.

The eager readiness of this man at once decided Quintal.  Christian then
went to every man in his watch, all of whom had received more or less
harsh treatment from the Captain, and most of whom were more than
willing to join the conspirators.  Those who hesitated, whatever might
have been their motives, had not sufficient regard for their commander
to warn him of his danger.  Perhaps the very suddenness of the proposal,
as well as fear of the mutineers, induced them to remain silent.  In
passing along the deck Christian encountered a man named William Brown.
He was assistant-botanist, or gardener, to the expedition, and having
been very intimate with Christian, at once agreed to join him.  Although
a slenderly made young man, Brown was full of vigour and resolution.

"We must look sharp," said Christian to him, in that low eager whisper
in which the conversation among the mutineers had hitherto been carried
on.  "It will soon be daylight.  You know the men as well as I do.  Go
below and gain over those whom you feel sure of influencing.  Don't
waste your time on the lukewarm or cowardly.  Away with you.  Here,
Williams," he added, turning to another man who was already in the plot,
"go below and send up the gunner's mate, I want him; then call John
Adams,--I feel sure that Reckless Jack will join; but do it softly.  No
noise or excitement."

In a few seconds John Mills, the gunner's mate, a strongly-built
middle-aged man, came on deck, and agreeing at once to join, was sent to
fetch the keys of the arm-chest from the armourer, under pretence of
getting out a musket to shoot a shark which was alongside.

Meanwhile John Williams went to the hammock of John Adams and roused
him.

"I don't half like it," said Adams, when he was sufficiently awake to
understand the message of his mate.  "It's all very true what you say,
Williams; the ship _has_ been little better than a hell since we left
Spithead, and Captain Bligh don't deserve much mercy, but mutiny is
wrong any way you look at it, and I've got my doubts whether any
circumstances can make it right."

The reasoning of Adams was good, but his doubts were cleared away, if
not solved, by the abrupt entrance of Christian, who went to the
arm-chest just opposite Adams's hammock and began to distribute arms to
all the men who came for them.  Seeing this, and fearing to be left on
the weaker side, Adams rose, armed himself with a cutlass, and went on
deck.

The morning of the 28th of April was now beginning to dawn.  Before that
the greater part of the ship's company had been gained over and armed;
yet all this was done so quietly and with such firmness that the
remainder of the crew were ignorant of what was going on.  No doubt a
few who might have given the alarm were afraid to do so.  Among those
who were asleep was one deserving of special notice, namely, Peter
Heywood, a midshipman who was true as steel at heart, but whose extreme
youth and inexperience, coupled with the surprise and alarm of being
awakened to witness scenes of violence, produced a condition of inaction
which resulted in his being left, and afterwards classed, with the
mutineers.

Shortly after five o'clock the armed men streamed quietly up the
fore-hatch and took possession of the deck.  Sentinels were placed below
at the doors of the officers' berths, and above at the hatchways.  Then
Fletcher Christian, John Adams, Matthew Quintal, William McCoy, Isaac
Martin, and several others went aft, armed with muskets, bayonets, and
cutlasses.  Leaving Martin in charge of the quarter-deck, they descended
to Captain Bligh's cabin.

The commander of the _Bounty_, all ignorant of the coming storm which
his ungentlemanly and cruel conduct had raised, was sleeping calmly in
his berth.

He was roughly awakened and bidden to rise.

"What is the reason of such violence?" he demanded, addressing
Christian, as they half forced him out of bed.

"Silence, sir," said Christian, sternly; "you know the reason well
enough.  Tie his hands, lads."

Disregarding the order to be silent, Bligh shouted "murder!" at the top
of his voice.

"Hold your tongue, sir, else you're a dead man," said Christian, seizing
him by the tied hands with a powerful grasp, and holding a bayonet to
his breast.

Of course no one responded to the Captain's cry, the hatchways,
etcetera, being guarded.  They gave him no time to dress, but hurried
him on deck, where, amid much confusion and many abusive cries,
preparations were being made for getting out a boat, for it was resolved
to set Bligh and his friends adrift.  At first there was some disputing
among the mutineers as to which boat should be given to them.
Eventually the launch was decided on.

"Hoist her out, bo's'n.  Do it smartly and instantly, or look-out for
yourself."

The order was given sternly, for the boatswain was known to be friendly
to Bligh.  He obeyed at once, with the assistance of willing men who
were only too glad to get rid of their tyrannical commander.

"Now, Mr Hayward and Mr Hallet, get into the boat," said Christian,
who seemed to be torn with conflicting emotions.  His tone and look were
sufficient for those young midshipmen.  They obeyed promptly.

Mr Samuel the clerk and several more of the crew were then ordered into
the boat.  At this point Captain Bligh attempted to interfere.  He
demanded the intentions of the mutineers, but was told to hold his
tongue, with threats of instant death if he did not obey.  Particular
persons were then called on to go into the boat, and some of these were
allowed to collect twine, canvas, lines, sails, cordage, and other
things to take with them.  They were also allowed an eight-and-twenty
gallon cask of water, fifty pounds of bread, a small quantity of rum and
wine, a quadrant, and a compass.

When all the men obnoxious to the mutineers were in the boat, Captain
Bligh was ordered into it.  Isaac Martin had been placed as a guard over
the Captain, and appeared to favour him, as he enabled him to moisten
his parched lips with a shaddock.  For this he was removed, and Adams
took his place.  Bligh looked round, but no friendly eye met his.  He
had forfeited the regard of all on board, though there were undoubtedly
men there whose detestation of mutiny and whose sense of honour would
have inclined them to aid him if they had not been overawed by the
numbers and resolution of the mutineers.  The master, indeed, had
already made an attempt to rally some of the men round him, but had
failed, and been sent to his cabin.  He, with the others, was now in the
boat.  Poor young Peter Heywood the middy looked on bewildered as if in
a dream.  He could not be said in any sense, either by look or act, to
have taken part with the mutineers.

At last he went below for some things, intending to go in the boat, but
was ordered to remain below.  So also, it is thought, was Edward Young,
another midshipman, who did not make his appearance on deck at all
during the progress of the mutiny.  It was afterwards said that the
leading seamen among the mutineers had purposely ordered these officers
below, and detained them with a view to their working the ship in the
event of anything happening to Christian.

Bligh now made a last appeal.

"I'll give you my honour, Mr Christian," he said, "never to think of
what has passed this day if you will desist.  To cast us adrift here in
an open boat is to consign us to destruction.  Think of my wife and
family!"

"No, Captain Bligh," replied Christian, sternly; "if you had any honour
things had not come to this; and if you had any regard for your wife and
family, you should have thought of them before and not behaved so much
like a villain.  It is too late.  You have treated me like a dog all the
voyage.  Come, sir, your officers and men are now in the boat, and you
must go with them.  If you attempt resistance you shall be put to
death."

Seeing that further appeal would be useless, Bligh allowed himself to be
forced over the side.  When in the boat his hands were untied.

"You will at least allow us arms, to defend ourselves from the savages,"
he said.  Fire-arms were refused, but four cutlasses were ultimately
allowed him.  At this point Isaac Martin quietly descended into the
boat, but Quintal, pointing a musket at him, threatened to shoot him if
he did not return to the ship.  He obeyed the order with reluctance, and
soon after the boat was cast adrift.

The crew of the _Bounty_ at the time consisted of forty-four souls, all
told.  Eighteen of these went adrift with the Captain.  The remaining
twenty-five steered back to the sunny isles of the Pacific.



CHAPTER TWO.

RECORDS THE DUTIES AND TROUBLES OF THE MUTINEERS.

It is not our purpose to follow the fortunes of Captain Bligh.  The
mutineers in the _Bounty_ claim our undivided attention.

As regards Bligh, it is sufficient to say that he performed one of the
most remarkable boat-voyages on record.  In an overloaded and open boat,
on the shortest allowance of provision compatible with existence,
through calm and tempest, heat and cold, exposed to the attacks of
cannibals and to the reproaches of worn-out and mutinous men, he
traversed 3618 miles of ocean in forty-one days, and brought himself and
his followers to land, with the exception of one man who was killed by
the natives.  In this achievement he displayed those qualities of
indomitable resolution and unflagging courage which ultimately raised
him to high rank in the navy.  But we leave him now to trace those
incidents which result from the display of his other qualities--
ungovernable passion, overbearing impetuosity, and incomprehensible
meanness.

The first act of Fletcher Christian, after taking command of the ship,
was to serve out a glass of grog all round.  He then called a council of
war, in which the mutineers discussed the question what they should do.

"You see, lads," said Christian, "it is absolutely certain that we
shan't be left among these islands in peace.  Whether Bligh manages to
get home or not, the British Government is sure to send out to see what
has become of us.  My notion is that we should bear away to the
south'ard, far out of the usual track of ships, find out some
uninhabited and suitable island, and establish ourselves thereon?"

"What! without wives, or sisters, or mothers, or grandmothers, to say
nothin' o' mothers-in-law, to cook our victuals an' look after our
shirt-buttons?" said Isaac Martin, who, having been detained against his
will, had become lugubriously, or recklessly, facetious, and was
stimulated to a sort of fierce hilarity by his glass of rum.

"You're right, Martin," said Brown, the assistant botanist, "we couldn't
get along without wives, so I vote that we go back to Otaheite, get
married, every man of us, an' ho! for the South Pole.  The British
cruisers would never find us there."

There was a general laugh at this sally, but gravity returned almost
instantly to every face, for they were in no humour just then for
jesting.  It is probable that each man began to realise the dreadful
nature of his position as an outlaw whose life was forfeited to his
country, and who could never more hope to tread the shores of Old
England, or look upon the faces of kindred or friends.  In such
circumstances men sometimes try to hide their true feelings under a veil
of recklessness or forced mirth, but seldom succeed in the attempt.

"No man in his senses would go back to Otaheite--at least not to stay
there," said John Adams, gravely; "it's the first place they will send
to look for us."

"What's the odds?" growled one of the seamen.  "They won't look there
for us for a long time to come, unless Cap'n Bligh borrows a pair of
wings from an albatross, an' goes home as the crow flies."

At this point John Mills, the gunner's mate, a man of about forty,
cleared his throat and gave it as his opinion that they should not go
back to Otaheite, but should leave the matter of their future
destination in the hands of Mr Christian, who was well able to guide
them.

This proposal was heartily backed by Edward Young, midshipman, a stout
young fellow of twenty-two, who was fond of Christian; but there were
one or two dissentient voices, among which were the little middy Peter
Heywood, his brother-officer George Stewart, and James Morrison the
boatswain's mate.  These wished to return to Otaheite, but the counsel
of the majority prevailed, and Christian ultimately steered for the
island of Toubouai, which lay some five hundred miles to the south of
Otaheite.  There he expected to be safe from pursuit, and there it was
resolved that the mutineers should take up their abode if the natives
proved friendly.

That night, while the _Bounty_ was skimming gently over the starlit sea
before a light breeze, the three officers, Heywood, Stewart, and Young,
leaned over the weather side of the quarter-deck, and held a whispered
conversation.

"Why did you vote for going back to Otaheite, Heywood?" asked Young.

"Because it is to Otaheite that they will send to look after us, and I
should like to be there to give myself up, the instant a man-of-war
arrives, and declare my innocence of the crime of mutiny."

"You are right, Heywood," said Stewart; "I, too, would like to give
myself up the moment I get the chance.  Captain Bligh knows that you and
I had no hand in the mutiny, and if he reaches England will clear us of
so foul a stain.  It's a pity that those who voted for Otaheite were not
in the majority."

"That's all very well for you, who were seen to go below to fetch your
clothes, and were detained against your will," said Young, "but it was
not so with me.  I was forcibly detained below.  They would not allow me
to go on deck at all until the launch had left, so that it would go hard
with me before a court-martial.  But the die is now cast, and there's no
help for it.  Although I took no part in the mutiny, I won't risk
falling into the hands of justice, with such an unprincipled scoundrel
as Bligh to witness against me.  My future fortunes now lie with
Fletcher Christian.  I cannot avoid my fate."

Young spoke sadly, yet with some bitterness of tone, like one who has
made up his mind to face and endure the worst.

On reaching the remote island of Toubouai the mutineers were much
impressed with its beauty.  It seemed exceedingly fertile, was wooded to
the water's edge, and surrounded by a coral reef, with one opening
through which a ship might enter.  Altogether it seemed a most suitable
refuge, but here they met with an insurmountable difficulty.  On drawing
near to the shore they saw hundreds of natives, who, armed with clubs
and spears, lined the beach, blew their shell-horns, and resolutely
opposed the landing of the strangers.

As all efforts to conciliate them were fruitless, resort was had to
cannon and musketry.  Of course the terrible thunder of the white man's
artillery had its usual effect on the savages.  They fled inland, and
the mutineers gained a footing on the island.

But the natives continued their opposition so vigorously, that this
refuge proved to be the reverse of a place of rest.

Christian therefore changed his plan, and, re-embarking in the _Bounty_,
set sail for Otaheite.

On the way thither the mutineers disagreed among themselves.  Some of
those who had been forcibly detained even began to plot the retaking of
the ship, but their intentions were discovered and prevented.

On the 6th of June they reached their former anchorage in Otaheite,
where the natives received them with much joy and some surprise, but a
story was trumped up to account for this sudden re-appearance of the
mutineers.

Christian, however, had not yet given up his intention of settling on
the island of Toubouai.  He foresaw the doom that awaited him if he
should remain at Otaheite, and resolved to return to the former island
with a quantity of livestock.  He began to barter with the friendly
Otaheitans, and soon had as many hogs, goats, fowls, cats, and dogs as
he required, besides a bull and a cow which had been left there by
Captain Cook.  With these and several natives he sailed again for
Toubouai.  Arriving there in nine days, he found that a change had come
over the spirit of the natives.  They were decidedly and unaccountably
amiable.  They not only permitted the white men to land, but assisted
them in warping the ship into a place of shelter, as well as in landing
provisions and stores.

Fletcher Christian, whatever his faults may have been, seems to have had
peaceful tendencies.  He had not only secured the friendship of the
Otaheitans by his just and considerate treatment of them while engaged
in barter, but he now managed to conciliate some of the chiefs of
Toubouai.  As a precaution, however, he set about building an entrenched
fortress, in the labours connected with which he took his full share of
work with the men.  While the building was in progress the natives,
despite the friendly chiefs, threw off the mask of good-will, which had
doubtless been put on for the purpose of getting the white men into
their power.  Strong in overwhelming numbers, they made frequent attacks
on the mutineers, which these latter, being strong in arms, successfully
repelled.  It soon became evident that warfare, not peace, was to be the
lot of the residents on Toubouai, and, finally, it was agreed that the
_Bounty_ should be got ready for sea, and the whole party should return
to Otaheite.

The resolution was soon carried into effect, and the mutineers ere long
found themselves once again drawing near to the island.

As they approached it under full sail, for the wind was light, the men
stood looking at it, commenting on its beauty and the amiableness of its
people, but Fletcher Christian stood apart by himself, with his back to
the shore, gazing in the opposite direction.

Edward Young went up to him.

"If this breeze holds, sir, we shall soon be at anchor in our old
quarters."

The midshipman spoke in the respectful tone of one addressing his
superior officer.  Indeed, although Christian had, by his rash and
desperate act of mutiny, forfeited his position, and lowered himself to
a level with the worst of his associates, he never lost their respect.
It is recorded that they styled him _Mister_ Christian to the end.

"At anchor!" said Christian, in a tone of deepest despondency.  "Ah,
Edward Young, there is no anchorage for us now in this world!  We may
anchor in Matavai Bay to-night, but it will only be to up anchor and off
again in a few days."

"Come, come, sir," said Young, heartily, "don't give way to despondency.
You know we were driven to act as we did, and it can't be helped now."

"_We_ were driven!  My poor fellow," returned Christian, laying a hand
on the midshipman's shoulder, "_you_ had no part in this miserable
business.  It is I who have drawn you all into it, but--well, well, as
you say, it can't be helped now.  We must make the best of it,--God help
us!"

He spoke in a low, soft tone of profound sadness, and continued his
wistful gaze over the stern of the _Bounty_.  Presently he looked
quickly round, and, taking Young's arm, began to pace the deck while he
spoke to him.

"As you say, Edward, we shall anchor once more in Matavai Bay, but I am
firmly resolved not to remain there."

"I'm sorry to hear it, sir," said Young, "for most of the men are as
firmly resolved to stay, and you know several of them are resolute, not
to say desperate, characters."

"I am quite aware of that, but I shall make a proposal to them, which I
think they will accept.  I will first of all propose to leave Otaheite
for some safer place of refuge, and when they object to that, I will
propose to divide the whole of the ship's stores and property among us
all, landing that portion which belongs to those who elect to remain on
the island, and sailing away with the rest, and with those who choose to
follow my fortunes, to seek a more distant and a safer home."

"That may perhaps suit them," said Young.

"Suit _them_," rejoined Christian, with a quick glance; "then _you_
don't count yourself one of them?"

"No," returned the midshipman with a frank look, "I will follow you now,
sir, to the end.  How far I am guilty is a question that does not
concern me at present.  If the British Government gets hold of me, my
fate is sealed.  I am in the same boat with yourself, Mr Christian, and
I mean to stick by it."

There was a strange spasm on Christian's countenance, as if of
conflicting emotions, while he grasped the youth's hand and squeezed it.

"Thank you, Edward, thank you.  Go now and see the anchor cleared to let
go."

He descended quickly to the cabin, while the unfortunate midshipman went
forward to give the order.

When the proposal just referred to was made the following day, after
landing at Otaheite, it was at once agreed to.  Peter Heywood, Stewart,
Morrison, and others who had taken no active part in the mutiny, were
glad to have the prospect of being enabled, sooner or later, to make a
voluntary surrender of themselves, while the thoughtless and reckless
among the men were well pleased to have done with uncertain wanderings,
and to be allowed to settle among their amiable native friends.

Preparations for instant departure were made by Christian and those who
chose to follow his lead.  The contents of the _Bounty_ were landed and
fairly divided; then the vessel was got ready for her final voyage.
Those who resolved to sail in her were as follows:--

  Fletcher Christian, formerly acting lieutenant--age 24.
  Edward Young, midshipman--age 22.
  John Adams, seaman--age 22.
  William McCoy, seaman--age 25.
  Matthew Quintal, seaman--age 21.
  John Williams, seaman--age 25.
  Isaac Martin, seaman--age 30.
  John Mills, gunner's mate--age 40.
  William Brown, botanist's assistant--age 27.

All these had married native women of Otaheite, who agreed to forsake
home and kindred and follow the fortunes of their white husbands.  There
were also six native men who consented to accompany them.  Their names
were Talaloo, Ohoo, Timoa, Nehow, Tetaheite, and Menalee.  Three of
these had wives, and one of the wives had a baby girl by a former
husband.  The European sailors named the infant Sally.  She was a round
light-brown embodiment of gleeful impudence, and had barely reached the
staggering age of infancy when taken on board the _Bounty_ to begin her
strange career.

Thus the party consisted of twenty-eight souls--namely, nine mutineers,
six native men, twelve native women, and the light-brown baby.

It was a pleasant bright morning in September 1790 when Fletcher
Christian and his followers bade farewell to Otaheite.  For some time
the breeze was light, and the _Bounty_ hovered round the Island as if
loath to leave it.  In the dusk of evening a boat put off from her,
pulled to the shore, and Christian landed, alone, near the house of a
chief who had become the special friend of Peter Heywood and Stewart.
With the two midshipmen he spent some time in earnest conversation.

"I could not leave you," he said in conclusion, "without relieving my
mind of all that I have just said about the mutiny, because you are sure
to be sent for and taken to England as soon as the intelligence of this
sad affair reaches.  I advise you to go off at once to the first ship
that may appear, and give yourselves up to the commander."

