The Lonely Island: The Refuge of the Mutineers

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

  THE CLOUDS GROW THICKER AND BLACKER.

  This glimpse of a stray vessel left a deep impression on the minds ofthe exiles for many days, and it so far influenced the women that theypostponed their scheme of vengeance for some time.

  It must not be supposed, however, that all of those women, whom we havedescribed as being so gentle in character, were suddenly transformedinto demons. It was only two or three of the more energetic andpassionate among them who stirred up the rest, and forced them to fallin with their views. These passionate ones were the widows of the menwho had been slain. They not only felt their loss most bitterly, butbecame almost mad with the despair caused by their forlorn condition,and the apparent hopelessness of deliverance.

  The sight of the passing ship had diverted their thoughts for a time,perhaps had infused a little hope; but when the excitement died downthey renewed their plots against the men and at last made a desperateattempt to carry them out.

  It was on a dark and stormy night. Thunder was rolling in the sky.Lightning flashed among the mountain-peaks. Rain, the first that haddescended for many days, fell in fitful showers. It must have seemed tothe women either that the elements sympathised with them, or that theextreme darkness was favourable to the execution of their plan, forabout midnight one of them rose from her bed, and crept noiselessly tothe corner of her hut, where she had seen Quintal deposit a loadedmusket the previous day. Possessing herself of the weapon, she wentstraight to the widow of Fletcher Christian, and wakened her. She rose,somewhat reluctantly, and followed the woman, whose face was concealedin a kerchief of native cloth. The two then went cautiously to anotherhat, where two of the wives of the murdered Otaheitans awaited them, theone with a long knife, the other with an axe in her hand.

  They whispered together for a few seconds. As they did so there came atremendous crash of thunder, followed by a flash which revealed the darkheads and glistening eyeballs drawn together in a group.

  "We had better not try to-night," said one voice, timidly.

  "Faint heart, you may stay behind," replied another voice, firmly."Come, let us not delay. They were cruel; we will be cruel too."

  They all crouched down, and seemed to melt into the dark earth. Whenthe next lightning-flash rent the heavens they were gone.

  Lying in his bunk, opposite the door of his house, that night, JohnAdams lay half asleep and half-conscious of the storm outside. As helay with closed eyes there came a glaring flash of light. It revealedin the open doorway several pallid faces and glistening eyeballs.

  "A strange dream," thought Adams; "stranger still to dream of dreaming."

  The thunder-clap that followed was mingled with a crash, a burst ofsmoke, and a shriek that caused Adams to leap from his couch as a bulletwhistled past his ear. In the succeeding lightning-flash he beheld awoman near him with an uplifted axe, another with a gleaming knife, andEdward Young, who slept in his house that night, in the act of leapingupon her.

  Adams was prompt to act on all occasions. He caught the uplifted axe,and wrenching it from her grasp, thrust the woman out of the door.

  "There," he said, quietly, "go thy way, lass. I don't care to knowwhich of 'ee's done it. Let the other one go too, Mr Young. It's notworth while making a work about it."

  The midshipman obeyed, and going to a shelf in a corner, took down atorch made of small nuts strung on a palm-spine, struck a light, andkindled it.

  "Poor things," he said, "I'm sorry for them. They've had hard timeshere."

  "They won't try it again," remarked Adams, as he closed the door, andquietly turned again into his sleeping-bunk.

  But John Adams was wrong. Foiled though they were on this occasion, andglad though some of them must have been at their failure, there were oneor two who could not rest, and who afterwards made another attempt onthe lives of the men. This also failed. The first offence had beenfreely forgiven, but this time it was intimated that if another attemptwere made, they should all be put to death. Fortunately, the courage ofeven the most violent of the women had been exhausted. To the relief ofthe others they gave up their murderous designs, and settled down intothat state of submission which was natural to them.

  One might have thought that now, at last, the little colony of Pitcairnhad passed its worst days, most of the disturbing elements having beenremoved; but there was yet one other cloud, the blackest of all, toburst over them. One of the world's greatest curses was about to beintroduced among them. It happened thus:--

  One night William McCoy went to his house up on the mountain-side,entered it, and shut and bolted the door. This was an unusualproceeding on his part, and had no connection with the recent attemptsat murder made by the women, because he was quite fearless in regard tothat, and scoffed at the possibility of being killed by women. He alsocarefully fastened the window-shutters. He appeared to be somewhatexcited, and went about his operations with an air at once of slynessand of mystery.

  A small torch or nut-candle which he lighted and set on a bracket on thewall gave out a faint flickering light, which barely rendered darknessvisible, and from its position threw parts of the chamber into deepestgloom. It looked not unlike what we suppose would be the laboratory ofan alchemist of the olden time, and McCoy himself, with his eager yetfrowning visage, a native-made hat slouched over his brows, and a pieceof native cloth thrown over his shoulders like a plaid, was no badrepresentative of an old doctor toiling for the secrets that turn basemetal into gold, and old age into youth--secrets, by the way, which havebeen lying open to man's hand for centuries in the Word of God.

