The Lonely Island: The Refuge of the Mutineers

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER ELEVEN.

  SPORTING, SCHOOLING AND MORALISING.

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

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

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

  Fortunately, the poultry had also multiplied quickly, and the hogs hadincreased to such a degree that many of them had been allowed to take toa wild life in the woods, where they were hunted and shot when requiredfor food. Sporting, however, was not often practised, because thegunpowder which had been saved from the _Bounty_ had by this timesensibly diminished. Strange to say, it did not seem to occur to any ofthe men that the bow and arrow might become of use when guns becameuseless. Probably they looked upon such weapons with contempt, for theyonly 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 whichamused him not a little. In an open place, partially screened from thesun by the graceful leaves of palms and bananas, through which wasobtained a glimpse of the sea, Otaheitan Sally was busily engaged inplaying at "school." Seated on the end of a felled tree was ThursdayOctober Christian, who had become, as Isaac Martin expressed it, a greatlout of a boy for his age.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "I know that Toc is winking," replied Sally, holding up a finger ofreproof; "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 sayvink--say wink."

  "Yis, mum," replied little Dan, casting down his eyes with a look ofhumility so intense that there was a sudden irruption of dazzling teethalong 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; "butp'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 havelooked more innocently blank, but the desire to please Sally was in hima sort of passion. Gazing at her intently with reddening face, he madea 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 lefteye, 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 eyesvery tight indeed, and then opened them in the widest possible conditionof 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 Dankicked up his heels and tumbled back over the log in ecstasy, andThursday October swayed himself to and fro, while the other two got upand danced with glee.

  It was while the school was in this disorganised state that John Adamscame 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 thegrindstone when they're young. You didn't see anybody pass this way,did you?"

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

  It was a peculiarity of these children that they could change from gayto grave with wonderful facility. The mere putting of the question hadchanged the current of their minds as they earnestly and gravely stroveto 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 profoundlythoughtful 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 thedepth but the unexpectedness of the joke, and John Adams went on hisway, 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 itwas with difficulty he could make his way through the luxuriantunderwood. On his left hand he could see the sky through the leaves, onhis 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 ahog. He raised his gun to fire, when a squeaky grunt told him that thiswas a mother reposing with her family. He contented himself, therefore,with a look at them, and gave vent to a shout that sent them scamperingdown 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 Otaheitanman Tetaheite to his side.

  "Well met, Tighty," (so he styled him); "I want you to carry that pig toMrs 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'llbe back before dark."

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

  After the murder of the two natives, Talaloo and Ohoo, FletcherChristian had become very morose. It seemed as if a fit of deepmelancholy had taken entire possession of him. His temper had becomegreatly soured. He would scarcely condescend to hold intercourse withany one, and sought the retirement of his outlook in the cave on themountain-top, where few of his comrades ventured to disturb him, savewhen matters of importance claimed his immediate attention.

  Latterly, however, a change had been observed in his demeanour. He hadbecome gentle, almost amiable, and much more like his former self beforethe blighting influence of Bligh had fallen on him. Though he seldomlaughed, he would chat pleasantly with his companions, as in days goneby, and frequently took pains to amuse the children. In particular, hebegan 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 anyclaim to the guardianship of Charlie as being superior to her own, noteven that of a father.

  But Fletcher Christian, although thus changed for the better in manyrespects, did not change in his desire for solitude. His visits to theoutlook became not less but rather more frequent and prolonged thanbefore.

  He took no one into his confidence. The only man of the party who everventured to visit him in his "outlook" was Edward Young; but his visitswere not frequent, though they were usually protracted when they didtake place, and the midshipman always returned from them with anexpression of seriousness, which, it was observed, never passed quicklyaway. But Young was not more disposed to be communicative as to thesevisits than Christian himself, and his comrades soon ceased to think orcare about the matter.

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

  Stout John Adams felt his blunt, straightforward, seafaring spiritslightly abashed as he thus ventured to intrude on the privacy of onefor whom, despite his sins and their terrible consequences, he had neverlost respect. It felt like going into the captain's cabin withoutorders. The seaman's purpose was to remonstrate with Christian for thusdaily 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 thesound of voices within.

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