"Such is our intention," said Heywood.

"Right," rejoined Christian; "you are both innocent.  No harm can come
to you, for you took no part in the mutiny.  For me, my fate is fixed.
I go to search for some remote and uninhabited island, where I hope to
spend the remainder of my days without seeing the face of any Europeans
except those who accompany me.  It is a dreary thought, lads, to lose
country and kindred and friends for _ever_ by the act of one dark hour.
Now, remember, Heywood, what I have told you to tell my friends.  God
knows I do not plead guiltless; I am alone responsible for the mutiny,
and I exonerate all, even my adherents, from so much as suggesting it to
me; nevertheless, there are some who love me in England, to whom I would
beg of you to relate the circumstances that I have told you.  These may
extenuate though they cannot justify the crime I have committed.  I
assure you, most solemnly, that almost up to the last I had no intention
of doing more than making my own escape from the ship which the
injustice and brutality of Bligh had made a place of torment to me.
When you called me, Stewart, to relieve the watch, my brain seemed on
fire, and it was when I found the two officers both asleep, who should
have been on duty, that I suddenly made up my mind to take the ship.
Now," concluded Christian, grasping the hands of the youths, "I must say
farewell.  I have done you grievous wrong.  God forgive me, and bless
you.  Good-bye, Peter; good-bye, Stewart, good-bye."

He turned abruptly, stepped into his boat, and was rowed out to sea.

The young midshipmen, with moistened eyes, stood silently watching the
boat until it reached the ship.  Then they saw the _Bounty_ steering
away to the northward.  Before daylight was quite gone she had
disappeared on the distant horizon.

Thus did Fletcher Christian and his comrades pass from the sight and ken
of man, and they were not heard of after that for more than twenty
years!

But you and I, reader, have a special privilege to follow up these
mutineers.  Before doing so, however, let us note briefly what became of
their comrades left on Otaheite.

These, to the number of sixteen, soon distributed themselves among the
houses of their various friends, and proceeded to make themselves quite
at home.  Some of them, however, were not disposed to take up a
permanent abode there.  Among these was the boatswain's mate, James
Morrison, a man of superior mental power and energy, who kept an
interesting and graphic journal of events.  [See note.] He, with the
armourer, cooper, carpenter's mate, and others, set to work to construct
a small vessel, in which they meant to sail to Batavia, whence they
hoped to procure a passage to England.  The natives opposed this at
first, but on being told that the vessel was only meant for pleasure
trips round the island, they ceased their opposition, and watched with
great wonder at the process of ship-building, which was carried on
industriously from day to day.

During the progress of the work there was witnessed an interesting
ceremony, which, according to custom, was annually performed by the
chief of the district and a vast concourse of natives.  It shows how
deeply the celebrated Captain Cook had gained the reverence and love of
the people of Otaheite.  A picture of the circumnavigator, which had
been presented to the islanders by the captain of a merchant vessel, was
brought out with great ceremony and held up before the people, who,
including their queen, Eddea, paid homage to it.  A ceremonial dance was
also performed in its honour, and a long oration was pronounced by a
leading chief, after which the portrait was returned to the care of an
old man, who was its appointed custodian.

Long and earnestly did the white men labour at their little ship, and
with equal, if not superior, earnestness did the natives flock from all
parts of the island to see the wonderful work advance, bringing supplies
of provisions to the whites as a sort of payment for admission to the
show.  The vessel was completed and launched after months of toil, but
its sails of matting were found to be so untrustworthy that the plan of
proceeding in it to Batavia had to be given up.

Meanwhile, two of the worst of the mutineers, named Thompson and
Churchill, came to a tragical end.  The former insulted a member of the
family with whom he resided, and was knocked down.  He left them in high
dudgeon, and went to that part of the island where the vessel above
referred to was being built.  One day a canoe from a distant district
touched there, and the owner landed with his wife and family, carrying
his youngest child in his arms.  Thompson angrily ordered him to go
away, but the man did not obey the order, whereupon Thompson seized his
musket and shot father and child with the same bullet.  For this murder
he was shunned with abhorrence by his comrades, and obliged to go off to
another part of the island, accompanied by Churchill.  These two took up
their abode with a chief who was a _tayo_, or sworn friend, of the
latter.  This chief died shortly afterwards, leaving no children behind
him; and Churchill, being his _tayo_, succeeded to his possessions and
dignity, according to the custom of the country.  He did not, however,
enjoy his new position long, for Thompson, from jealousy or some other
cause, shot him.  The natives were so incensed at this that they arose
_en masse_ and stoned Thompson to death.

While these events were occurring, a messenger of retribution was
speeding over the sea to Otaheite.  On the morning of 23rd March 1791,
exactly sixteen months after the landing of the mutineers, H.M.S.
_Pandora_, Captain Edwards, sailed into Matavai Bay.  Before she had
anchored, Coleman the armourer swam off to her, and Peter Heywood and
Stewart immediately followed and surrendered themselves.  These, and all
the mutineers, were immediately put in irons, and thrown into a
specially prepared prison on the quarter-deck, named the "Pandora's
Box," in which they were conveyed to England.

We have not space to recount the stirring incidents of this remarkable
and disastrous voyage, and the subsequent trial of the mutineers.  Let
it suffice to say, that the _Pandora_, after spending three months in a
fruitless search for the _Bounty_, was wrecked on the homeward voyage,
and a large number of the crew and some of the prisoners were drowned,
among whom was poor Stewart the midshipman.  The remainder of the crew
were saved in the ship's boats, after performing a voyage which, as to
its length and the sufferings endured, rivals that previously made by
Bligh.  Thereafter, on reaching England, the mutineers were tried by
court-martial; some were honourably acquitted, others were condemned to
death but afterwards pardoned, and ultimately only three were executed.

Among those who were condemned, but afterwards pardoned as being
unquestionably innocent, was Peter Heywood, whose admirable defence and
correspondence with his family, especially that between himself and his
charming sister Nessy, form a most interesting feature in the records of
the trial; but all this must be passed over in silence, while we resume
the thread of our story.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note.  Part of this journal is quoted in an excellent account of the
_Mutineers of the Bounty_, by Lady Belcher.



CHAPTER THREE.

THE LONELY ISLAND SIGHTED.

It is pleasant to turn for a time from the dark doings of evil men to
the contemplation of innocent infancy.

We return to the _Bounty_, and solicit the reader's attention to a plump
brown ball which rolls about that vessel's deck, exhibiting a marked
tendency to gravitate towards the lee scuppers.  This brown ball is
Sally, the Otaheitan infant.

Although brown, Sally's face is extremely pretty, by reason of the
regularity of her little features, the beauty of her little white teeth,
and the brilliancy of her large black eyes, to say nothing of her
luxuriant hair and the gleeful insolence of her sweet expression.

We cannot say how many, or rather how few, months old the child is, but,
as we have already remarked, she is a staggerer.  That is to say, she
has begun to assert the independence of her little brown legs, and
progresses, even when on shore, with all the uncertainty of a drunken
woman.  Of course, the ship's motion does not tend to remedy this
defect.  Sally's chief delight is wallowing.  No matter what part of the
ship's deck she may select for her operations--whether the scuppers, the
quarter-deck, or the forecastle--she lays her down straightway for a
luxurious wallow.  If the spot be dirty, she wallows it clean; if it be
clean, she wallows it dirty.  This might seem an awkward habit to an
English mother; but it is a matter of supreme indifference to Sally's
mother, who sits on a gun-carriage plaiting a mat of cocoa-nut fibre,
for Sally, being naked, requires little washing.  A shower of rain or a
dash of spray suffices to cleanse her when at sea.  On shore she lives,
if we may say so, more in the water than on the land.

The day is fine, and the breeze so light that it scarce ruffles the face
of the great ocean, though it manages to fill the topsails of the
_Bounty_, causing her to glide quietly on.  Some of the mutineers are
seated on the deck or bulwarks, patching a canvas jacket or plaiting a
grass hat.  Others are smoking contemplatively.  John Adams is winding
up the log-line with McCoy.  Edward Young stands gazing through a
telescope at something which he fancies is visible on the horizon, and
Fletcher Christian is down in the cabin poring over Carteret's account
of his voyage in the Pacific.

There were goats on board.  One of these, having become a pet with the
crew, was allowed to walk at liberty, and became a grand playmate for
Sally.  Besides the goats, Christian had taken care to procure a number
of hogs and poultry from Otaheite; also a supply of young
breadfruit-trees and other vegetable products of the island, wherewith
to enrich his new home when he should find it.  All the animals were
confined in cribs and pens with the exception of Sally's playmate.

"Take care!" exclaimed John Adams as he left the quarter-deck with his
hands in his pockets; "your mate'll butt you overboard, Sal, if you
don't look-out."

There was, indeed, some fear of such a catastrophe, for the precocious
infant had a tendency to scramble on any object which enabled her to
look over the low bulwarks, and the goat had a propensity to advance on
its hind legs with a playful toss of its head and take its playmate by
surprise, in truth, what between the fore-hatch, the companion-hatch,
and the low bulwarks, it may be said that Sally led a life of constant
and imminent danger.  She was frequently plucked by the men out of the
very jaws of death, and seemed to enjoy the fun.

While attempting to avoid one of the goat's playful assaults, Sally
stumbled up against Matthew Quintal, deranged the work on which he was
engaged, and caused him to prick his hand with a sail-needle, at which
William McCoy, who was beside him, laughed.

"Get out o' that, you little nigger!" exclaimed Quintal, angrily, giving
the child a push with his foot which sent her rolling to the side of the
ship, where her head came in contact with an iron bolt.  Sally opened
her mouth, shut her eyes, and howled.

Quintal had probably not intended to hurt the child, but he expressed no
regret.  On the contrary, seeing that she was not much injured, he
laughed in concert with McCoy.

These two, Quintal and McCoy, were emphatically the bad men of the
party.  They did not sympathise much, if at all, with human suffering--
certainly not with those whom they styled "niggers;" but there was one
witness of the act whose heart was as tender towards the natives as
Quintal's was hard.

"If you ever dare to touch her so again," said Young, striding up to
Quintal, "I'll kick you into the pig-sty."

The midshipman seemed to be the last man on board whose natural
disposition would lead him to utter such a threat, and Quintal was quite
taken aback; but as Young was a powerful fellow, perfectly capable of
carrying his threat into execution, and seemed, moreover, thoroughly
roused, the former thought it best to hold his tongue, even though
lugubrious Isaac Martin chuckled audibly, and Ohoo, one of the natives,
who stood near, displayed his fine teeth from ear to ear.

Lifting up Sally with much tenderness, Young carried her to her mother,
who, after a not very careful examination of the bruised head, set her
down on the deck, where she immediately began to wallow as before.
Rising on her brown little feet, she staggered forward a few paces, and
then seated herself without bending her knees.  From this position she
rolled towards the starboard side of the ship and squeezed herself
between a gun-carriage and the bulwarks, until she got into the
porthole.  Thrusting her head over the edge of this, she gazed at the
ripples that rolled pleasantly from the side.  This was paradise!  The
sun glittered on these ripples, and Sally's eyes glittered in sympathy.
A very gentle lurch of the ship soon after sent Sally head foremost into
the midst of the ripples.

This event was nothing new to Sally.  In her Otaheitan home her mother
had been wont to take her out for a swim as British mothers take their
offspring for a walk.  Frequently had that mother pitched Sally off her
shoulders and left her to wabble in the water, as eagles are said to
toss their eaglets into the air, and leave them to flutter until failing
strength renders aid advisable.

No doubt when Sally, falling from such a height, and turning so as to
come flat on her back, experienced a tingling slap upon her skin, she
felt disposed to shed a salt tear or two into the mighty ocean; but when
the smart passed away, she took to wallowing in the water, by way of
making the most of her opportunities.  Both Christian and Young heard
the plunge.  The former leaped up the companion ladder, the latter ran
to the stern of the ship, but before either could gain the side one of
the Otaheitan men, who had witnessed the accident, plunged into the sea
and was soon close to Sally.  The playful creature, after giving him a
kick in the face, consented to be placed on his shoulders.

The ship of course was brought up to the wind and her topsails backed as
quickly as possible, but the swimmers were left a considerable distance
astern before this was accomplished.

"No need to lower a boat," remarked Christian, as he drew out the tubes
of his telescope; "that fellow swims like a fish."

"So do all his countrymen," said Young.

"And the women and children too," added John Adams, who was at the helm.

"She's tugging at the man's woolly head as if it were a door mat," said
Christian, laughing; "and I do believe--yes--the little thing is now
reaching round--and pulling his nose.  Look at them, Young."

Handing the glass to the midshipman, he turned to inquire for the
child's mother, and to his astonishment found that brown lady sitting on
the deck busy with her mat-making, as unconcerned as if nothing unusual
were going on.

The fact was, that Sally's mother thought no more of Sally falling into
the sea than a white mother might of her child falling on its nose--not
so much, perhaps.  She knew that the ship would wait to pick her up.
She also knew that Sally was an expert swimmer for her age, and that the
man who had gone to her rescue was thoroughly able for the duty, having,
like all the South Sea Islanders, been accustomed from infancy to spend
hours at a time in the water.

In a few minutes he came alongside, with Sally sitting astride his neck,
holding on to both sides of his head, and lifting her large eyes with a
gaze of ecstasy to those who looked over the vessel's side.  She
evidently regarded the adventure as one of the most charming that had up
to that time gladdened her brief career.  Not only so, but, no sooner
had she been hauled on board with her deliverer, than she made straight
for the porthole from which she had fallen, and attempted to repeat the
manoeuvre, amid shouts of laughter from all who saw her.  After that the
various portholes had to be closed up, and the precocious baby to be
more carefully watched.

"I have come to the conclusion," said Christian to Young, as they paced
the deck by moonlight that same night, "that it is better to settle on
Pitcairn's Island than on any of the Marquesas group.  It is farther out
of the track of ships than any known island of the Pacific, and if
Carteret's account of it be correct, its precipitous sides will induce
passers-by to continue their voyage without stopping."

"If we find it, and it should turn out to be suitable, what then!" asked
Young.

"We shall land, form a settlement, and live and die there," answered
Christian.

"A sad end to all our bright hopes and ambitions," said Young, as if
speaking to himself, while he gazed far away on the rippling pathway
made by the sun upon the sea.

Christian made no rejoinder.  The subject was not a pleasant one to
contemplate.  He thought it best to confront the inevitable in silence.

Captain Carteret, the navigator who discovered the island and named it
Pitcairn, after the young officer of his ship who was the first to see
and report it, had placed it on his chart no less than three degrees out
of its true longitude.  Hence Christian cruised about unsuccessfully in
search of it for several weeks.  At last, when he was on the point of
giving up the search in despair, a solitary rock was descried in the far
distance rising out of the ocean.

"There it is at last!" said Christian, with a sigh that seemed to
indicate the removal of a great weight from his spirit.

Immediately every man in the ship hurried to the bow of the vessel, and
gazed with strangely mingled feelings on what was to be his future home.
Even the natives, men and women, were roused to a feeling of interest
by the evident excitement of the Europeans, and hastened to parts of the
ship whence they could obtain a clear view.  By degrees tongues began to
loosen.

"It's like a fortress, with its high perpendicular cliffs," remarked
John Adams.

"All the better for us," said Quintal; "we'll need some place that's
difficult to get at and easy to defend, if one o' the King's ships
should find us out."

"So we will," laughed McCoy in gruff tones, "and it's my notion that
there's a natural barrier round that island which will go further to
defend us agin the King's ships than anything that we could do.  Isn't
that white line at the foot o' the cliffs like a heavy surf, boys?"

"It looks like it," answered John Mills, the gunner's mate; "an'
wherever you find cliffs rising like high walls out o' the sea, you may
be pretty sure the water's too deep for good anchorage."

"That's in our favour too," returned Quintal; "nothin' like a heavy surf
and bad anchorage to indooce ships to give us a wide berth."

"I hope," said William Brown the botanist, "that there's some vegetation
on it.  I don't see much as yet."

"Ain't it a strange thing," remarked long-legged Isaac Martin, in a more
than usually sepulchral tone, "that land-lubbers invariably shows a fund
of ignorance when at sea, even in regard to things they might be
supposed to know somethin' about?"

"How have I shown ignorance just now?" asked Brown, with a smile, for he
was a good-humoured man, and could stand a great deal of chaffing.

"Why, how can you, bein' a gardener," returned Martin, "expect to see
wegitation on the face of a perpindikler cliff?"

"You're right, Martin; but then, you know, there is generally an
interior as well as a face to a cliffy island, and one might expect to
find vegetation there, don't you see."

"That's true--to _find_ it," retorted Martin, "but not to _see_ it
through tons of solid rock, and from five or six miles out at sea."

"But what if there's niggers on it?" suggested Adams, who joined the
party at this point.

"Fight 'em, of coorse," said John Williams.

"An' drive 'em into the sea," added Quintal.

"Ay, the place ain't big enough for more than one lot," said McCoy.  "It
don't seem more than four miles long, or thereabouts."

An order to shorten sail stopped the conversation at this point.

"It is too late to attempt a landing to-night," said Christian to Young.
"We'll dodge off and on till morning."

The _Bounty_ was accordingly put about, and her crew spent the remainder
of the night in chatting or dreaming about their future home.



CHAPTER FOUR.

THE ISLAND EXPLORED.

A bright and pleasant morning forms a powerful antidote to the evils of
a cheerless night.  Few of the mutineers slept soundly on the night of
their arrival off Pitcairn, and their dreams of that island were more or
less unpleasantly mingled with manacles and barred windows, and men
dangling from yard-arms.  The blessed sunshine dissipated all this,
rousing, in the hearts of some, feelings of hope and forgiveness, in the
breasts of others, only those sensations of animal enjoyment which man
shares in common with the brutes.

"Lower away the boat there," said Fletcher Christian, coming on deck
with a more cheerful air than he had worn since the day of the mutiny;
"we shall row round the island and search for a landing-place.  You will
take charge, Mr Young, during my absence.  Put muskets and ammunition
into the boat, John Adams; the place may be inhabited--there's no
saying--and South Sea savages are not a hospitable race as a rule.  Now
then, look sharp, lads."

In a few minutes, Adams, Martin, McCoy, Brown, and Quintal were in the
boat, with two of the Otaheitan men.

"Won't you take cutlasses?" asked Young, looking over the side.

"Well, yes, hand down half-a-dozen; and don't go far from this end of
the island, Mr Young.  Just keep dodging off and on."

"Ay, ay, sir," said the middy, touching his cap from the mere force of
habit.

"Shove off," said Christian, seating himself at the helm.

In a few minutes the boat was skimming over the calm water towards the
shore, while the _Bounty_, wearing round, went slowly out to sea.

As the boat neared the shore it soon became evident that it would be
extremely difficult to effect a landing.  Nothing could be seen but high
precipitous cliffs without any sign of a harbour or creek sufficiently
large or safe to afford anchorage for the ship.  Worst of all, the only
spot that seemed to offer any prospect of a landing-place, even for a
boat, was guarded by tremendous breakers that seemed to bid defiance to
man's feeble powers.  These great waves, or rollers, were not the result
of storm or wind, but of the mere ocean-swell of the great Pacific,
which undulates over her broad breast even when becalmed.  No signs of
the coming waves were visible more than a few hundred yards from the
shore.  There, each roller gradually and silently arose when the
undulating motion of the sea caught the bottom.  A little farther in it
assumed the form of a magnificent green wall of liquid glass, which
became more and more vast and perpendicular as it rolled on, until it
curled over and rushed with a mighty roar and a snowy crest towards the
beach.  There it dashed itself in tumultuous foam among the rocks.