  Taking down from a shelf a large kettle which had formed part of thefurniture of the _Bounty_, and a twisted metal pipe derived from thesame source, he fitted them up on a species of stove or oven made ofclay. The darkness of the place rendered his movements not veryobvious; but he appeared to put something into the kettle, and fill itwith water. Then he put charcoal into the oven, kindled it, and blew itlaboriously with his mouth until it became red-hot. This flameless firedid not tend much to enlighten surrounding objects; it merely added tothem a lurid tinge of red. The operator's face, being close in front ofthe fire as he blew, seemed almost as hot as the glowing coals.

  With patient watchfulness he sat there crouching over the fire forseveral hours, occasionally blowing it up or adding more fuel.

  As the experiment went on, McCoy's eyes seemed to dilate withexpectation, and his breathing quickened. After a time he rose andlifted a bottle out of a tub of water near the stove. The bottle wasattached to one end of the twisted tube, which was connected with thekettle on the fire. Detaching it therefrom, he raised it quickly to thelight. Then he put it to his nose and smelt it. As he did so his facelit up with an expression of delight. Taking down from a shelf acocoa-nut cup, he poured into it some sparkling liquid from the bottle.It is a question which at that moment sparkled most, McCoy's eyes or theliquid.

  He sipped a little, and his rough visage broke into a beaming smile. Hedrank it all, and then he smacked his lips and laughed--not quite ajoyous laugh, but a wild, fierce, triumphant laugh, such as one mightimagine would issue from the panting lips of some stout victor of theolden time as he clutched a much-coveted prize, after slaying somehalf-dozen enemies.

  "Ha ha! I've got it at last!" he cried aloud, smacking his lips again.

  And so he had. Long and earnestly had he laboured to make use of afatal piece of knowledge which he possessed. Among the hills ofScotland McCoy had learned the art of making ardent spirits. After manyfailures, he had on this night made a successful attempt with theti-root, which grew in abundance on Pitcairn. The spirit was at lastproduced. As the liquid ran burning down his throat, the memory of apassion which he had not felt for years came back upon him withoverwhelming force. In his new-born ecstasy he uttered a wild cheer,and filling more spirit into the cup, quaffed it again.

  "Splendid!" he cried, "first-rate. Hurrah!"

  A tremendous knocking
at the door checked him, and arrested his hand ashe was about to fill another cup.

  "Who's that?" he demanded, angrily.

  "Open the door an' you'll see."

  The voice was that of Matthew Quintal. McCoy let him in at once.

  "See here," he cried, eagerly, holding up the bottle with a leer, "I'vegot it at last!"

  "So any deaf man might have found out by the way you've bin shoutin' it.Why didn't you open sooner?"

  "Never heard you, Matt. Was too much engaged with my new friend, Isuppose. Come, I'll introdooce him to you."

  "Look alive, then," growled Quintal, impatiently, for he seemed to havesmelt the spirit, as the warhorse is said to smell the battle from afar."Give us hold o' the cup and fill up; fill up, I say, to the brim.None o' your half measures for me."

  He took a mouthful, rolled it round and round with his tongue once ortwice, and swallowed it.

  "Heh, that's _it_ once more! Come, here's your health, McCoy! We'll bebetter friends than ever now; good luck to 'ee."

  McCoy thought that there was room for improvement in their friendship,but said nothing, as he watched his comrade pour the fiery liquid slowlydown his throat, as if he wished to prolong the sensation.

  "Another," he said, holding out the cup.

  "No, no; drink fair, Matt Quintal; wotever you do, drink fair. It's myturn now."

  "Your turn?" retorted Quintal, fiercely; "why, you've bin swillin' awayfor half-an-hour before I came."

  "No, Matt, no; honour bright. I'd only just begun. But come, we won'tquarrel over it. Here's the other half o' the nut, so we'll drinktogether. Now, hold steady."

  "More need for me to give you that advice; you shake the bottle as ifyou'd got the ague. If you spill a drop, now, I'll--I'll flatten yourbig nose on your ugly face."

  Not in the least hurt by such uncomplimentary threats, McCoy smiled ashe filled the cup held by his comrade. The spirit was beginning to tellon him, and the smile was of that imbecile character which denotesperfect self-satisfaction and good-will. Having poured the remainderinto his own cup, he refixed the bottle to the tube of the "still," andwhile more of the liquid was being extracted, the cronies sat down onlow stools before the stove, to spend a pleasant evening in poisoningthemselves!

  It may be interesting and instructive, though somewhat sad, to trace thesteps by which those two men, formed originally in God's image, reducedthemselves, of their own free will, to a level much lower than that ofthe brutes.

  "Doesn't the taste of it bring back old times?" said McCoy, holding hiscup to the light as he might have held up a transparent glass.

  "Ay," assented Quintal, gradually becoming amiable, "the good old timesbefore that fool Fletcher Christian indooced us to jine him. Here's to'ee, lad, once more."

  "Why, when I think o' the jolly times I've had at the Blue Boar ofPlymouth," said McCoy, "or at the Swan wi' the two throttles, in--in--Iforget where, I feel--I feel--like--like--here's your health again, MattQuintal. Give us your flipper, man. You're not a bad feller, if youwasn't given to grumpin' so much."