"Give way, lads," said Christian, sitting down after a prolonged gaze at
this scene; "we may find a better spot farther on."

As they proceeded they were received with wild and plaintive cries by
innumerable sea-birds, whose homes were on the cliffs, and who evidently
resented this intrusion of strangers.

"Shall we give 'em a shot, sir?" asked McCoy, laying his hand on a
musket.

"No, time enough for that," replied Christian, shortly.

They pulled right round the island without seeing a single spot more
available for a landing than the place they had first approached.

It was a very little bay, with a small clump of six cocoa-nut trees near
the water's edge on the right, and a single cocoa-nut tree on the left,
about two hundred yards from the others.  Above these, on a hill a
little to the westward, there was a grove of the same species.

"We'll have to try it, sir," said John Adams, looking at his leader
inquiringly.

"We're sure to capsize," observed McCoy.

"No matter," said Christian; "we have at last reached _home_, and I'm
bound not to be baffled at the door.  Come, Ohoo, you know something
about beaching canoes in a surf; there can't be much difference with a
boat.  Get up in the bow and direct me how to steer."

He spoke to one of the native in the imperfect jumble of Otaheitan and
English with which the white men had learned to communicate with the
natives.  Ohoo understood, and at once went to the bow of the boat, the
head of which was now directed towards a place in the cliffs where there
seemed to be a small bay or creek.  The native gave directions with his
arms right or left, and did not require to speak.  Christian steered
with one of the oars instead of the rudder, to give him more power over
the boat.

Soon they began to feel the influence of the in-going wave.  It was a
moment of intense anxiety.  Christian ordered the men to cease rowing.
Ohoo made a sudden and violent indication with his left arm.  Christian
obeyed.

"Give a gentle pull, boys," he said.

They rose as he spoke on the top of a wave so high that they could look
down for a moment on the seething foam that raged between them and the
beach, and Christian was about to order the men to pull hard, when the
native looked back and shook his head excitedly.  They had not got
sufficiently into the grasp of that wave; they must wait for the next.

"Back all!" shouted the steersman.  The boat slid back into the trough
of the sea, while the wave went roaring inward.

The succeeding wave was soon close astern.  It seemed to curl over them,
threatening destruction, but it lifted them, instead, on its high
shoulders.  There was a slight appearance of boiling on the surface of
the moving billow as it caught them.  It was about to break, and the
boat was fairly in its grasp.

"Give way!" shouted Christian, in a sharp, loud voice.

A moment more, and they were rushing grandly in on a mountain of snow,
with black rocks rising on either side.  It was nervous work.  A little
to the right or a little to the left, and their frail bark would have
been dashed to pieces.  As it was, they were launched upon a strip of
sand and gravel that lay at the foot of the towering cliffs.

"Hurrah!" cried Martin and Brown, in wild excitement, as they leaped
over the bow after the natives, while Christian, Adams, Quintal, and
McCoy went over the stern to prevent the boat being dragged back by the
recoiling foam, and pushed it high and dry on the beach.

"Well done!  Here we are at last in Bounty Bay!" exclaimed Christian,
with a look of satisfaction, giving to the spot, for the first time,
that name which it ever afterwards retained.  "Make fast the painter--
there; get your arms now, boys, and follow me."

At the head of the bay there was a hill, almost a cliff, up which there
wound something that had the appearance of a path, or the almost dry bed
of a water-course.  It was exceedingly steep, but seemed the only route
by which the interior of the island could be reached.  Up the tangled
pass for about three hundred yards the explorers advanced in single
file, all except Quintal, who was left in charge of the boat.

"It looks very like a path that has been made by men," said Christian,
pausing to breathe, and turning round when half-way up the height;
"don't you think so, Brown?"

Thus appealed to, the botanist, whose eyes had been enchained by the
luxuriant and lovely herbage of the place, stooped to inspect the path.

"It does look a little like it, sir," he replied, with some caution,
"but it also looks not unlike a water-course.  You see it is a little
wet just hereabouts.  Isn't it?  What think you, Isaac Martin?"

"I don't think nothin' about it," returned Martin, solemnly, turning
over the quid of tobacco that bulged his cheek; "but if I might ventur'
for to give an opinion, I should say it don't much matter what it is,
one way or another."

"That's true, Isaac," said Christian, with a short laugh, as he resumed
his march up the cliff.

On the way they were shaded and kept pleasantly cool by the neighbouring
precipices but on gaining the top they came into a blaze of sunshine,
and then became suddenly aware that they had discovered a perfect
paradise.  They stood on a table-land which was thickly covered with
cocoa-nut trees.  A quarter of a mile farther on lay a beautiful valley,
the slopes and mounds of which were clothed with trees and beautiful
flowering herbage of various kinds, in clumps and groves of picturesque
form, with open glades and little meadows between, the whole being
backed by a grand mountain-range which traversed the island, and rose to
a height of more than a thousand feet.

"It is heaven upon earth!" exclaimed Brown, as they began to push into
the heart of the lovely scene.

"Humph!  It's not all gold that glitters," growled McCoy, with a
sarcastic smile.

"It's pretty real, nevertheless," observed Isaac Martin; "I only hope
there ain't none o' the rascally niggers livin' here."

Christian said nothing, but wandered on, looking about him like one in a
dream.

Besides cocoa-nut palms and other trees and shrubs, there were
banyan-trees, the branches of which dropped downwards to the earth and
there took root, and other large timber-trees, and plantains, bananas,
yams, taro-roots, mulberry, tee-plant, and other fruit-bearing plants in
great profusion.  Over this richly varied scene the eyes of William
Brown wandered in rapture.

"Magnificent!" he exclaimed; "a perfect garden!"

"Rich enough soil, eh?" said Martin, turning some of it up with the
point of his shoe.

"Rich enough, ay; couldn't be finer," said Brown.  "I should think, from
its deep red colour, that it is chiefly decomposed lava.  The island is
evidently volcanic in its origin.  I hope we shall find fresh water.
We've not seen much yet, but it's sure to be found somewhere, for such
magnificent vegetation could not exist without it."

"What have we here?" said Christian, stooping to pick up something.  "A
stone implement of some kind, like a spear-head, I think.  It seems to
me that the island must have been inhabited once, although it does not
appear to be so now."

After they had wandered about for some time, examining the land, and
passing many a commentary, both grave and humorous, they turned to
retrace their steps, when Brown, who had gone on in advance, was heard
to cheer as he waved his hat above his head.  He had discovered a
spring.  They all hastened towards the spot.  It lay like a clear gem in
the hollow of a rock a considerable distance up the mountain.  It was
unanimously named "Brown's Pool," but it did not contain much water at
the time.

"Can we do better than dine here?" said Isaac Martin.  "There's lots o'
food around us."

This was true, for of the various fruits which grew wild in the island,
the cocoa-nut, plantain, and banana were to be had all the year round.

Brown had brought a small hatchet with him, which enabled them to break
open several cocoa-nuts, whose hard outer husks would not have yielded
easily to a clasp-knife.

While they sat thus enjoying themselves beside Brown's Pool, a small
lizard was observed to run over a rock near to them.  It stopped for a
moment to raise its little head and look at the visitors, apparently
with great surprise.  A rat was also seen, and chased without success,
by Isaac Martin.

A small species of fly-catcher, of a whitey-brown colour, was likewise
observed, and those creatures, it was afterwards ascertained, were the
only living things to be found on the island, with the exception of a
variety of insects and the innumerable gulls already mentioned.

"Here, then," said Christian, raising a piece of the cocoa-nut shell
filled with water to his lips, "I drink to our health and happiness in
our island home."

There was a strange mingling of pathos with heartiness in his tone,
which did not fail to impress his companions, who cheerfully responded
to the toast.

"I only wish we had something stronger than water to drink it in," said
McCoy.

"Better without strong drink," remarked John Adams, who was naturally a
temperate man.

"Worse without it, _I_ think," growled McCoy, who was naturally
contentious and quarrelsome; "don't it warm the heart and raise the
spirits and strengthen the frame, and--"

"Ay, and clear the brain," interrupted Martin, with one of his most
lugubrious looks, "an' steady the gait, specially w'en one's pretty far
gone, an' beautify the expression, an'--an'--clear the int'leck, an'
(hic) an' gen'r'ly in--in--tenshify sh' powers (hic) of c-converzashun,
eh?"

Martin was a pretty fair mimic, and illustrated his meaning so well, not
only with his tongue but with his solemn countenance, that the whole
party burst into a laugh, with the exception of McCoy, who replied with
the single word, "Bosh!"

To which Martin returned, "Bam!"

"Just so," said Christian, as he stooped to refill the cocoa-nut shell;
"you may be said to have reduced that spirited question to an essence,
which is much beyond proof, and closed it; we will therefore return to
the shore, get on board as quickly as possible, and make arrangements
for anchoring in the bay."

"I doubt it's too deep for anchoring," remarked Adams, as they walked
down the hill.

"Well, then, we shall run the ship on shore," said Christian, curtly,
"for here we must remain.  There is no other island that I know of in
these regions.  Besides, this one seems the very thing we want.  It has
wood and water in abundance; fruits and roots of many kinds; a splendid
soil, if we may believe our eyes, to say nothing of Brown's opinion; bad
anchorage for ships, great difficulty and some danger in landing even in
fine weather, and impossible to land at all, I should think, in bad;
beautiful little valleys and hills; rugged mountains with passes so
difficult that a few resolute men might defy a host, and caves to which
we might retreat and sell our lives dearly if hard pushed.  What more
could we wish for?"

In a short time they reached the little narrow strip of shingly beach
where the boat had been left in charge of Quintal.  Here they had to
encounter the great difficulty of forcing their way through the surf
which had borne them shoreward in such grand style.  The chief danger
lay in the liability of the boat to be caught by the bow, turned
broadside to the great tumbling billows, and overturned.  Safety and
success lay in keeping the boat's bow straight "end-on" to the seas, and
pulling hard.  To accomplish this, Fletcher Christian again took an oar
to steer with, in preference to the rudder.  Besides being the most
powerful man of the party, he was the best boatman, and the most agile
in his movements.

"Steady, now!" he said, as the boat lay in the seething foam partially
sheltered by a rock, while the men sat with oars out, ready for instant
action.

A bigger wave than usual had just hurled itself with a thunderous roar
on the reverberating cliffs, and the great sheet of foaming water had
just reached that momentary pause which indicated the turning-point
previous to the backward rush, when Christian shouted--

"Give way!"

The boat leaped out, was kept end-on by a powerful stroke of the
steersman, rushed on the back-draught as if down a cataract, and met the
succeeding billow fairly.  The bow was thrown up so high that it seemed
as if the boat were standing on end, and must inevitably be thrown right
over, but the impetus given by the willing men forced her half through
and half over the crest of the watery mountain.

"With a will, boys, with a will!" cried Christian.

Another moment and they slid down the billow's back into the trough
between the seas.  A few more energetic strokes carried them over the
next wave.  After that the danger was past, and in less than
half-an-hour they were once more on board the _Bounty_.



CHAPTER FIVE.

THE LANDING OF THE LIVESTOCK IN BOUNTY BAY.

Preparations were now made for landing.  The bay which they had
discovered, and was the only one on the island, lay on its northern
side.  Into it they succeeded in running the _Bounty_, and cast anchor.
Soon the women, with little Sally, were landed and sent up to the
table-land above, to make some sort of encampment, under the charge of
midshipman Young.  The ship was warped close up to the cliffs, so close
that she ran the end of her bowsprit against them and broke it off.
Here there was a narrow ledge that seemed suitable for a landing-place.
Night put a stop to their labours on board.  While some lighted fires
and encamped on the shore, others remained in the ship to guard her and
to be ready for the debarkation that was to take place in the morning.

And a strange debarkation it was.  It had been found that there was a
rise of eight feet in the tide.  This enabled Christian to lay the ship
in such a position that it was possible to extend several long planks
from the bow to the beach.  Fortunately the weather was fine, otherwise
the landing would have been difficult if not disastrous.

When all was complete, the goats were collected and driven over the bow
to the shore.  The procession was headed by an old billy-goat, who
looked supremely philosophical as he went slowly along the rough
gangway.

"It minds one o' pirates makin' the crew of a merchantman walk the
plank," remarked John Williams, as he assisted to urge the unwilling
flock along.

"Quite like a menadgeree," suggested Mills.

"More like old Noah comin' out o' the ark," said Williams, "on the top
o' Mount--Mount--what was its name?  I forget."

"Mount Sy-nee," suggested Quintal.

"Not at all; it was Mount Arrowroot," said Isaac Martin, with the air of
an oracle.

"Clear the way, lads, for the poultry," shouted midshipman Young.

A tremendous cackling in rear rendered further orders inaudible as well
as unnecessary, while the men stood aside from the opening to the
gangway of planks.

A considerable number of fowls had been taken on board at Otaheite, and
these, besides being bewildered and uncertain as to the point to which
they were being driven, and the precise duty that was required of them,
were infected with the general obstinacy of the rest of the animal
kingdom.  At last, however, a splendid cock was persuaded to enter the
gangway, down which he ran, and flew shrieking to the shore, followed by
the rest of his kindred.

"Now for the hogs," said Quintal, to whose domineering spirit the work
was congenial.

But the hogs were not to be managed as easily as the goats and fowls had
been.  With native obstinacy and amazing energy they refused to do what
they were bid, and shrieked defiance when force was attempted.  The
noise was further increased by the butting of a few goats and the
cackling of some poultry, which had got mixed up with them.

First of all they declined to leave the enclosures, out of which they
had tried pertinaciously to escape all the voyage.  By way of overcoming
this difficulty, Christian ordered the enclosures to be torn down, and
the planks with which they had been formed were used as persuaders to
urge the refractory creatures on.  As each poke or slap produced a
series of horrible yells, it may be understood that the operation was
accompanied with noise.

At last some of the men, losing patience, rushed at the hogs, seized
them by ears and tails, and forcibly dragged them to the gangway.  McCoy
and Quintal distinguished themselves in this service, hurling their
animals on the planks with such violence that several of them fell over
into the sea, and swam towards the shore in the surf from which they
were rescued by the Otaheitan men, who danced about in the water, highly
enjoying this part of their labour.

A profound calm seemed to succeed a wild storm when the last of the
unruly pigs had left the ship.

"We've got 'em all out at last," said one of the men, with a sigh,
wiping the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve.

"Bad luck to them," growled another, tying up a slight wound received in
the conflict.

"We've done with the live stock, anyhow, and that's a comfort," said a
third.

"Done with the live stock!" exclaimed Martin.  "Why, the worst lot has
yet to come."

"That must be yourself, then, Martin, my boy," said Brown.

"I wish it was, Brown," retorted Martin; "but you've forgotten the
cats."

"So we have!" exclaimed everybody.

"And you may be sure they'll give us some trouble," said Christian.
"Come, let's go at 'em at once."

This estimate of the cats was fully justified by what followed.  A
considerable number of these useful creatures, black, white, and grey,
had been brought from Otaheite for the purpose of keeping down the rats,
with which many of the South Sea Islands are afflicted.  During the
voyage most of them had retired to the privacy of the hold, where they
found holes and corners about the cargo, and came out only at night,
like evil spirits, to pick up a precarious livelihood.  During the
recent conflict a few had found insecure refuge in holes and corners
about the deck, where yelling and fugitive pigs had convulsed them with
horror; and one, a huge grey cat, having taken madly to the rigging,
rushed out to the end of the foresail-yard, where it was immediately
roused to frenzy by a flock of astonished gulls.  Now, these cats had to
be rummaged out of their retreats by violence, in which work all the
white men in the ship had to take part amid a chorus of awful skirling,
serpentlike fuffing, ominous and deadly growling, and, generally,
hideous caterwauling, that no pen, however gifted, could adequately
describe.

"_I_ see 'im," cried Mills, with his head thrust down between a
nail-cask and a bundle of Otaheitan roots.

"Where?" from John Adams, who, with heels and legs in the air, and head
and shoulders down somewhere about the keel, was poking a long stick
into total darkness.

"There, right under you, with a pair of eyes blazing like green lamps."

A poke in the right direction caused a convulsion in the bowels of the
cargo like a miniature earthquake.  It was accompanied by a fearful
yell.

"I've touched him at last," said Adams, quietly.  "Look-out there,
Brown, he's goin' to scramble up the bulkhead."

"There goes another," shouted Martin, whose head was so far down among
the cargo that his voice had a muffled sound.

There was no occasion to ask where this time, for, with a wild shriek, a
large black fellow left its retreat, sprang up the hatchway, and sought
refuge in the rigging.  At the same moment there came a sepulchral moan
from a cat whose place of refuge was invaded by Quintal.  The moan was
followed by a cry, loud and deep, that would have done credit to a mad
baby.

"Isn't it appalling to see creeturs so furious?" said Adams, solemnly,
as he drew his head and shoulders out of the depths.

"They're fiendishly inclined, no doubt," said Christian, who stood hard
by with a stick, ready to expedite the process of ejection when a cat
ventured to show itself.

At last, with infinite trouble the whole body of the enemy were routed
from the hold, and the hatches fastened down to prevent a return.  But
the end was not yet gained, for the creatures had found various refuges
on deck, and some had taken to the rigging.

"Come out o' that," cried Martin, making a poke at the big grey cat,
like a small tiger, which had fled to the foretop.

With a ferocious caterwaul and fuff the creature sprang down the shrouds
on the opposite side as if it had been born and bred a sailor.
Unfortunately it made a wild leap at a pendant rope in passing, missed
it, and came down on the deck with a prodigious flop.  Only one of its
nine lives, apparently, was damaged.  With the other eight it rushed to
the opening in the bow, and soon gained the shore, where it immediately
sprang to the leafy head of a cocoa-nut palm.  At the same moment a
black-and-white cat was sent flying in the same direction by Young.
Quintal, indulging his savage nature, caught one of the cats by the neck
and tried to strangle it into subjection, but received such punishment
with teeth and claws that he was fain to fling it into the sea.  It swam
ashore, emerged a melancholy "drookit" spectacle, and dashed into the
nearest underwood.

Thus, one by one, the cats were hunted out of the _Bounty_, and
introduced to their future home.  The last to give in was,
appropriately, an enormous black Tom, which, with deadly yellow eyes,
erect hair, bristling tail, curved back, extended claws, and flattened
ears, rushed fuffing and squealing from one refuge to another, until at
last, giving way to the concentrated attack of the assembled crew, it
burst through the opening, scurried down the gangway, and went like a
shot into the bushes, a confirmed maniac,--if not worse.



CHAPTER SIX.

SETTLING DOWN AND EXPLORATION.

The first few days were devoted by the mutineers to conveying ashore
every article that was likely to prove useful.  Not only were chests,
boxes, tools, bedding, culinary implements, etcetera, removed from the
vessel, but the planks that formed the bulkheads, much of the cordage,
and all the loose spars and removable iron-work were carried ashore.  In
short, the vessel was completely gutted.

When this was finished, a council was called to decide what should be
done with the _Bounty_ herself, for although Christian was the
acknowledged leader of the party, he took no important step without
consulting his comrades.

"You see it is useless," he said, "to think of venturing again to sea in
the _Bounty_; we are too short-handed for that.  Besides, we could not
find a more suitable island than this.  I therefore propose that we
should burn the ship, to prevent her being seen by any chance vessel
that may pass this way.  If she were observed, men might be tempted to
land, and of course they would tell that we were here, and His Majesty
would soon have a cruiser out in search of us.  What say you?"

"I say wait a bit and consider," replied Young.

"Ditto," said Adams.

Some of the others thought with Christian.  Quintal, in particular, who
seemed to live in a chronic state of objection to being hanged, was
strong for destroying the vessel.  Eventually, after a good deal of
delay and much discussion, the good ship _Bounty_ finished her career by
being burned to the water's edge in Bounty Bay.  This occurred on the
23rd January 1790.  The lower part of the vessel, which would not burn,
was towed out into deep water and sunk, so that not a vestige of her
remained.

And now all was bustling activity.  A spot some few hundred yards
farther inland than that selected as their camping-ground on the day of
arrival, was fixed on as suitable for their permanent location.  It was
beautifully situated, and pleasantly sheltered by trees, through between
the stems of which the sea was visible.  To this spot everything was
conveyed, and several of the most powerful of the men began to clear the
ground, and fell the trees with axes.

One morning, soon after landing, a party was organised to traverse the
island and investigate its character and resources.  As they were not
yet quite sure that it was uninhabited, this party was a strong one and
well armed.  It consisted of Christian, Adams, Brown, Martin, and four
of the Otaheitans.  Edward Young stayed at the encampment with the
remaining men and the women.

"In which direction shall we go?" asked Christian, appealing to Brown.

The botanist hesitated, and glanced round him.

"If I might make so bold, sir," said Isaac Martin, "I would suggest that
we go right up to the top o' the mountains.  There's nothin' like a
bird's-eye view for fillin' the mind wi' right notions o' form, an'
size, an' character."

Following this advice, they traversed the lower ground, which was found
very prolific everywhere.  Then they ascended the undulating slopes of
the mountain-sides until they reached the rugged and bare rocks of the
higher ground.

On the way they found further and indisputable evidence of the island
having been inhabited at some previous and probably long past era.
Among these evidences were spear-heads, and axes of stone, and several
warlike weapons.

"Hallo! here's a circumstance," exclaimed Martin, stopping in front of
an object which lay on the ground.

On closer examination the "circumstance" turned out to be an image made
of a hard and coarse red stone.

"It is evidently an idol," said Christian; "and here are some smooth
round stones, resembling those used by the Otaheitans in war."

Not far from the spot, and in other places as they advanced, the
exploring party found heaps of stone chips, as well as more images and
tools.

"I've been thinking," said Brown, turning for a moment to look down at
the sea, which now lay spread out far below them like a blue plain,
"I've been thinking that the proof of people having been here long ago
lies not only in these stones, axes, spears, and images, but also in the
fact that we find the cocoa-nut trees, bananas, plantains,
breadfruit-trees, as well as yams and sweet potatoes, grow chiefly in
the sunny and sheltered parts of the island, and gathered together as if
they had been planted there."

"Here's the best proof of all," exclaimed Martin, who had a tendency to
poke about, with his long nose advanced, as if scenting out things.

They looked at the spot to which Martin pointed, and there saw a human
skeleton in the last stage of decay, with a large pearl shell under the
skull.  Not far-off more human bones were discovered.

"That's proof positive," said Brown.  "Now, I wonder why these natives
came here, and why they went away."

"P'r'aps they didn't come, but was born'd here," suggested Martin; "an'
mayhap they didn't go away at all, but died here."

"True, Martin," said Adams; "and that shell reminds me of what Captain
Bligh once told me, that the natives o' the Gambier Islands, which must
lie to wind'ard o' this, have a custom of puttin' a shell under the
heads of the dead in this fashion.  Moreover, he told me that these same
Gambier chaps, long ago, used to put the people they vanquished in war
on rafts, and turn 'em adrift to sink or swim, or fetch what land they
might.  No doubt some of these people got drifted here."

As he spoke the party emerged from a somewhat rugged pass, close to the
highest peak of the mountain-ranges.  A few minutes' scramble brought
them to the summit, whence they obtained a magnificent view of the
entire circuit of the island.

We have said that the peak is just over a thousand feet high.  From this
commanding position the Pacific was seen with a boundless horizon all
round.  Not a speck of land visible save the rocky isle on which they
stood.  Not a sail to mark the vast expanse of water, which, from that
height, seemed perfectly flat and smooth, though a steady breeze was
blowing, and the islet was fringed with a pure white ring of foam.  Not
a cloud even to break the monotony of the clear sky, and no sound to
disturb the stillness of nature save the plaintive cries, mellowed by
distance, of the myriads of sea-fowl which sailed round the cliffs, or
dipped into the water far below.

"Solitude profound," said Christian, in a low voice, breaking the
silence which had fallen on the party as they gazed slowly round them.

Just then a loud and hideous yell issued from, apparently; the bowels of
the earth, and rudely put to flight the feeling of profound solitude.
The cry, although very loud, had a strangely muffled sound, and was
repeated as if by an echo.

The explorers looked in each other's faces inquiringly, and not without
an expression of awe.

"Strange," said Adams; "an' it sounded very like some one in distress."

It was observed suddenly that Isaac Martin was absent.

"But the voice was not like his," said Brown.

The mysterious cry was repeated at the moment, and Christian ran quickly
in the direction whence it seemed to come.  As they neared a rugged mass
of rocks which lay close to the peak on which they had been standing,
the cry lost much of its mystery, and finally assumed the tones of
Martin's voice.

"Hallo! hi! murder! help!  O my leg!  Mr Christian, Adams, Brown, this
way.  Help! ho! hi!"

What between the muffled sound and the echo, Martin created a noise that
would have set his friends into fits of laughter if they had not been
greatly alarmed.

In a few seconds the party reached what seemed to be a dark hole, out of
which the poor man's left leg was seen protruding.  Christian and Adams
grasped it.  Brown and one of the Otaheitans lent a hand, and Martin was
quickly dragged out of danger and set on his legs.

"I say, Martin," said Brown, anxiously, "sit down or you'll bu'st.
Every drop o' blood in your body has gone to your head."

"No wonder," gasped Isaac, "if you'd bin hangin' by one fut half as
long, your blood would have blowed your head off altogether."

"There now, sit down a minute, and you'll be all right," said Christian.
"How did it happen?"

To this Martin replied that it was simple enough.  He had fallen a few
yards behind, and, taking a wrong turn, had come on a hole, into which
he looked.  Seeing something like a light at the bottom of it, he
stooped down to look further, slipped on the rocks, and went in head
foremost, but was arrested by his foot catching between two rocks and
getting jammed.

In this position he would soon have perished had not his comrades come
to the rescue.

With some curiosity they now proceeded to examine the hole.  It turned
out to be the entrance to a cave which opened towards the northern side
of the island, and from which a splendid sweep of the sea could be seen,
while in the immediate neighbourhood, far down the precipices,
innumerable sea-birds were seen like flakes of snow circling round the
cliffs.  A few of the inquisitive among these mounted to the giddy
height of the cave's seaward-mouth, and seemed to gaze in surprise at
the unwonted sight of man.

"A most suitable cavern for a hermit or a monk," said Brown.

"More fit for a monkey," said Martin.

"Not a bad place of refuge in case our retreat should be discovered,"
observed Christian.

"H'm! the Mutineers' Retreat," muttered John Adams, in a slightly bitter
tone.

"A few resolute men," continued Christian, taking no notice of the last
remark, "could hold out here against a hundred--at least while their
ammunition lasted."

He returned as he spoke to the cave's landward entrance, and clambered
out with some difficulty, followed by his companions.  Proceeding with
their investigations, they found that, while a large part of the island
was covered with rich soil, bearing fruit-trees and shrubs in abundance,
the remainder of it was mountainous, rugged, and barren.  They also
ascertained that, although the place had been inhabited in times long
past, there seemed to be no inhabitants at that time to dispute their
taking possession.  Satisfied with the result of their investigations,
they descended to their encampment on the table-land close to the
heights above Bounty Bay.

On drawing near to the clearing they heard the sound of voices raised as
if in anger.

"It's Quintal and McCoy," said Adams; "I know the sound o' their
ill-natured voices."

Presently the two men could be seen through the trees.  Quintal was
sitting on a felled tree, looking fiercely at McCoy, who stood beside
him.

"I tell you the baccy is mine," said Quintal.

"It's nothin' o' the sort, it's mine," answered McCoy, snatching the
coveted weed out of the other's hand.

Quintal jumped up, hit McCoy on the forehead, and knocked him down.

McCoy instantly rose, hit Quintal on the nose, and tumbled him over the
log on which he had been sitting.

Not much the worse, Quintal sprang to his feet, and a furious set-to
would have immediately followed if the arrival of Christian and his
party had not prevented it.  It was no easy matter to calm the ruffled
spirits of the men who had treated each other so unceremoniously, and
there is no doubt the bad feeling would have been kept up about the
tobacco in dispute if Christian had not intervened.  McCoy reiterated
stoutly that the tobacco was his.

"You are wrong," said Christian, quietly; "it belongs to Quintal.  I
gave it to him this morning."

As there was no getting over this, McCoy returned the tobacco with a bad
grace, and Christian was about to give the assembled party some good
advice about not quarrelling, when the mother of little Sally appeared
suddenly, wringing her hands, and exclaiming in her native tongue, "My
child is lost! my child is lost!"

As every one of the party, even the roughest, was fond of Sally, there
was an eager and anxious chorus of questioning.

"Where away did 'ee lose her?" asked McCoy; but the poor mother could
only wring her hands and cry, "Lost! lost!"

"Has she gone over the cliffs?" asked Edward Young, who came up at the
moment; but the woman would say nothing but "Lost! lost!" amid floods of
tears.

Fortunately some of the other women, who had been away collecting
cocoa-nuts, arrived just then, and somewhat relieved the men by
prevailing on the mother to explain that, although she could not say
positively her child had fallen over the cliffs, or come by any other
mishap, Sally had nevertheless disappeared early in the forenoon, and
that she had been searching for her ever since without success.

The process of interrogation was conducted chiefly by Isabella, _alias_
Mainmast, the wife of Fletcher Christian, and Susannah, the wife of
Edward Young; and it was interesting to note how anxious were the native
men, Talaloo, Timoa, Ohoo, Nehow, Tetaheite, and Menalee.  They were
evidently as concerned about the safety of the child as were the white
men.

"Now, lads," said Christian, after it was ascertained that the poor
woman could give no information whatever, "we must search at once, but
we must go about it according to a fixed plan.  I remember once reading
of a General having got lost in a great swamp one evening with his
staff.  It was near the sea, I think, and the tide was making.  He
collected his officers and bade them radiate out from him in all
directions, each one in a straight line, so as to make sure of at least
one of them finding the right road out of the danger.  We will do
likewise."

Following out this plan, the entire party scattered themselves into the
bush, each keeping in a straight line, searching as he went, and
widening the field of search as his distance from the centre increased.
There was no time to lose, for the shades of night had already begun to
fall.

Anxiously did the poor mother and one or two of the other women sit in
the clearing, listening for the expected shout which should indicate
success.  For a long time no shout of any kind was heard, though there
was considerable noise when the searching party came upon the lairs of
members of the livestock that had taken up their quarters in the bush.

We will follow only the line of search which ended in success.  It was
pursued by Christian himself.  At first he came on spots where domestic
fowls had taken up their abode.  Then, while tramping through a mass of
luxuriant ferns, he trod on the toes of a slumbering hog, which
immediately set up a shriek comparable only to the brake of an ill-used
locomotive.  This uncalled-for disturbance roused and routed a
considerable number of the same family which had taken refuge in the
same locality.  After that he came on a bevy of cats, seated at
respectful distances from each other, in glaring and armed neutrality.
His sudden and evidently unexpected appearance scattered these to the
four points of the compass.

Presently he came upon a pretty open spot of small size, which was
surrounded by shrubs and trees, through the leafy branches of which the
setting sun streamed in a thousand rays.  One of these rays dazzled the
eyes, and another kissed the lips of a Nanny-goat.  It was Sally's pet,
lying down and dozing.  Beside it lay Sally herself, sound asleep, with
her pretty little face resting on its side, and one of her little fat
hands holding on to a lock of its white hair.

With a loud shout Christian proclaimed his success to the Pitcairn
world, and, picking up the still slumbering child, carried her home in
triumph to her mother.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

ROASTING, FORAGING, AND FABRICATING.

One morning John Adams awoke from a pleasant dream and lay for some time
on his back, in that lazy, half-conscious fashion in which some men love
to lie on first awaking.  The canopy above him was a leafy structure
through which he could see the deep azure of the sky with its few clouds
of fleecy white.  Around him were the rude huts of leaves and boughs
which his comrades had constructed for themselves more or less
tastefully, and the lairs under bush and tree with which the Otaheitan
natives were content.  Just in front of his own hut was that of Fletcher
Christian.  It was more thoroughly built than the others, being partly
formed of planks and other woodwork saved from the _Bounty_, and was
well thatched with the broad leaves of tropical plants.

In front of the hut Christian's wife, Isabella, was busily engaged
digging a hole in the ground.  She was the only member of the party
astir that morning.

"I wonder why Mainmast is up so early," murmured Adams, rousing himself
and using his elbow as a prop while he observed her.

Mainmast, who was better known by that sobriquet than by the name which
Christian had given to her on his wedding-day at Otaheite, was a very
comely and naturally amiable creature, graceful in form, and although a
so-called savage, possessing an air of simple dignity and refinement
which might almost be termed lady-like.  Indeed, several of the other
native wives of the mutineers were similar to Mrs Christian in these
respects, and, despite their brown complexions, were remarkably
good-looking.  One or two, however, were commonplace enough, especially
the wives of the three married Otaheitan men, who seemed to be, as no
doubt they were, of a lower social class than the others who had mingled
with the best Otaheitan society, Edward Young's wife, for instance,
being a sort of native princess--at least she was the daughter of a
great chief.

The dress of these women was simple, like themselves, and not
ungraceful.  It consisted of a short petticoat of tapa, or native cloth,
reaching below the knees, and a loose shawl or scarf of the same
material thrown over the shoulders.

After gazing a short time, Adams perceived what Mainmast was about.  She
was preparing breakfast, which consisted of a hog.  It had been shot by
Christian the night before, partly because it annoyed him with
pertinacious grunting in the neighbourhood of his hut, and partly
because several families of hoglets having been born soon after their
arrival on the island, he could not be charged with extravagance in
giving the people a treat of flesh once in a way.

The process of cooking the hog was slow, hence the early move.  It was
also peculiar, therefore we shall describe it in detail, in order that
the enterprising housewives of England may try the plan if convenient.

Mainmast's first act was to kindle a large fire, into which she put a
number of goodly-sized and rounded stones.  While these were heating,
she dug a large hole in the ground with a broken shovel, which was the
only implement of husbandry possessed at that time by the community.
This hole was the oven.  The bottom of it she covered with fresh
plantain leaves.  The stones having been heated, were spread over the
bottom of the hole and then covered with leaves.  On this hotbed the
carcass of the pig was placed, and another layer of leaves spread over
it.  Some more hot stones were placed above that, over which green
leaves were strewn in bunches, and, finally, the whole was covered up
with earth and rubbish piled up so as to keep in the heat.

Just as she had accomplished this, Mainmast was joined by Mrs Young
(Susannah) and Mrs McCoy.

"Good-morning," said Mrs Christian, using the words of salutation which
she had learned from the Europeans.  "The hog will not be ready for a
long time; will you help me with the cakes?"

The women at once assented, and set to work.  They spoke to each other
in the Otaheitan tongue.  To their husbands they spoke in a jumble of
that tongue and English.  For convenience we shall, throughout our tale,
give their conversations in ordinary English.

While Mrs McCoy prepared some yams and sweet potatoes for baking, Mrs
Young compounded a cake of yams and plantains, beaten up, to be baked in
leaves.  Mainmast also roasted some breadfruit.

This celebrated fruit--but for which the _Bounty_, would never have been
sent forth, and the mutiny with its wonderful consequences would never
have occurred--grows on a tree the size of a large apple-tree, the
leaves of which are of a very deep green.  The fruit, larger than an
orange, has a thick rind, and if gathered before becoming ripe, and
baked in an oven, the inside resembles the crumb of wheaten bread, and
is very palatable.  It lasts in season about eight months of the year.

While the culinary operations were going on, the precocious Sally,
awaking from her slumbers, rose and staggered forth to survey the face
of the newborn day.  Her little body was clothed in an admirably fitting
garment of light-brown skin, the gift of Nature.  Having yawned and
rubbed her eyes, she strayed towards the fire.  Mrs Christian received
her with an affable smile, and presented her with a pannikin of
cocoa-nut milk to keep her quiet.  Quaffing this beverage with evident
delight, she dropped the pannikin, smacked her rosy lips, and toddled
off to seek adventures.  Her first act was to stand in front of Isaac
Martin's hut, and gaze with a look not unmixed with awe at the long nose
pointing to the sky, from which sonorous sounds were issuing.

It is said that familiarity breeds contempt.  It was obvious that the
awesome feeling passed from the infant's mind as she gazed.  Under the
impulse of a sudden inspiration she entered the hut, went up to the
nose, and tweaked it.

"Hallo!" shouted Martin, springing up and tumbling Sally head over heels
in the act.  "Oh, poor thing, I haven't hurt you, have I?"

He caught the child in his arms and kissed her; but Sally seemed to care
neither for the tumble nor the kisses.  Having been released, she
sallied from the hut in search of more adventures.

Martin, meanwhile, having been thoroughly aroused, got up and went
towards the fire.

"You're bright and early, Mainmast," he said, slowly filling his pipe.

"Yes, hog takes time to cook."

"Hog is it, eh?  That'll be first-rate.  Got sauce for it?"

"Hog needs no sauce," said Mrs Christian, with a laugh.  To say truth,
it required very little to arouse her merriment, or that of her amiable
sisterhood.

When Martin had lighted his pipe, he stood gazing at the fire
profoundly, as if absorbed in meditation.  Presently he seized a
frying-pan which lay on the ground, and descended therewith by way of
the steep cliffs to the sea.

While he was gone, one and another of the party came to the fire and
began to chat or smoke, or both, according to fancy.  Ere long Martin
was seen slowly ascending the cliffs, holding the frying-pan with great
care.

"What have you got there?" asked one.

"Oysters, eh?" said another, scrutinising the pan.

"More like jelly-fish," said Young.

"What in all the world is it?" asked Adams, as the pan was put on the
fire.

"You'll see when it boils," said Martin.

"There's nothin' in it at all but water," said Quintal, somewhat
contemptuously.

"Well, I've heerd of many a thing, but never fried water," remarked
McCoy.

"I should think it indigestible," said Christian, coming up at the
moment.

Whether the natives understood the jest or not we cannot say, but
certain it is that all of them, men and women, burst into a fit of
laughter at this, in which they were joined by Otaheitan Sally from mere
sympathy.

"Well, what is to be the order of the day?" asked Christian, turning to
Young.  "Shall we proceed with our dwellings, or divide the island into
locations?"

"I think," answered the midshipman, "that some of us at least should set
up the forge.  I know that Williams's fingers are tingling to grasp the
sledge-hammer, and the sooner he goes at it, too, the better, for we're
badly off for tools."

"If you don't require my services," said Brown, "I'll go plant some
breadfruits and other things at that sheltered spot we fell upon
yesterday."

"I intend to finish the thatching of my hut," said Quintal, in that
off-hand tone of independence and disregard of the wishes of others
which was one of his characteristics.

"Well, there are plenty of us to do all the work," said Christian.  "Let
every man do what pleases himself.  I would only ask for one or two
volunteers to cut the water-tanks I spoke of yesterday.  The water we
have discovered, although a plentiful supply for present needs, may run
short or cease altogether if drought comes.  So we must provide against
a dry instead of a rainy day, by cutting a tank or two in the solid rock
to hold a reserve."

Adams and Mills at once volunteered for this duty.  Other arrangements
were soon made, and they sat down to breakfast, some using plates saved
from the _Bounty_, others flat stones as substitutes, while empty
cocoa-nut shells served for drinking-cups.

"Your water pancake should be done brown by this time," said Young, as
he sat down on the turf tailor-wise.

"Not quite, but nearly," returned Martin, as he stirred the
furiously-boiling contents of the frying-pan.

In a few minutes more the sea water had boiled quite away, leaving a
white residuum, which Martin scraped carefully off into a cocoa-nut cup.

"You see, boys," he said, setting down the salt thus procured, "I never
could abide fresh meat without a pick o' salt to give it a relish.  It
may be weakness perhaps, but--"

"Being the weakness of an old salt," interrupted Christian, "it's
excusable.  Now, boys, fall-to with a will.  We've got plenty of work
before us, an' can't afford to waste time."

This exhortation was needless.  The savoury smell of the roast pig, when
it had been carefully disentombed, might have given appetite to a
seasick man.  They ate heartily, and for some time in silence.

The women, however, did not join in the feast at that time.  It was the
custom among the Otaheitans that the men should eat first, the women
afterwards; and the mutineers, having become habituated to the custom,
did not see fit to change it.  When the men had finished and discussed
the day's proceedings, the remainder of the pig, fruits, and vegetables,
were consumed by the females, among whom, we are bound to state, Sally
was the greatest gourmand.

When pipes were finished, and the digestion of healthy young men had
been thus impaired as far as was possible in the circumstances, the
party went off in several groups about their various avocations.

Among other things removed from the _Bounty_ were a smith's anvil and
bellows, with various hammers, files, etcetera, and a large quantity of
iron-work and copper.  One party, therefore, under Young and Williams
the armourer, busied themselves in setting up a forge near their
settlement, and preparing charcoal for the forge fire.

Another party, under Christian, proceeded to some neighbouring rocks,
and there, with sledge-hammer and crowbars, which they used as jumpers,
began the laborious task of boring the solid rock, intending afterwards
to blast, and partly to cut it, into large water-tanks.  Quintal
continued the thatching of his hut, in which work his humble wife aided
him effectively.  Brown proceeded with the planting operations which he
had begun almost immediately after landing; and the women busied
themselves variously, some in preparing the mid-day meal, some in
gathering fruits and roots for future use, and others in improving the
internal arrangements of their various huts, or in clearing away the
debris of the late feast.  As for little Sally, she superintended
generally the work of the home department, and when she tired of that,
went further afield in search of adventures.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

DIVISION OF THE ISLAND--MORALISINGS, MISGIVINGS, AND A GREAT EVENT.

There was no difficulty in apportioning the new possessions to which the
mutineers had served themselves heirs.  In that free-and-easy mode in
which men in power sometimes arrange matters for their own special
behoof, they divided the island into nine equal parts, of which each
appropriated one part.  The six native men were not only ignored in this
arrangement, but they were soon given to understand, by at least several
of their captors, that they were to be regarded as slaves and treated as
such.

It is, however, but just to Edward Young to say that he invariably
treated the natives well and was much liked by them, from which it is to
be supposed that he did not quite fall in with the views of his
associates, although he made no objection to the unjust distribution of
the land.  John Adams, being an amiable and kindly man, also treated the
natives well, and so did Fletcher Christian; but the others were more or
less tyrannical, and those kindred spirits, Matthew Quintal and William
McCoy, treated them with great severity, sometimes with excessive
cruelty.

At first, however, things went well.  The novelty and romance of their
situation kept them all in good spirits.  The necessity for constant
activity in laying out their gardens, clearing the land around the place
of settlement, and erecting good log-houses,--all this, with fresh air
and abundance of good food, kept them in excellent health and spirits,
so that even the worst among them were for a time amiably disposed; and
it seemed as if those nine men had, by their act of mutiny, really
introduced themselves into a terrestrial paradise.

And so they had, as far as nature was concerned, but the seeds of evil
in themselves began ere long to grow and bear fruit.

The fear of the avenger in the form of a man-of-war was constantly
before their minds.  We have said that the _Bounty_ had been burnt, and
her charred remnants sunk to remove all traces of their presence on the
island.  For the same end a fringe of trees was left standing on the
seaward side of their clearing, and no erection of any kind was allowed
upon the seaward cliffs or inland heights.

One afternoon, Christian, who had been labouring in his garden, threw
down his tools, and taking up the musket which he seldom left far from
his hand, betook himself to the hills.  He was fond of going there, and
often spent many hours in solitary watching in the cave near the
precipitous mountain-peak.

On his way up he had to pass the hut of William McCoy.  The others,
conforming to the natural tendency of mankind to congregate together,
had built their houses round the cleared space on the table-land above
Bounty Bay, from which central point they were wont to sally forth each
morning to their farms or gardens, which were scattered wide apart in
separate valleys.  McCoy, however, aspired to higher heights and grander
solitudes.  His dwelling, a substantial log-hut, was perched upon a
knoll overlooking the particular valley which he cultivated with the aid
of his Otaheitan wife and one of the native men.

"You are getting on well," said Christian to McCoy, who was felling a
tree when he came up to him.

"Ay, slowly, but I'd get on a deal faster if that lazy brown-skin Ohoo
would work harder.  Just look at him.  He digs up that bit o' ground as
if he was paid by the number o' minutes he took to do it.  I had to give
him a taste of a rope's end this morning, but it don't seem to have done
him much good."

"It didn't seem to do much good to you when you got it on board the
_Bounty_," said Christian, gravely.

"P'r'aps not; but we're not on board the _Bounty_, now," returned McCoy,
somewhat angrily.

"Depend on it, McCoy," said Christian, softening his tone, "that the cat
never made any man work well.  It can only force a scoundrel to
obedience, nothing more."

"H'm, I b'lieve you're not far wrong, sir," returned the other, resuming
his work.

Giving a friendly nod to Ohoo as he passed, and a cheerful
"good-morning" to Mrs McCoy, who was busy inside the hut, Christian
passed slowly on through the luxuriant herbage with which that part of
the hillside was covered.

At first he walked in the shade of many-stemmed banyans and
feathery-topped palms, while the leaves of tall and graceful ferns
brushed his cheeks, and numerous luxuriant flowering plants perfumed the
air.  Then he came to a clump of bushes, into which darted one of the
goats that had by this time become almost wild.  The goat's rush
disturbed a huge sow with a litter of quite new pigs, the gruntings and
squeakings of which gave liveliness to an otherwise quiet and peaceful
scene.

Coming out on the shoulder of the mountain just above the woods, he
turned round to look back.  It was a splendid panorama of tropical
vegetation, rounded knolls, picturesque mounds, green patches, and
rugged cliffs, extending downwards to Bounty Bay with its fringe of
surf, and beyond--all round--the sleeping sea.

Two or three little brown, sparrow-like birds twittered in the bushes
near, and looked askance, as if they would question the man's right to
walk there.  One or two active lizards ran across his path, pausing now
and then, and glancing upwards as if in great surprise.

Christian smiled sadly as he looked at them, then turned to breast the
hill.

It was a rugged climb.  Towards the top, where he diverged to the cave,
every step became more difficult.

Reaching the hole where Isaac Martin had come by his misadventure,
Christian descended by means of a rude ladder which he had constructed
and let down into it.  Entering the cave, he rested his musket against
the wall of rock, and sat down on a ledge near the opening towards the
sea.  It was a giddy height.  As he sat there with hands clasped over
one knee and eyes fixed wistfully on the horizon, his right foot, thrust
a little beyond the edge of the rock, overhung a tremendous precipice,
many hundred feet deep.

For a long time he gazed so steadfastly and remained so motionless as to
seem a portion of the rock itself.  Then he heaved a sigh that relieved
the pent-up feelings of an overburdened soul.

"So early!" he muttered, in a scarcely audible voice.  "At the very
beginning of life, just when hope, health, manhood, and opportunity were
at the flood."

He stopped, and again remained motionless for a long time.  Then,
continuing in the same low, sad tone, but without altering his position
or his wistful gaze.

"And _now_, an outlaw, an outcast, doomed, if taken, to a felon's death!
Comrades seduced to their ruin!  The brand of Cain not more terrible
than mine!  Self-exiled for life!  Never, _never_ more to see friends,
country, kindred, sisters--mother!  God help me!"

He laid his face in his hands and groaned aloud.  Again he was silent,
and remained without motion for nearly an hour.

"_Can_ it be true?" he cried in a voice of suppressed agony, looking up
as if expecting an answer from heaven.  "Shall I never, never, _never_
awake from this hideous dream!"

The conscience-smitten young man laid strong constraint upon himself and
became calmer.  When the sun began to approach the horizon he rose, and
with an air of stern resolution, set about making various arrangements
in the cave.

From the first Fletcher Christian had fixed on this cavern as a retreat,
in case his place of refuge should be discovered.  His hope was that, if
a man-of-war should come at last and search the island, he and his
comrades might escape detection in such a sequestered and well-concealed
cavern.  If not, they could hold out to the last and sell their lives
dearly.  Already he had conveyed to it, by degrees, a considerable
supply of ammunition, some of the arms and a quantity of such provisions
as would not readily spoil with time.  Among other things, he carried to
that elevated outlook Carteret's book of voyages and some other works,
which had formed the very small library of the _Bounty_, including a
Bible and a Church of England Prayer-book.

When not gazing on the horizon, expecting yet fearing the appearance of
a sail, he passed much of his time in reading.

On the evening of which we write he had beguiled some time with
Carteret, when a slight sound was heard outside the cavern.

Starting up with the nervous susceptibility induced by a guilty
conscience, he seized his musket and cocked it.  As quickly he set it
down again, and smiled at his weakness.  Next moment he heard a voice
shouting.  It drew nearer.

"Hallo, sir!  Mr Christian!" cried John Adams, stooping down at the
entrance.

"Come down, Adams, come down; there's no occasion to keep shouting up
there."

"True, sir; but do you come up.  You're wanted immediately."

There was something in the man's voice which alarmed Christian.
Grasping his musket, he sprang up the ladder and stood beside his
comrade.

"Well?"

"It's--it's all right, sir," said Adams, panting with his exertions in
climbing the hill; "it's--it's a _boy_!"

Without a word of reply Christian shouldered his weapon, and hurried
down the mountain-side in the direction of home.



CHAPTER NINE.

SALLY'S CHIEF JOYS--DARK CLOUDS OVERSPREAD THE PITCAIRN SKY, AND DARKER
DEEDS ARE DONE.

Just before John Adams left the settlement for the purpose of calling
Christian, whose retreat at the mountain-top was by that time well-known
to every one, little Sally had gone, as was her wont, to enjoy herself
in her favourite playground.  This was a spot close to the house of
Edward Young, where the debris of material saved from the _Bounty_ had
been deposited.  It formed a bristling pile of masts, spars, planks,
cross-trees, oars, anchors, nails, copper-bolts, sails, and cordage.

No material compound could have been more dangerous to childhood, and
nothing conceivable more attractive to Sally.  The way in which that
pretty little nude infant disported herself on that pile was absolutely
tremendous.  She sprang over things as if she had been made expressly to
fly.  She tumbled off things as if she had been created to fall.  She
insinuated herself among anchor-flukes and chains as if she had been
born an eel.  She rolled out from among the folds of sails as if she
were a live dumpling.  She seemed to dance upon upturned nails, and to
spike herself on bristling bolts; but she never hurt herself,--at least
if she did she never cried, except in exuberant glee.

Now, it was while thus engaged one day that Sally became suddenly
conscious of a new sound.  Young as she was, she was fully alive to the
influence of a new sensation.  She paused in an attitude of eager
attention.  The strange sound came from Christian's hut.  Sally waddled
thither and looked in.  The first thing that met her gaze was her own
mother with a live creature in her hands, which she was carefully
wrapping up in a piece of cloth.  It was a pitifully thin whitey-brown
creature, with a puckered face, resembling that of a monkey; but Sally
had never seen a monkey, and probably did not think of the comparison.
Presently the creature opened its mouth, shut its eyes, and uttered a
painfully weak squall.

Cause and effect are not infrequently involved in mystery.  We cannot
tell why Sally, who never cried, either when hurt or scolded, should, on
beholding this sight, set up a tremendous howl; but she did, and she
kept up the howl with such vigour that John Adams was attracted to the
spot in some alarm.

Stopping only long enough to look at the infant and see that the mother
was all right, Adams ran off at full speed to the mountain-top, as we
have seen, to be the first to announce the joyful news to the father.

Thus came into the world the first "descendant" of the mutineers of the
_Bounty_.

It was with unwonted animation that the men sat down to supper that
evening, each having congratulated Christian and inquired at the hut for
the baby and mother, as he came in from work.

"What will you call him?" inquired Young, after pledging the new arrival
in a cup of cocoa-nut milk.

"What day is it?" asked Christian.

"Thursday," answered Martin.

"Then I'll call him Thursday," said Christian; "it will commemorate the
day."

"You'd better add `October,' and commemorate the month," said Adams.

"So I will," said Christian.

"An' stick on `Seventeen-ninety' to commemorate the year," suggested
Mills.

"No, there are limits to everything," returned Christian; "three names
are enough.  Come, fill up your cups, lads, and drink to Thursday
October Christian!"

With enthusiasm and a shout of laughter, the toast was pledged in
cocoa-nut milk, and once again Christian's hand was shaken by his
comrades all round.

The advent of TOC, as Adams called him, (or Toc, as he afterwards came
to be styled), was, as it were, the breaking of the ice.  It was
followed ere long by quite a crop of babies.  In a few months more a
Matthew Quintal was added to the roll.  Then a Daniel McCoy furnished
another voice in the chorus, and Sally ceased to disquiet herself
because of that which had ceased to be a novelty.  This all occurred in
1791.  After that there was a pause for a brief period; then, in 1792,
Elizabeth Mills burst upon the astonished gaze of her father, and was
followed immediately by another Christian, whom Fletcher, discarding his
eccentric taste for days and months, named Charles.

By this time Sally had developed such a degree of matronly solicitude,
that she was absolutely intrusted at times with the care of the other
children.  In a special manner she devoted herself to little Charlie
Christian, who was a particularly sedate infant.  Indeed, solemnity was
stamped upon that child's visage from his birth.  This seemed to
harmonise intensely with Sally's sense of fun.  She was wont to take
Charlie away from his mother, and set him up on a log, or the rusty
shank of the _Bounty's_ "best bower," prop him up with sticks or
bushes--any rubbish that came to hand--and sit down in front of him to
gaze.  Charlie, after the first few months of precarious infancy, became
extremely fat.  He used to open his solemn eyes as wide as was possible
in the circumstances, and return the gaze with interest.  Unable to
restrain herself, Sally would then open her pretty mouth, shut her
gorgeous eyes, and give vent to the richest peals of laughter.

"Oh, you's so good, Charlie!"

She had learned by that time to speak broken English in an infantine
fashion, and her assertion was absolutely true, for Charlie Christian
was preternaturally good.

The same cannot be said of all the members of this little community.
Ere long, a period approached when the harmony which had hitherto
prevailed was about to be broken.  Increasing life had marked their
course hitherto.  Death now stepped in to claim his share.

The wife of John Williams went out one day to gather gulls' eggs among
the cliffs.  The women were all in the habit of doing this at times, and
they had become expert climbers, as were also the men, both white and
brown.

When day began to close, they wondered why Mrs Williams was so late of
returning.  Soon her husband became uneasy; then, taking alarm, he went
off to search for her, accompanied by all the men.  The unfortunate
woman was found dead at the base of the cliffs.  She had missed her
footing and fallen while searching for eggs.

This accident had at first a deeply solemnising effect on the whole
community.  Accustomed though these men were to the sight of death in
some of its worst forms in war, they were awed by this sudden and
unexpected assault of the great enemy.  The poor mangled body lying so
quietly among the rocks at the foot of the awful precipice, the sight of
the husband's grief, the sad and silent procession with the ghastly
burden in the deepening gloom of evening, the wailing of the women, and
the awestruck gaze of such of the children as were old enough to know
that something terrible had occurred, though unable to understand it,--
all conspired to deepen the impression, even on those among the men who
were least easily impressed; and it was with softened feelings of pity
that Quintal and McCoy, volunteering their services on the occasion, dug
the first grave at Pitcairn.

Time, however, soon wore away these feelings.  Williams not only got
over his bereavement easily, but soon began to wish for another wife.
It was, of course, impossible to obtain one righteously in the
circumstances; he therefore resolved to take the wife of Talaloo the
Otaheitan.

It must not be supposed that all Williams', comrades supported him in
this wicked design.  Christian, Young, and Adams remonstrated with him
strongly; but he was obstinate, and threatened to take the boat and
leave the island if they interfered with him.  As he was an expert
blacksmith, his comrades could not afford to lose him, and ceased
remonstrating.  Eventually he carried out his intention.

This was, as might have been expected, the beginning of trouble.  The
coloured men made common cause of it, and from that time forward began
to plot the destruction of their white masters.  What made matters worse
was that Talaloo's wife was not averse to the change, and from that time
became a bitter enemy of her Otaheitan husband.  It was owing to this
wicked woman's preference for Williams that the plot was afterwards
revealed.

One evening, while sitting in Christian's house, Talaloo's wife began to
sing a sort of extempore song, the chorus to which was:--

  "Why does black man sharpen axe?
  To kill white man."

Hearing this, Christian, who was close at hand, entered the hut and
demanded an explanation.  On being informed of the plot of the Otaheitan
men to murder all the whites, a dark frown overspread his face.  Hastily
seizing his musket, he loaded it, but it was observed that he put no
bullet in.

The Otaheitans were assembled at the time in a neighbouring house.
Christian went straight to the house, charged the men with their guilty
intentions, pointed his gun at them, and pulled the trigger.  The piece
missed fire.  Before he could re-cock, Talaloo leaped through the
doorway, followed by his friend Timoa, and took shelter in the woods.

The other four men begged for mercy, said that the two who had just left
were the instigators as well as ringleaders in the plot, and promised to
hunt them down and murder them if their own lives should be spared.  As
Christian had probably no fixed intention to kill any of the men, and
his sudden anger soon abated, he accepted their excuses and left them.
It was impossible, however, for the mutineers to feel confidence in the
natives after that.  The two men who had fled for refuge to the bush did
not return to the settlement, but remained in hiding.

One day Talaloo's wife went, with some of the other women, to the
southern side of the island to fish from the rocks.  They were soon
busily at work.  The lines used had been made by themselves from the
fibrous husk of the cocoa-nut.  The hooks had been brought on shore from
the _Bounty_.  Chattering and laughing with the free-and-easy gaiety of
savages, they plied their work--it seemed more like play--with varying
success.

Suddenly the wife of Talaloo heard a faint hiss behind her.  Turning her
head, she saw her former husband in the bushes.  He beckoned to her, and
disappeared.  None of the other women appeared to have heard or observed
the man.  Presently, Talaloo's wife rose, and going into the woods,
joined her husband.  She found him in company with Timoa.

"Is Talaloo become a dog that he should be driven to live in the bush?"
demanded the man, with a stern air.

"The white men are strong," answered his wife, with a subdued look; "the
women can do nothing."

"You can stay with me here in the bush if you will," said Talaloo.  "The
white men are strong, but we are stronger.  We will kill the white men."

He turned with an air of offended dignity, and strode away.  His wife
meekly followed, and Timoa went with them.

Now, there was one woman among the fishers whose eyes were sharp and her
hearing was keen.

This was Susannah, the wife of the midshipman Edward Young.  She had
followed Talaloo's wife, saw what occurred, and carried back a report to
the settlement.  A council of war was at once held.

"If we leave these men at liberty," said Williams, "we shall never again
be able to go to rest in security."

"Something must be done," said Christian, with the air of a man whose
mind wanders far away from the subject in hand.

"Kill them," suggested McCoy.

"Yes," said Quintal; "I vote that we get up a grand hunt, run them to
earth, and shoot them like dogs, as they are."

"Not so easy as you think to hunt down such men among these wild and
wooded hills," said Young.  "Besides, it is only Talaloo who has
threatened us; Timoa is guiltless, I think."

"I'll tell you what we'll do, lads; we'll poison 'em," said Williams.
"I've heard of such a thing bein' done at Otaheite by one of the women.
She knows how to get the poison from some sort of plant, I believe, and
I'm pretty sure that Menalee will help us."

The plan thus suggested was finally adopted.  One of the women made
three puddings, two of which were good, the third was poisoned.  Menalee
at once agreed to go to the fugitives, say he had stolen the puddings,
and would be willing to share them.  The two good puddings were to be
given to Talaloo's wife and Timoa, the poisoned one to Talaloo himself.
For further security Menalee was to carry a pistol with him, and use it
if necessary.

The assassin was not long in tracking out his countrymen.

"You bring us food?" said Talaloo.

"Yes, I have stolen it.  Will you have some?"

They all accepted the puddings, and Timoa and the woman began to eat;
but Talaloo was quick witted.  He observed something unusual in
Menalee's manner, suspected poison, and would not eat his pudding.
Laying it aside, he ate that of his wife along with her.

Menalee pretended not to notice this.  After the others had done eating,
he proposed that they should all go a little farther up into the bushes,
where, he said, he had left his own wife among some breadfruit trees.

Talaloo agreeing to this, they rose and walked away.  The footpath being
narrow, they were obliged to go in single file.  Menalee walked behind
Talaloo.  After having gone a few paces, the former drew his pistol,
pointed it at the back of his countryman's head, and pulled the trigger,
but it missed fire.  Talaloo hearing the click, turned round, saw the
pistol, and immediately fled; but his enemy was swift of foot, soon
overtook him, and the two grappled.  A severe struggle ensued, Timoa and
the woman standing by and looking on, but rendering help to neither
party.

The two combatants were pretty well matched.  The pistol had fallen at
the first onset, and for a few minutes it seemed doubtful which should
prove the victor, as they swayed to and fro, straining their dark and
sinewy forms in deadly conflict.  At last the strength of Talaloo seemed
to give way, but still he retained a vice-like grasp of his antagonist's
right wrist.

"Won't you help me?" gasped Talaloo, turning an appealing glance on his
wife.

"No," cried Menalee, "but she will help me to kill Talaloo."

The hardened woman picked up the pistol, and going towards her husband
struck him on the head.  Menalee quickly finished with his knife what
the murderess had begun.

For a few minutes the three stood looking at the murdered man in
silence, when they returned to the settlement and told what they had
done.  But the assassin's work was not yet over.  Another of the
natives, named Ohoo, had fled to the woods, threatening vengeance
against the white men.  It was deemed necessary that he too should be
killed, and Menalee was again found to be a willing instrument.  Timoa,
who had exhibited such callous indifference at the murder of Talaloo,
was his fitting companion.  They soon found Ohoo, and succeeded in
killing him.

Strange to say, the mutineers, after these foul deeds, dwelt for a long
time in comparative peace and harmony.  It seemed as if their worst
feelings had found full vent and been expended in the double murder.  No
doubt this state of hollow peace was partly owing to the fact that the
native men, now being reduced to four in number, felt themselves to be
unable to cope with their masters, and quietly submitted to the
inevitable.

But by degrees the evil spirits in some of the party began to reassert
their power.  McCoy and Quintal in particular became very savage and
cruel.  They never hesitated to flog or knock down a native on the
slightest pretext, insomuch that these unhappy men were again driven to
plot the destruction of their masters.  Adams, Christian, and Young were
free from the stain of wanton cruelty.  Young in particular was kind to
the natives, and a favourite both with men and women.



CHAPTER TEN.

DANGERS, JOYS, TRIALS, AND MULTIPLICATION.

"I'm going to the cliffs to-day, Williams," said Young one morning.
"Will you come?"

Williams was busy at the forge under the pleasant shade of the great
banyan-tree.  Resting his hammer on the anvil, he looked up.

"No," he answered.  "I can't go till I've finished this spade.  It's the
last bit of iron we have left that'll serve for such a purpose."

"That's no reason why you should not let it lie till the afternoon or
to-morrow."

"True, but I've got another reason for pushing through with it.  Isaac
Martin says the want of a spade keeps him idle, and you know it's a pity
to encourage idleness in a lazy fellow."

"You are right.  What is Martin about just now?"

"Working at the big water-tank.  It suits him, a heavy quiet sort of job
with the pick, requiring no energy or thought,--only a sleepy sort o'
perseverance, of which long-legged Isaac has plenty."

"Come, now," returned Young, with a laugh.  "I see you are getting
jealous of Martin's superior intellect.  But where are Quintal and
McCoy?"

"Diggin' in their gardens, I suppose.  Leastwise, I heerd Mr Christian
say to Mainmast he'd seen 'em go off in that direction.  Mr Christian
himself has gone to his old outlook aloft on the mountains.  If he don't
see a sail at last it won't be for want o' keepin' a bright look-out."

The armourer smiled grimly as he thrust the edge of the half-formed
spade into the fire, and began to blow his bellows.

"You've got them to work again," said Young, referring to the bellows
which had belonged to the _Bounty_.

"Ay, patched 'em up after a fashion, though there's a good deal o'
windage somewheres.  If them rats git hold of 'em again, the
blacksmith's occupation'll be gone.  Here comes Bill Brown; p'r'aps _he_
won't object to go bird-nestin' with 'ee."

The armourer drew the glowing metal from the fire as he spoke, and sent
the bright sparks flying up into the leaves of the banyan-tree while the
botanist approached.

"I'll go, with all my heart," said Brown, on being invited by Young to
accompany him.  "We'd better take Nehow with us.  He is the best
cliff-man among the natives."

"That's just what I thought of doing," said Young, "and--ah! here comes
some one else who will be glad to go."

The midshipman's tone and manner changed suddenly as he held out both
hands by way of invitation to Sally, who came skipping forward, and ran
gleefully towards him.

Sally was no longer the nude cherub which had landed on the island.  She
had not only attained to maturer years, but was precocious both in body
and mind,--had, as we have shown, become matronly in her ideas and
actions, and was clothed in a short petticoat of native cloth, and a
little scarf of the same, her pretty little head being decorated with a
wreath of flowers culled and constructed by herself.

"No, I can't go," answered Sally to Young's invitation, with a solemn
shake of her head.

"Why not?"

"'Cause I's got to look arter babby."

Up to this period Sally had shown a decided preference for the
ungrammatical language of the seamen, though she associated freely with
Young and Christian.  Perhaps her particular fondness for John Adams may
have had something to do with this.

"Which baby, Sall?  You know your family is a pretty large one."

"Yes, there's a stunnin' lot of 'em--a'most too many for me; but I said
_the_ babby."

"Oh, I suppose you mean Charlie Christian?"

"In coorse I means Challie," replied the child, with a smile that
displayed a dazzling set of teeth, the sparkle of which was only
equalled by that of her eyes.

"Well, but you can bring Charlie along with you," said Young, "and I'll
engage to carry him and you too if you get tired.  There, run away; find
him, and fetch him quick."

Little Sall went off like the wind, and soon returned with the
redoubtable Charles in her arms.  It was all she could do to stagger
under the load; but Charlie Christian had not yet attained to facility
in walking.  He was still in the nude stage of childhood, and his
faithful nurse, being afraid lest he should get badly scratched if
dragged at a rapid pace through the bushes, had carried him.

Submitting, according to custom, in solemn and resigned surprise,
Charlie was soon seated on the shoulders of our midshipman, who led the
way to the cliffs.  William Brown followed, leading Sally by the hand,
for she refused to be carried, and Nehow brought up the rear.

The cliffs to which their steps were directed were not more than an
hour's walk from the settlement at Bounty Bay, though, for Sally's sake,
the time occupied in going was about half-an-hour longer.  It was a wild
spot which had been selected.  The towering walls of rock were rugged
with ledges, spurs, and indentations, where sea-birds in myriads gave
life to the scene, and awakened millions of echoes to their plaintive
cries.  There was a pleasant appearance of sociability about the birds
which was powerfully attractive.  Even Nehow, accustomed as he was to
such scenes, appeared to be impressed.  The middy and the botanist were
excited.  As for Sally, she was in ecstasies, and the baby seemed lost
in the profoundest fit of wonder he had experienced since the day of his
birth.

"Oh, Challie," exclaimed his nurse in a burst of laughter, "what a face
you's got!  Jis' like de fig'r'ead o' the _Bounty_."  (Sall quoted
here!) "Ain't they bootiful birds?"

She effectually prevented reply, even if such had been intended, by
suddenly seizing her little charge round the neck and kissing his right
eye passionately.  Master Charlie cared nothing for that.  He gazed past
her at the gulls with the unobliterated eye.  When she kissed him on the
left cheek, he gazed past her at the gulls with the other eye.  When she
let him go, he continued to gaze at the gulls with both eyes.  He had
often seen the same gulls at a distance, from the lower level of Bounty
Bay, but he had never before stood on their own giddy cliffs, and
watched them from their own favourite bird's-eye-view point; for there
were thousands of them sloping, diving, and wheeling in the airy abyss,
pictured against the dark blue sea below, as well as thousands more
circling upwards, floating and gyrating in the bright blue sky above.
It seemed as if giant snowflakes were trembling in the air in all
directions.  Some of the gulls came so near to those who watched them
that their black inquiring eyes became distinctly visible; others swept
towards them with rustling wings, as if intending to strike, and then
glanced sharply off, or upwards, with wild cries.

"Wouldn't it be fun to have wings?" asked Brown of Sally, as she stood
there open-mouthed and eyed.

"Oh, _wouldn't_ it?"

"If I had wings," said Young, with a touch of sadness in his tone, "I'd
steer a straight course through the air for Old England."

"I didn't know you had such a strong desire to be hanged," said Brown.

"They'd never hang me," returned Young.  "I'm innocent of the crime of
mutiny, and Captain Bligh knows it."

"Bligh would be but a broken reed to lean on," rejoined Brown, with a
shrug of contempt.  "If he liked you, he'd favour you; if he didn't,
he'd go dead against you.  I wouldn't trust myself in _his_ hands
whether innocent or guilty.  Depend upon it, Mr Young, Fletcher
Christian would have been an honour to the service if he had not been
driven all but mad by Bligh.  I don't justify Mr Christian's act--it
cannot be defended,--but I have great sympathy with him.  The only man
who deserves to be hanged for the mutiny of the _Bounty_, in my opinion,
is Mr Bligh himself; but men seldom get their due in this world, either
one way or another."

"That's a powerfully radical sentiment," said Young, laughing; "it's to
be hoped that men will at all events get their due in the next world,
and it is well for you that Pitcairn is a free republic.  But come, we
must go to work if we would have a kettle of fresh eggs.  I see a ledge
which seems accessible, and where there must be plenty of eggs, to judge
from the row the gulls are making round it.  I'll try.  See, now, that
you don't get yourself into a fix that you can't get out of.  You know
that the heads of you landsmen are not so steady as those of seamen."

"I know that the heads of landsmen are not stuffed with such conceit as
the heads of you sailors," retorted Brown, as he went off to gather
eggs.

"Now, Sally, do you stop here and take care of Charlie," said Young,
leading the little girl to a soft grassy mound, as far back from the
edge of the cliff as possible.  "Mind that you don't leave this spot
till I return.  I know I can trust you, and as for Charlie--"

"Oh, he never moves a'most, 'xcept w'en I lifts 'im.  He's _so_ good!"
interrupted Sally.

"Well, just keep a sharp eye on him, and we'll soon be back with lots of
eggs."

While Edward Young was thus cautioning the child, William Brown was busy
making his way down the cliffs to some promising ledges below, and
Nehow, the Otaheitan, clambered up the almost perpendicular face of the
part that rose above them.  [See frontispiece.]

It was interesting to watch the movements of the three men.  Each was,
in his own way, venturesome, fearless, and more or less practised in
cliff climbing.  The midshipman ascended the perpendicular face with
something of a nautical swagger, but inasmuch as the ledges, crevices,
and projections were neither so well adapted to the hands nor so sure as
ratlines and ropes, there was a wholesome degree of caution mingled with
his confidence.  When the wished-for ledge was gained, he gave relief to
his feelings in a hearty British cheer that reverberated from cliff to
cliff, causing the startled sea-gulls to drive the very echoes mad with
their clangour.

The botanist, on the other hand, proceeded with the extreme care of a
man who knew that a false step or uncertain grip might send him into the
seething mass of foam and rocks below.  But he did not hesitate or
betray want of courage in attempting any difficulty which he had made up
his mind to face.

The proceedings of Nehow, however, seemed little short of miraculous.
He appeared to run up perpendicular places like a cat; to leap where the
others crept, to scramble where his companions did not dare to venture,
and, loosely speaking, to hang on occasionally to nothing by the point
of his nose, his eyelids, or his finger-nails!  We say that he appeared
to do all this, but the gulls who watched and followed him in noisy
indignation could have told you, if they had chosen, that his eye was
quick, that his feet and hands were sure, and that he never trusted foot
or hand for one moment on a doubtful projection or crevice.

For some time all went well.  The three men soon returned, each with a
few eggs which they laid on the grass in three little heaps, to be
watched and guarded by Sally, and to be stared at in grave surprise by
Charlie.  They carried their eggs in three round baskets without lids,
and with handles which folded over on one side, so that the baskets
could be fitted into each other when not in use, or slung round the
necks of the egg-collectors while they were climbing.

The last to return to the children was William Brown.  He brought his
basket nearly half full of fine eggs, and set it down beside the two
heaps already brought in.

"Ain't they lovely, Sall?" asked Brown, wiping the perspiration from his
brow with the sleeve of his coat.  That same coat, by the way, was very
disreputable--threadbare and worn,--being four years old on the lowest
calculation, and having seen much rough service, for Brown had an
objection to the tapa cloth, and said he would stick to the old coat as
long as it would stick to him.  The truth is he felt it, with his worn
canvas trousers and Guernsey shirt, to be in some sense a last link to
"home," and he was loath to part with them.

"Lovely!" exclaimed Sally, "they's jus' bootiful."  Nothing could exceed
"bootiful" in Sally's mind--she had paid the eggs the highest possible
compliment.

Charlie did them, at the same moment, the greatest possible damage, by
sitting down in the basket, unintentionally, with an awful crash.

From the gaze of horror that he cast upwards, it was evident that he was
impressed with a strong belief that he had done something wrong, though
the result did not seem to him unpleasant.  The gaze of horror quickly
changed into one of alarm when he observed the shocked countenance of
Sally, and he burst into uncontrollable tears.

"Poor thing," said Brown, lifting him out of the mess and setting him on
his legs.  "Never mind, old man, I'll fetch you a better basketful soon.
You clean him up, Sall, and I'll be back in a jiffy."

So saying, Brown took up his basket, emptied out the mess, wiped it with
a bunch of grass, and descended the short slope to the cliff edge,
laughing as he went.

Poor Sally's shocked expression had not yet passed off when Charlie came
to a sudden stop, shut his mouth tightly and opened his eyes, as though
to say, "Well, how do you take it now?"

"Oh, Challie, but you _is_ bad to-day."

This was enough.  The shades of darkest night settled down on Charlie's
miserable soul.  Re-shutting his eyes and reopening his mouth, he poured
forth the woe of his inconsolable heart in prolonged and passionate
howling.

"No, no; O _don't_!" cried the repentant Sally, her arms round his neck
and fondling him.  "I didn't mean it.  I'm _so_ sorry.  It's me that's
bad--badder than you ever was."

But Charlie refused to be comforted.  He flung himself on the grass in
agony of spirit, to the alarm and grief of his poor nurse.

"Me's dood?" he cried, pausing suddenly, with a blaze of inquiry in his
wet visage.

"Yes, yes, good as gold--gooder, far gooder!"

Sally did not possess an enlightened conscience at that time.  She would
have said anything to quiet him, but he would not be quieted.

"Me's dood--O _dood_! ah-o-ee-aw-ee!"

The noise was bad enough, but the way he flung himself about was worse.
There was no occasion for Sally to clean him up.  Rolling thus on the
green turf made him as pure, if not bright, as a new pin; but it had
another effect, which gave Sally a fright such as she had never up to
that time conceived of, and never afterwards forgot.

In his rollings Charlie came to the edge of the knoll where a thick but
soft bush concealed a ledge, or drop, of about two feet.  Through this
bush he passed in a moment.  Sally leaped up and sprang to the spot,
just in time to see her charge rolling helplessly down the slope to what
appeared to be certain death.

There was but a short slope between the bush and the cliff.  Rotund
little Charlie "fetched way" as he advanced, despite one or two feeble
clutches at the rocks.

If Sally had been a few years older she would have bounded after him
like a goat, but she had only reached that period of life which rendered
petrifaction possible.  She stood ridged for a few moments with heart,
head, and eyes apparently about to burst.  At last her voice found vent
in a shriek so awful that it made the heart of Young, high on the cliffs
above, stand still.  It had quite the contrary effect on the legs of
Brown.  That cautious man chanced to be climbing the cliff slowly with a
fresh basketful of eggs.  Hearing the shriek, and knowing full well that
it meant imminent danger, he leaped up the last few steps of the
precipice with a degree of heedless agility that equalled that of Nehow
himself.  He was just in time to see Charlie coming straight at him like
a cannon shot.  It was really an awful situation.  To have received the
shock while his footing was still precarious would have insured his own
destruction as well as that of the child.  Feeling this, he made a
kangaroo-like bound over the edge of the cliff, and succeeded in
planting both feet and knees firmly on a grassy foundation, just in
time.  Letting go his burden, he spread out both arms.  Charlie came
into his bosom with extreme violence, but he remained firm, while the
basket of eggs went wildly downward to destruction.

Meanwhile, Sally stood there with clasped hands and glazed eyes, sending
up shriek after shriek, which sent successive stabs to the heart of
Edward Young, as he scurried and tumbled, rather than ran, down from the
upper cliffs towards her.

In a few minutes he came in pale and panting.  A minute later and Nehow
ran round a neighbouring point like a greyhound.

"All right?" gasped Young.

"All right," replied Brown.

"Wheeaow-ho!" exclaimed Nehow, expanding his cavernous mouth with a grin
of satisfaction.

It is worthy of record that little Sally did not revisit these
particular cliffs for several years after that exciting and eventful
day, and that she returned to the settlement with a beating and grateful
heart.

It must not be supposed that Charlie Christian remained for any great
length of time "the babby" of that infant colony.  By no means.  In a
short time after the event which we have just described, there came to
Pitcairn a little sister to Charlie.  She was named Mary, despite the
earnest suggestion of Isaac Martin, that as she was "born of a
Wednesday," she ought to be called by that name.

Of course Otaheitan Sally at once devoted herself to the newcomer, but
she did not on that account forsake her first love.  No; her little
brown heart remained true to Charlie, though she necessarily gave him
less of her society than before.

Then Mrs Quintal gave her husband the additional burden, as he styled
it, of a daughter, whom he named Sarah, for no other reason, that any
one could make out, than the fact that his wife did not like it, and his
friend McCoy had advised him on no account to adopt it.  Thus was little
Matthew Quintal also provided with a sister.

Shortly after that, John Adams became a moderately happy father, and
called the child Dinah, because he had never had a female relation of
that name; indeed, he had never possessed a relation of any kind
whatever that he knew of, having been a London street-boy, a mere waif,
when he first became aware, so to speak, of his own existence.

About the same time that little Dinah was born, John Mills rushed one
day into the yam-field of Edward Young, where the midshipman was at
work, seized his hand, and exclaimed--"I wish you joy, sir, it's a
_girl_!"

Not to be out-done in civility, Young carefully watched his opportunity,
and, only four days later, rushed into the yam-garden of John Mills,
where he was smoking, seized his hand, and exclaimed--"I congratulate
you, Mills, it's a _boy_!"  So, Young called his daughter Folly, because
he had an old aunt of that name who had been kind to him; and Mills
called his son John, after himself, who, he said, was the kindest friend
he ever had.

By this time poor Otaheitan Sally became overburdened with care.  It
became evident that she could not manage to look after so large a family
of helpless infants, even though her services should only be required
when the mothers were busy in the gardens.  Mrs Isabella Christian,
_alias_ Mainmast, was therefore relieved of part of her field duties,
and set apart for infantry drill.

Thus the rising generation multiplied and grew apace; and merry innocent
laughter and gleeful childlike shouts began to resound among the cliffs
and groves of the lonely refuge of the mutineers.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

SPORTING, SCHOOLING AND MORALISING.

Time flew by with rapid wing, and the infant colony prospered in many
ways, though not in all.

One day John Adams took down his gun from the pegs on which it rested
above the door of his hut.  Saying to his wife that he was going to
shoot a few cats and bring home a pig for supper, he sallied forth, and
took the footpath that led to one of the darkest recesses of the lonely
island.

Lest the reader should imagine that Adams was a cruel man, we must
explain that, several years having elapsed since the landing of the
mutineers on Pitcairn, the cats had by that time multiplied excessively,
and instead of killing the rats, which was their duty, had taken to
hunting and devouring the chickens.  For this crime the race of cats was
condemned to death, and the sentence was put in force whenever
opportunity offered.

Fortunately, the poultry had also multiplied quickly, and the hogs had
increased to such a degree that many of them had been allowed to take to
a wild life in the woods, where they were hunted and shot when required
for food.  Sporting, however, was not often practised, because the
gunpowder which had been saved from the _Bounty_ had by this time
sensibly diminished.  Strange to say, it did not seem to occur to any of
the men that the bow and arrow might become of use when guns became
useless.  Probably they looked upon such weapons with contempt, for they
only made little bows, as playthings for the children, with harmless,
blunt-headed arrows.

On turning from the clearing into the bush, Adams came on a sight which
amused him not a little.  In an open place, partially screened from the
sun by the graceful leaves of palms and bananas, through which was
obtained a glimpse of the sea, Otaheitan Sally was busily engaged in
playing at "school."  Seated on the end of a felled tree was Thursday
October Christian, who had become, as Isaac Martin expressed it, a great
lout of a boy for his age.

Thursday was at the head of the class, not in virtue of his superior
knowledge, but his size.  He was a strong-made fellow, with a bright,
intelligent, good-humoured face, like that of his father.  Next to him
sat little Matt Quintal, rather heavy and stupid in expression, but
quiet and peaceable in temperament, like his mother.  Next came Daniel
McCoy, whose sharp sparkling countenance seemed the very embodiment of
mischief, in which quality he resembled his father.  Fortunately for
little Dan, his mother was the gentlest and most unselfish of all the
native women, and these qualities, transmitted to her son, were the
means of neutralising the evil which he inherited from his father.
After him came Elizabeth Mills, whose pretty little whitey-brown face
was the counterpart of her mother's in expression.  Indeed, all of these
little ones inherited in a great degree that sweet pliability of
character for which the Otaheitan women were, and we believe still are,
famous.  Last, but not least, sat Charlie Christian at the bottom of the
class.

"Now, hol' up your heads an' pay 'tention," said the teacher, with the
air of authority suitable to her position.

It may be observed here, that Sally's knowledge of schooling and
class-work was derived from Edward Young, who sometimes amused himself
and the children by playing at "school," and even imparted a little
instruction in this way.

"Don't wink, Dan'l McCoy," said Sally, in a voice which was meant to be
very stern, but was laughably sweet.

"P'ease, Missis, Toc's vinkin' too."  Thus had Dan learned to express
Thursday's name by his initials.

There was a touch of McCoy senior in this barefaced attempt to divert
attention from himself by criminating another.

"I know that Toc is winking," replied Sally, holding up a finger of
reproof; "but he winks with _both_ eyes, an' you does it with only
_one_, which is naughty.  An' when you speaks to me, sir, don't say
vink--say wink."

"Yis, mum," replied little Dan, casting down his eyes with a look of
humility so intense that there was a sudden irruption of dazzling teeth
along the whole class.

"Now, Toc, how much does two and three make?"

"Six," replied Thursday, without a moment's hesitation.

"Oh, you booby!" said Sally.

"P'ease, mum, he ain't booby, him's dux," said Dan.

"But he's a booby for all that, sir.  You hold you tongue, Dan'l, an'
tell me what three and two makes."

"P'ease, mum, I can't," answered Dan, folding his hands meekly; "but
p'r'aps Charlie can; he's clebber you know.  Won't you ax 'im?"

"Yes, I will ask 'im.  Challie, what's three an' two?"

If Charlie had been asked how to square the circle, he could not have
looked more innocently blank, but the desire to please Sally was in him
a sort of passion.  Gazing at her intently with reddening face, he made
a desperate guess, and by the merest chance said, "Five."

Sally gave a little shriek of delight, and looked in triumph at Dan.
That little creature, who seemed scarce old enough to receive a joke,
much less to make one, looked first at Charlie and winked with his left
eye, then at Thursday and winked with his right one.

"You're winkin' again, sir," cried Sally, sharply.

"Yis, mum, but with _bof_ eyes this time, vich isn't naughty, you know."

"But it _is_ naughty, sir, unless you do it with both eyes at _once_."

"Oh, with bof at vunce!" exclaimed Dan, who thereupon shut both eyes
very tight indeed, and then opened them in the widest possible condition
of surprise.

This was too much for Sally.  She burst into a hearty fit of laughter.
Her class, being ever ready to imitate such an example, followed suit.
Charlie tumbled forward and rolled on the grass with delight, little Dan
kicked up his heels and tumbled back over the log in ecstasy, and
Thursday October swayed himself to and fro, while the other two got up
and danced with glee.

It was while the school was in this disorganised state that John Adams
came upon them.

"That's right, Sall," he said, heartily, as he patted the child's head.
"You keep 'em at it.  Nothin' like havin' their noses held to the
grindstone when they're young.  You didn't see anybody pass this way,
did you?"

"No," replied the child, looking earnestly up into the seaman's
countenance.

It was a peculiarity of these children that they could change from gay
to grave with wonderful facility.  The mere putting of the question had
changed the current of their minds as they earnestly and gravely strove
to recollect whether any one had been seen to pass during the morning.

"No," repeated Sally, "don't think nobody have pass this mornin'."

"Yis, there vas vun," said little Dan, who had become more profoundly
thoughtful than the others.

"Ay, who was that, my little man?" said Adams.

"Isaac Martin's big sow," replied Dan, gravely.

The shout of laughter that followed this was not in proportion to the
depth but the unexpectedness of the joke, and John Adams went on his
way, chuckling at the impudence of what he called the precocious snipe.

In a short time the seaman found himself in a thicket, so dense that it
was with difficulty he could make his way through the luxuriant
underwood.  On his left hand he could see the sky through the leaves, on
his right the steep sides of the mountain ridge that divided the island.

Coming to a partially open space, he thought he saw the yellow side of a
hog.  He raised his gun to fire, when a squeaky grunt told him that this
was a mother reposing with her family.  He contented himself, therefore,
with a look at them, and gave vent to a shout that sent them scampering
down the hill.

Soon after that he came upon a solitary animal and shot it.

The report of the musket and the accompanying yell brought the Otaheitan
man Tetaheite to his side.

"Well met, Tighty," (so he styled him); "I want you to carry that pig to
Mrs Adams.  You didn't see any cats about, did you?"

"No, sar."

"Have you seen Mr Christian at the tanks this morning?"

"Yis, sar; but him's no dere now.  Him's go to de mountain-top."

"Ha!  I thought so.  Well, take the pig to my wife, Tighty, and say I'll
be back before dark."

The native threw the animal over his broad shoulders, and Adams directed
his steps to the well-known cave on the mountain-top, where the chief of
the mutineers spent so much of his leisure time.

After the murder of the two natives, Talaloo and Ohoo, Fletcher
Christian had become very morose.  It seemed as if a fit of deep
melancholy had taken entire possession of him.  His temper had become
greatly soured.  He would scarcely condescend to hold intercourse with
any one, and sought the retirement of his outlook in the cave on the
mountain-top, where few of his comrades ventured to disturb him, save
when matters of importance claimed his immediate attention.

Latterly, however, a change had been observed in his demeanour.  He had
become gentle, almost amiable, and much more like his former self before
the blighting influence of Bligh had fallen on him.  Though he seldom
laughed, he would chat pleasantly with his companions, as in days gone
by, and frequently took pains to amuse the children.  In particular, he
began to go frequently for long walks in the woods with his own sons--
little Charlie on his back, and Thursday October gambolling by his side;
also Otaheitan Sally, for that careful nurse refused to acknowledge any
claim to the guardianship of Charlie as being superior to her own, not
even that of a father.

But Fletcher Christian, although thus changed for the better in many
respects, did not change in his desire for solitude.  His visits to the
outlook became not less but rather more frequent and prolonged than
before.

He took no one into his confidence.  The only man of the party who ever
ventured to visit him in his "outlook" was Edward Young; but his visits
were not frequent, though they were usually protracted when they did
take place, and the midshipman always returned from them with an
expression of seriousness, which, it was observed, never passed quickly
away.  But Young was not more disposed to be communicative as to these
visits than Christian himself, and his comrades soon ceased to think or
care about the matter.

With his mind, meditating on these things, John Adams slowly wended his
way up the mountain-side, until he drew near to the elevated hermitage
of his once superior officer, now his comrade in disgrace and exile.

Stout John Adams felt his blunt, straightforward, seafaring spirit
slightly abashed as he thus ventured to intrude on the privacy of one
for whom, despite his sins and their terrible consequences, he had never
lost respect.  It felt like going into the captain's cabin without
orders.  The seaman's purpose was to remonstrate with Christian for thus
daily giving himself up, as he expressed it, "to such a long spell o'
the blues."

Drawing near to the entrance of the cavern, he was surprised to hear the
sound of voices within.

"Humph, somebody here before me," he muttered, coming to an abrupt
pause, and turning, as if with the intention of retracing his steps,--
but the peculiarity of the sounds that issued from the cave held him as
if spellbound.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

CONVERSE IN THE CAVE--CRUELTY, PUNISHMENT, AND REVELRY.

It was Fletcher Christian's voice,--there could be no doubt about that;
but it was raised in very unfamiliar tones, and it went on steadily,
with inflections, as if in pathos and entreaty.

"Can he be praying?" thought Adams, in surprise, for the tones, though
audible, were not articulate.  Suddenly they waxed louder, and "God be
merciful to me, a sinner!" broke on the listener's ear.  "Oh bless and
deliver the men whom I have led astray--poor Edward Young, John Adams,
Isaac Martin--"

The tones here sank and again became inarticulate, but Adams could not
doubt that Christian was praying, by name, for the rest of his
companions.  Presently the name of Jesus was heard distinctly, and then
the voice ceased.

Ashamed to have been thus unintentionally led into eavesdropping, Adams
coughed, and made as much noise as possible while stooping to pass under
the low entrance to the cave.  There was no door of any kind, but a turn
in the short passage concealed the cave itself from view.  Before
entering, Adams stopped.

"May I come in, sir?" he called out.

"Is that you, Adams?  By all means come in."

Christian was seated, partly in the shadow, partly in the light that
streamed in from the seaward opening.  A quiet smile was on his lips,
and his hand rested on an open book.  It was the old Bible of the
_Bounty_.

"Beg pardon, sir," said Adams, touching his hat.  "Hope I don't intrude.
I heard you was--was--"

"Praying," said Christian.  "Yes, Adams, I have been praying."

"Well, sir," said Adams, feeling rather awkward, but assuming an air of
encouragement, "you've got no reason to be ashamed of that."

"Quite true, Adams, and I'm _not_ ashamed of it.  I've not only got no
reason to be ashamed of praying, but I have strong reason to be thankful
that I'm inclined to pray.  Sit down, Adams, on the ledge opposite.
You've got something on your mind, I see, that you want to get rid of.
Come, let's have it."

There was nothing but good-natured encouragement in Christian's look and
tone; nevertheless, John Adams felt it extremely difficult to speak, and
wished with all his heart that he had not come to the cave.  But he was
too bold and outspoken a man to be long oppressed with such feelings.
Clearing his voice, he said, "Well, Mr Christian, here's what I've got
to say.  I've bin thinkin' for a long time past that it's of no manner
of use your comin' up here day after day an' mopin' away about what
can't be mended, an' goin' into the blues.  You'll excuse me, sir, for
bein' so free, but you shouldn't do it, sir.  You can't alter what's bin
done by cryin' over spilt milk, an' it comes heavy on the rest of us,
like.  Indeed it do.  So I've made so bold as to come an' say you'd
better drop it and come along with me for a day's shootin' of the cats
an' pigs, and then we'll go home an' have a royal supper an' a song or
two, or maybe a game at blind-man's-buff with the child'n.  That's
what'll do you good, sir, an' make you forget what's past, take my word
for it, Mister Christian."

While Adams was speaking, Christian's expression varied, passing from
the kindly smile with which he had received his friend to a look of
profound gravity.

"You are both right and wrong, Adams, like the rest of us," he said,
grasping the sailor's extended hand; "thank you all the same for your
advice and good feeling.  You are wrong in supposing that anything short
of death can make me forget the past or lessen my feeling of
self-condemnation; but you are right in urging me to cease moping here
in solitude.  I have been told that already much more strongly than you
have put it."

"Have you, sir?" said Adams, with a look of surprise.

"Yes," said Christian, touching the open Bible, "God's book has told me.
It has told me more than that.  It has told me there is forgiveness for
the chief of sinners."

"You say the truth, sir," returned Adams, with an approving nod.
"Repenting as you do, sir, an' as I may say we all do, of what is past
and can't be helped, a merciful God will no doubt forgive us all."

"That's not it, that's not it," said Christian, quickly.  "Repentance is
not enough.  Why, man, do you think if I went to England just now, and
said ever so earnestly or so truly, `I repent,' that I'd escape swinging
at the yard-arm?"

"Well, I can't say you would," replied the sailor, somewhat puzzled;
"but then man's ways ain't the same as God's ways; are they, sir?"

"That's true, Adams; but justice is always the same, whether with God or
man.  Besides, if repentance alone would do, where is the need of a
Saviour?"

Adams's puzzled look increased, and finally settled on the horizon.  The
matter had evidently never occurred to him before in that light.  After
a short silence he turned again to Christian.

"Well, sir, to be frank with you, I must say that I don't rightly
understand it."

"But I do," said Christian, again laying his hand on the Bible, "at
least I think I do.  God has forgiven me for Jesus Christ's sake, and
His Spirit has made me repent and accept the forgiveness, and now I feel
that there is work, serious work, for me to do.  I have just been
praying that God would help me to do it.  I'll explain more about this
hereafter.  Meanwhile, I will go with you to the settlement, and try at
least some parts of your plan.  Come."

There was a quiet yet cheerful air of alacrity about Fletcher Christian
that day, so strongly in contrast with his previous sad and even moody
deportment, that John Adams could only note it in silent surprise.

"Have you been readin' much o' that book up here, sir?" he asked, as
they began to descend the hill.

"Do you mean God's book?"

"Yes."

"Well, yes, I've been reading it, off and on, for a considerable time
past; but I didn't quite see the way of salvation until recently."

"Ha! that's it; that's what must have turned your head."

"What!" exclaimed Christian, with a smiling glance at his perplexed
comrade.  "Do you mean turned in the right or the wrong direction?"

"Well, whether right or wrong, it's not for me to say but for you to
prove, Mr Christian."

This reply seemed to set the mind of the other wandering, for he
continued to lead his companion down the hill in silence after that.  At
last he said--

"John Adams, whatever turn my head may have got, I shall have reason to
thank God for it all the days of my life--ay, and afterwards throughout
eternity."

The silence which ensued after this remark was broken soon after by a
series of yells, which came from the direction of Matthew Quintal's
house, and caused both Christian and Adams to frown as they hastened
forward.

"There's one man that needs forgiveness," said Adams, sternly.  "Whether
he'll get it or not is a question."

Christian made no reply.  He knew full well that both McCoy and Quintal
were in the habit of flogging their slaves, Nehow and Timoa, and
otherwise treating them with great cruelty.  Indeed, there had reached
him a report of treatment so shocking that he could scarcely credit it,
and thought it best at the time to take no notice of the rumour; but
afterwards he was told of a repetition of the cruelty, and now he seemed
about to witness it with his own eyes.  Burning indignation at first
fired his soul, and he resolved to punish Quintal.  Then came the
thought, "Who was it that tempted Quintal to mutiny, and placed him in
his present circumstances?"  The continued cries of agony, however,
drove all connected thought from his brain as he ran with Adams towards
the house.

They found poor Nehow tied to a cocoa-nut tree, and Quintal beside him.
He had just finished giving him a cruel flogging, and was now engaged in
rubbing salt into the wounds on his lacerated back.

With a furious shout Christian rushed forward.  Quintal faced round
quickly.  He was livid with passion, and raised a heavy stick to strike
the intruders; but Christian guarded the blow with his left arm, and
with his right fist knocked the monster down.  At the same time Adams
cut the lashings that fastened Nehow, who instantly fled to the bush.

Quintal, although partially stunned, rose at once and faced his
adversary, but although possessed of bulldog courage, he could not
withstand the towering wrath of Christian.  He shrank backward a step,
with a growl like a cowed but not conquered tiger.

"The slave is _mine_!" he hissed between his teeth.

"He is _not_; he belongs to God," said Christian.  "And hark 'ee,
Matthew Quintal, if ever again you do such a dastardly, cowardly, brutal
act, I'll take on myself the office of your executioner, and will beat
out your brains.  _You_ know me, Quintal; I never threaten twice."

Christian's tone was calm, though firm, but there was something so
deadly in the glare of his clear blue eyes, that Quintal retreated
another step.  In doing so he tripped over a root and fell prone upon
the ground.

"Ha!" exclaimed Adams, with a bitter laugh, "you'd better lie still.
It's your suitable position, you blackguard."

Without another word he and Christian turned on their heels and walked
away.

"This is a bad beginning to my new resolves," said Christian, with a
sigh, as they descended the hill.

"A bad beginning," echoed Adams, "to give a well-deserved blow to as
great a rascal as ever walked?"

"No, not exactly that; but--Well, no matter, we'll dismiss the subject,
and go have a lark with the children."

Christian said this with something like a return to his previous
good-humour.  A few minutes later they passed under the banyan-tree at
the side of Adams's house, and entered the square of the village, where
children, kittens, fowls, and pigs were disporting themselves in joyous
revelry.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

TYRANTS AND PLOTTERS.

Leaving Christian and Adams to carry out their philanthropic intentions,
we return to Matthew Quintal, whom we left sprawling on the ground in
his garden.

This garden was situated in one of the little valleys not far from
Bounty Bay.  Higher up in the same valley stood the hut of McCoy.
Towards this hut Quintal, after gathering himself up, wended his way in
a state of unenviable sulkiness.

His friend McCoy was engaged at the time in smoking his evening pipe,
but that pipe did not now seem to render him much comfort, for he
growled and puffed in a way that showed he was not soothed by it, the
reason being that there was no tobacco in the pipe.  That weed,--which
many people deem so needful and so precious that one sometimes wonders
how the world managed to exist before Sir Walter Raleigh put it to its
unnatural use--had at last been exhausted on Pitcairn Island, and the
mutineers had to learn to do without it.  Some of them said they didn't
care, and submitted with a good grace to the inevitable.  Others growled
and swore and fretted, saying that they knew they couldn't live without
it.  To their astonishment, and no doubt to their disgust, they did
manage to live quite as healthily as before, and with obvious advantage
to health and teeth.  Two there were, however, namely, Quintal and
McCoy, who would not give in, but vowed with their usual violence of
language that they would smoke seaweed rather than want their pipes.
Like most men of powerful tongue and weak will, they did not fulfil
their vows.  Seaweed was left to the gulls, but they tried almost every
leaf and flower on the island without success.  Then they scraped and
dried various kinds of bark, and smoked that.  Then they tried the
fibrous husk of the cocoa-nut, and then the dried and pounded kernel,
but all in vain.  Smoke, indeed, they produced in huge volumes, but of
satisfaction they had none.  It was a sad case.

"If we could only taste the flavour o' baccy ever so mild," they were
wont to say to their comrades, "the craving would be satisfied."

To which Isaac Martin, who had no mercy on them, would reply, "If ye
hadn't created the cravin' boys, ye wouldn't have bin growlin' and
hankerin' after satisfaction."

As we have said, McCoy was smoking, perhaps we should say agonising,
over his evening pipe.  His man, or slave, Timoa, was seated on the
opposite side of the hut, playing an accompaniment on the flute to
McCoy's wife and two other native women, who were singing.  The flute
was one of those rough-and-ready yellow things, like the leg of a chair,
which might serve equally well as a policeman's baton or a musical
instrument.  It had been given by one of the sailors to Timoa, who
developed a wonderful capacity for drawing unmusical sounds out of it.
The singing was now low and plaintive, anon loud and harsh--always wild,
like the song of the savages.  The two combined assisted the pipe in
soothing William McCoy--at least so we may assume, because he had
commanded the music, and lay in his bunk in the attitude of one enjoying
it.  He sometimes even added to the harmony by uttering a bass growl at
the pipe.

During a brief pause in the accompaniment Timoa became aware of a low
hiss outside, as if of a serpent.  With glistening eyes and head turned
to one side he listened intently.  The hiss was repeated, and Timoa
became aware that one of his kinsmen wished to speak with him in secret.
He did not dare, however, to move.

McCoy was so much taken up with his pipe that he failed to notice the
hiss, but he observed the stoppage of the flute's wail.

"Why don't you go on, you brute!" he cried, angrily, at the same time
throwing one of his shoes at the musician, which hit him on the shin and
caused him a moment's sharp pain.

Timoa would not suffer his countenance to betray his feelings.  He
merely raised the flute to his lips, exchanged a glance with the women,
and continued his dismal strain.  His mind, however, was so engrossed
with his comrade outside that the harmony became worse than ever.  Even
McCoy, who professed himself to be no judge of music, could not stand
it, and he was contemplating the application of the other shoe, when a
step was heard outside.  Next moment his friend Quintal strode in and
sat down on a stool beside the door.

"Oh, I say, Matt," cried McCoy, "who put that cocoa-nut on the bridge of
your nose?"

"Who?" grow led Quintal, with an oath.  "Who on the island would dare to
do it but that domineerin' upstart, Christian?"

"Humph!" answered McCoy, with a slight sneer.  He followed this up with
a curse on domineerers in general, and on Fletcher Christian in
particular.

It is right to observe here that though we have spoken of these two men
as friends, it must not be understood that they were friendly.  They had
no personal regard for each other, and no tastes in common, save the
taste for tobacco and drink; but finding that they disliked each other
less than they disliked their comrades, they were thus drawn into a
hollow friendship, as it were, under protest.

"How did it happen?" asked McCoy.

"Give us a whiff an' I'll tell 'ee.  What sort o' stuff are you tryin'
now?"

"Cocoa-nut chips ground small.  The best o' baccy, Matt, for lunatics,
which we was when we cast anchor on this island.  Here, fill your pipe
an' fire away.  You won't notice the difference if you don't think about
it.  My! what a cropper you must have come down when you got that dab on
your proboscis!"

"Stop your howlin'," shouted Quintal to the musicians, in order to vent
some of the spleen which his friend's remark had stirred up.

Timoa, not feeling sure whether the command was meant for the women or
himself, or, perhaps, regarding McCoy as the proper authority from whom
such an order should come, continued his dismal blowing.

Quintal could not stand this in his roused condition.  Leaping up, he
sprang towards Timoa, snatched the flute from his hand, broke it over
his head, and kicked him out of the hut.

Excepting the blow and the kick, this was just what the Otaheitan
wanted.  He ran straight into the bush, which was by that time growing
dark under the shades of evening, and found Nehow leaning against a tree
and groaning heavily, though in a suppressed tone.

"Quick, come with me to the spring and wash my back," he cried, starting
up.

They did not converse in broken English now, of course, but in their
native tongue.

"What has happened?" asked Timoa, anxiously.

While Nehow explained the nature of the cruel treatment he had just
received, they ran together to the nearest water-course.  It chanced to
be pretty full at the time, heavy rain having fallen the day before.

"There; oh! ha-a! not so hard," groaned the unfortunate man, as his
friend laved the water on his lacerated back.

In a few minutes the salt was washed out of the wounds, and Nehow began
to feel easier.

"Where is Menalee?" he asked, abruptly, as he sat down under the deep
shadow of a banyan-tree.

"In his master's hut, I suppose," answered Timoa.  "Go find him and
Tetaheite; fetch them both here," he said, with an expression of
ferocity on his dark face.

Timoa looked at him with an intelligent grin.

"The white men must die," he said.

"Yes," Nehow replied, "the white men shall die."

Timoa pointed to the lump which had been raised on his shin, grinned
again, and turning quickly round, glided into the underwood like an evil
spirit of the night.

At that time Menalee was engaged in some menial work in the hut of John
Mills.  Managing to attract his attention, Timoa sent him into the woods
to join Nehow.

When Timoa crept forward, Tetaheite was standing near to a large bush,
watching with intense interest the ongoings of Christian, Adams, and
Young.  These three, in pursuance of the philanthropic principle which
had begun to operate, were playing an uproarious game with the children
round a huge bonfire; but there was no "method in their madness;" the
children, excepting Thursday October Christian and Sally, were still too
young for concerted play.  They were still staggerers, and the game was
simply one of romps.

Tetaheite's good-humoured visage was glistening in the firelight, the
mouth expanded from ear to ear, and the eyes almost closed.

Suddenly he became aware of a low hissing sound.  The mouth closed, and
the eyes opened so abruptly, that there seemed some necessary connection
between the two acts.  Moving quietly round the bush until he got into
its shadow, his dark form melted from the scene without any one
observing his disappearance.

Soon the four conspirators were seated in a dark group under shade of
the trees.

"The time has come when the black man must be revenged," said Nehow.
"Look my back.  Salt was rubbed into these wounds.  It is not the first
time.  It shall be the last!  Some of you have suffered in the same
way."

It scarcely needed this remark to call forth looks of deadly hate on the
Otaheitan faces around him.

"The white men must die," he continued.  "They have no mercy.  We will
show none."

Even in the darkness of that secluded spot the glistening of the eyes of
these ill-treated men might have been seen as they gave ready assent to
this proposal in low guttural tones.

"How is it to be done?" asked Menalee, after a short pause.

"That is what we have met to talk about," returned Nehow.  "I would hear
what my brothers have to say.  When they have spoken I will open my
mouth."

The group now drew closer together, and speaking in still lower tones,
as if they feared that the very bushes might overhear and betray them,
they secretly plotted the murder of the mutineers.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE INFLUENCE OF INFANCY, ALSO OF VILLAINY.

While the dark plots referred to in the last chapter were being hatched,
another life was introduced into the little community in the form of a
third child to Fletcher Christian,--a little girl.  Much though this man
loved his two boys, a tenderer, though not, perhaps, a deeper region of
his heart was touched by his daughter.  He at once named her Mary.  Who
can tell the multitude of old memories and affections which were revived
by this name?  Might it not have been that a mother, a sister, some lost
though not forgotten one, came forcibly to mind, and accounted, in some
degree at least, for the wealth of affection which he lavished on the
infant from the day of her birth?  We cannot tell, but certain it is
that there never was a more devoted father than this man, who in England
had been branded with all that was ferocious, mean, desperate,--this
hardened outlaw, this chief of the mutineers.

Otaheitan mothers are not particular in the matter of infant costume.
Little Mary's dress may be described in one word--nothing.  Neither are
such mothers much troubled with maternal anxieties.  Long before a
European baby would have been let out of the hands of mother or nurse,
even for a moment, little Molly Christian was committed to the care of
her delighted father, who daily bore her off to a favourite resort among
the cliffs, and there played with her.

One day, on reaching his place of retirement, he was surprised to find a
man in possession before him.  Drawing nearer, he observed that the man
also had a baby in his arms.

"Why, I declare, it's Edward Young!" he exclaimed, on going up.

"Of course it is," said the midshipman, smiling, as he held his own
little daughter Jane aloft.  "Do you think you are to have it all to
yourself?  And do you imagine that yours is the only baby in the world
worth looking at?"

"You are right, Young," returned Christian, with the nearest approach to
a laugh he had made for years.  "Come now," he added, sitting down on a
rock, and placing little Moll tenderly in the hollow of his left arm, so
as to make her face his friend, "let's set them up, and compare notes;
isn't she a beauty?"

"No doubt of it whatever; and isn't mine ditto?" asked the midshipman,
sitting down, and placing little Poll in a similar position on his right
arm.

"But, I say, if you and I are to get on amicably, we mustn't praise our
own babies.  Let it be an agreement that you praise my Poll, and I'll
praise your Moll.  Don't they make lovely _pendants_!  Come, let us
change them for a bit."

Christian agreeing to this, the infants were exchanged, and thereupon
these two fathers lay down on the soft grass, and perpetrated practical
jokes upon, and talked as much ineffable nonsense to, those two
whitey-brown balls, as if they had been splendid specimens of orthodox
pink and white.  It was observed, however, by the more sagacious of the
wondering gulls that circled round them, that a state of perfect
satisfaction was not attained until the babies were again exchanged, and
each father had become exclusively engrossed with his own particular
ball.

"Now, I say, Fletcher," remarked Young, rising, and placing himself
nearer his friend, "it's all very well for you and me to waste our time
and make fools of ourselves here; but I didn't merely come to show off
my Polly.  I came to ask what you think of that rumour we heard last
night, that there has been some sort of plotting going on among the
Otaheitan men."

"I don't think anything of it at all," replied Christian, whose
countenance at once assumed that look of gravity which had become
habitual to him since the day of the mutiny.  "They have had too good
reason to plot, poor fellows, but I have such faith in their native
amiability of disposition, that I don't believe they will ever think of
anything beyond a brief show of rebellion."

"I also have had faith in their amiability," rejoined Young; "but some
of us, I fear, have tried them too severely.  I don't like the looks
they sometimes give us now.  We did wrong at the first in treating them
as servants."

"No doubt we did, but it would have been difficult to do otherwise,"
said Christian; "they fell so naturally into the position of servants of
their own accord, regarding us, as they did, as superior beings.  We
should have considered their interests when we divided the land, no
doubt.  However, that can't well be remedied now."

"Perhaps not," remarked Young, in an absent tone.  "It would be well,
however, to take some precautions."

"Come, we can discuss this matter as we go home," said Christian,
rising.  "I have to work in my yam-plot to-day, and must deliver Molly
to her mother."

They both rose and descended the slope that led to the village, chatting
as they went.

Now, although the native men were of one mind as to the slaying of the
Englishmen, they seemed to have some difference of opinion as to the
best method of putting their bloody design in execution.  Menalee,
especially, had many objections to make to the various proposals of his
countrymen.  In fact, this wily savage was deceitful.  Like Quintal and
McCoy among the whites, he was among the blacks a bad specimen of
humanity.

The consequence was that Timoa and Nehow, being resolved to submit no
longer to the harsh treatment they had hitherto received, ran away from
their persecutors, and took refuge in the bush.

To those who have travelled much about this world, it may sound absurd
to talk of hiding away in an island of such small size; but it must be
borne in mind that the miniature valleys and hills of the interior were,
in many places, very rugged and densely clothed with jungle, so that it
was, in reality, about as difficult to catch an agile native among them
as to catch a rabbit in a whin-field.

Moreover, the two desperate men carried off two muskets and ammunition,
so that it was certain to be a work of danger to attempt their
recapture.  In these circumstances, Christian and Young thought it best
to leave them alone for a time.

"You may be sure," said the former, as they joined their comrades, "that
they'll soon tire of rambling, especially when their ammunition is
spent."

Quintal, who stood with all the other men by the forge watching John
Williams as he wrought at a piece of red-hot iron, and overheard the
remark, did not, he said, feel so sure of that.  Them niggers was fond
o' their liberty, and it was his opinion they should get up a grand
hunt, and shoot 'em down off-hand.  There would be no peace till that
was done.

"There would be no peace even after that was done," said Isaac Martin,
with a leer, "unless we shot you along wi' them."

"It's impossible either to shoot or drown Matt Quintal, for he's born to
be hanged," said McCoy, sucking viciously at his cocoa-nut-loaded pipe,
which did not seem to draw well.

"That's true," cried Mills, with a laugh, in which all the party except
Christian joined more or less sarcastically according to humour.

"Oh, mother," exclaimed Otaheitan Sally, going into her hut on tiptoe a
few minutes later, with her great eyes dilated in horror, "the white
mens is talkin' of shootin' Timoa and Nehow!"

"Never mind, dear," replied her mother in her own language, "it's only
talk.  They'll never do such a thing.  I'm sure Mr Young did not agree
to help in such a deed, did he?"

"O no, mother," answered Sally, with tremendous emphasis; "he said it
would be very _very_, wicked to do such tings."

"So it would, dear.  No fear.  It's only talk."

Satisfied with this assurance, Sally went off with a cleared visage to
superintend some operation in connection with her ever-increasing
infantry charge, probably to pay some special attention to her favourite
Charlie, or to chaff "that booby" Thursday October, though, to say
truth, Thursday was no booby, but a smart intelligent fellow.

The very next day after that, Timoa and Nehow came down to Edward Young
as he was at work alone in his yam-field.  This field was at a
considerable distance from the settlement, high up on the mountain-side.
The two men had left their weapons behind them.

"We's comed for give you a helpin' hand, Missr Yong, if you no lay hands
on us," said Nehow.

"I have no wish to lay hands on you," replied Young; "besides, I have no
right to do so.  You know I never regarded you as slaves, nor did I
approve of your bad treatment.  But let me advise you to rejoin us
peaceably, and I promise to do what I can to make things go easier."

"Nebber!" exclaimed Nehow, fiercely.

"Well, it will be the worse for yourselves in the long-run," said Young,
"for Quintal and McCoy will be sure to go after you at last and shoot
you."

The two men looked at each other when he said that, and smiled
intelligently.

"However, if you choose to help me now," continued Young, "I'll be
obliged to you, and will pay you for what you do."

The men set to work with a will, for they were fond of the kindly
midshipman; but they kept a bright look-out all the time, lest any of
the other Englishmen should come up and find them there.

For two or three evenings in succession Timoa and Nehow came to Young's
field and acted in this way.  Young made no secret of the fact, and
Quintal, on hearing of it, at once suggested that he and McCoy should go
up and lie in ambush for them.

"If you do," said Young, with indignation, "I'll shoot you both.  I
don't jest.  You may depend on it, if I find either of you fellows
skulking near my field when these men are at work there, your lives
won't be worth a sixpence."

At this Quintal and McCoy both laughed, and said they were jesting.
Nevertheless, while walking home together after that conversation, they
planned the carrying out of their murderous intention.

Thus, with plot and counterplot, did the mutineers and Otaheitans render
their lives wretched.  What with the bitter enmity existing between the
whites and blacks, and the mutual jealousies among themselves, both
parties were kept in a state of perpetual anxiety, and the beautiful
isle, which was fitted by its Maker to become a paradise, was turned
into a place of torment.

Sometimes the other native men, Tetaheite and Menalee, joined Nehow and
Timoa in working in Young's garden, and afterwards went with them into
the bush, where they planned the attack which was afterwards made.

At last the lowering cloud was fully charged, and the thunderbolt fell.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

MURDER!

The planting time came round at Pitcairn, and all was busy activity in
the little settlement at Bounty Bay.  The women, engaged in household
work and in the preparation of food, scarcely troubled themselves to
cast an anxious eye on the numerous children who, according to age and
capacity, rolled, tumbled, staggered, and jumped about in noisy play.
The sun, streaming through the leaves of the woods, studded shady places
with balls of quivering light, and blazed in fierce heat in the open
where the men were at work, each in his respective garden.  We have said
that those gardens lay apart, at some distance from each other, and were
partially concealed by shrubs or undulating knolls.

The garden of John Williams was farthest off from the settlement.  He
wrought in it alone on the day of which we write.  Next to it was that
of Fletcher Christian.  He also worked alone that day.

About two hundred yards from his garden, and screened from it by a
wooded rising ground, was a piece of plantation, in which John Mills,
William McCoy, and Menalee were at work together.  John Adams, William
Brown, and Isaac Martin were working in their own gardens near their
respective houses, and Quintal was resting in his hut.  So was Edward
Young, who, having been at work since early morning, had lain down and
fallen into a deep slumber.

The three native men, Timoa, Nehow, and Tetaheite, were still away in
the woods.  If the unfortunate Englishmen had known what these men were
about, they would not have toiled so quietly on that peaceful morning!

The Otaheitans met in a cocoa-nut grove at some distance to the eastward
of the settlement.  Each had a musket, which he loaded with ball.  They
did not speak much, and what they did say was uttered in a suppressed
tone of voice.

"Come," said Timoa, leading the way through the woods.

The others followed in single file, until they reached the garden where
Williams was at work.  Here their movements were more cautious.  As they
advanced, they crept along on their knees with the motion of cats, and
with as little noise.  They could hear the sound of the armourer's
spade, as he turned up the soil.  Presently they came to an opening in
the bushes, through which they could see him, not thirty yards off.

Timoa drew himself together, and in a crouching attitude levelled his
musket.

During their absence in the woods, these men had practised shooting at a
mark, doubtless in preparation for the occasion which had now arrived.
The woods and cliffs rang to the loud report, and Williams fell forward
without a cry or groan, shot through the heart.

The murderers rose and looked at each other, but uttered not a word,
while Timoa recharged his gun.

The report had, of course, been heard by every one in the settlement,
but it was a familiar sound, and caused neither surprise nor alarm.
McCoy merely raised himself for a moment, remarked to Mills that some
one must have taken a fancy for a bit of pork to supper, and then
resumed his work.

Christian also heard the shot, but seemed to pay no regard to it.
Ceasing his labour in a few minutes, he raised himself, wiped his
forehead, and resting both hands on his spade, looked upwards at the
bright blue sky.  Fleecy clouds passed across it now and then,
intensifying its depth, and apparently riveting Christian's gaze, for he
continued motionless for several minutes, with his clear eye fixed on
the blue vault, and a sad, wistful expression on his handsome face, as
if memory, busy with the past and future, had forgotten the present.  It
was his last look.  A bullet from the bushes struck him at that moment
on the breast.  Uttering one short, sharp cry, he threw both hands high
above his head, and fell backwards.  The spasm of pain was but
momentary.  The sad, wistful look was replaced by a quiet smile.  He
never knew who had released his spirit from the prison-house of clay,
for the eyes remained fixed on the bright blue sky, clear and steadfast,
until death descended.  Then the light went out, just as his murderers
came forward, but the quiet smile remained, and his spirit returned to
God who gave it.

It seemed as if the murderers were, for a few moments, awestruck and
horrified by what they had done; but they quickly recovered.  What they
had set their faces to accomplish must now be done at all hazards.

"Did you hear that cry?" said McCoy, raising himsel

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