  Quintal's amiability, even when roused to excess by drink, was easilydissipated. The free remarks of his comrade did not tend to increaseit, but he said nothing, and refreshed himself with another sip.

  "I really do think," continued McCoy, looking at his companion with anintensity of feeling which is not describable, "I really do think that--that--when I think o' that Blue Boar, I could a'most become poetical."

  "If you did," growled Quintal, "you would not be the first that hadbecome a big fool on a worse subjec'."

  "I shay, Matt Quintal," returned the other, who was beginning to talkrather thickly, so powerful was the effect of the liquor on hisunaccustomed nerves; "I shay, ole feller, you used to sing well once.Come g-give us a stave now."

  "Bah!" was Quintal's reply, with a look of undisguised contempt.

  "Jus-so. 'Xactly my opinion about it. Well, as you won't sing, I'llgive you a ditty myself."

  Hereupon McCoy struck up a song, which, being deficient in taste, whileits execution was defective as well as tuneless, did not seem to producemuch effect on Quintal. He bore it with equanimity, until McCoy came toa note so far beyond his powers that he broke into a shriek.

  "Come, get some more drink," growled his comrade, pointing to the still;"it must be ready by this time."

  "Shum more drink!" exclaimed McCoy, with a look of indignant surprise.Then, sliding into a smile of imbecile good-humour, "You shl-'ave-it, myboy, you shl-'ave-it."

  He unfixed the bottle with an unsteady hand, and winking with dreadfulsolemnity, filled up his companion's cup. Then he filled his own, andsat down to resume his song. But Quintal could stand no more of it; heordered his comrade to "stop his noise."

  "Shtop my noise!" exclaimed McCoy, with a look of lofty disdain.

  "Yes, stop it, an' let's talk."

  "Well, I'm w-willin' t' talk," returned McCoy, after a grave andthoughtful pause.

  They chose politics as a light, agreeable subject of conversation.

  "Now, you see, 's my 'pinion, Matt, that them coves up't th' Admiraltydon't know no more how to guv'n this country than they knows how to worka Turk's head on a man-rope."

  "P'r'aps not," replied Quintal, with a look of wise solemnity.

  "Nor'-a-bit--on it," continued McCoy, becoming earnest. "An' wot onearth's the use o' the Lords an' Commons an' War Office? W'y don't theyslump 'em all together into one 'ouse, an' get the Archbishop o'Cantingbury to bless 'em all, right off, same as the Pope does. That'sw'ere it is. D'ye see? That's w'ere the shoe pinches."

  "Ah, an' what would you make o' the King?" demanded Quintal, with anargumentative frown.

  "The King, eh?" said McCoy, bringing his fuddled mind to bear on thisroyal difficulty; "the King, eh? Why, I'd--I'd make lop-scouse o' theKing."

  "Come, that's treason. You shan't speak treason in _my_ company, BillMcCoy. I'm a man-o'-war's man. It won't do to shove treason in theface of a mar-o'-wa-a-r. If I _am_ a mutineer, w'at o' that? I'll letno other man haul down my colours. So don't go shovin' treason at me,Bill McCoy."

  "I'll shove treason w'erever I please," said McCoy, fiercely.

  "No you shan't."

  "Yes I shall."

  From this point the conversation became very contradictory in tone, thenrecriminative, and after that personally abusive. At last Quintal,losing temper, threw the remains of his last cup of spirits in hisfriend's face. McCoy at once hit Quintal on the nose. He returnedwildly on the eye, and jumping up, the two grappled in fierce anger.

  They were both powerful men, whose natural tendency to personal violencetowards each other had, up to this time, been restrained by prudence;but now that the great destroyer of sense and sanity was once againcoursing through their veins, there was nothing to check them. All thegrudges and bitternesses of the past few years seemed to have beenrevived and concentrated on that night, and they struggled about thelittle room with the fury of madmen, striking out savagely, but withcomparatively little effect, because of excessive passion, coupled withintoxication, clutching and tugging at each other's whiskers and hair,and cursing with dreadful sincerity.

  There was little furniture in the room, but what there was they smashedin pieces. Quintal flung McCoy on the table, and jumping on the top ofhim, broke it down. The other managed to get on his legs again,clutched Quintal by the throat, and thrust him backward with suchviolence that he went crashing against the little window-shutters, splitthem up, and drove them out. In one of their wildest bursts they bothfell into the fireplace, overturned the still, and scattered the fire.Fortunately, the embers were nearly out by this time. Tumbling over thestools and wreck, these men--who had begun the evening as friends,continued it as fools, and ended it as fiends--fell side by side intoone of the sleeping-bunks, the bottom of which was driven down by theshock as they sank exhausted amid the wreck, foaming with passion, andcovered with blood. This was the climax; they fell into a state ofpartial in
sensibility, which degenerated at last into a deep lethargicslumber.

  Hitherto the quarrels and fights that had so disturbed the peace ofPitcairn, and darkened her moral sky, had been at least intelligentlyfounded on hatred or revenge, with a definite object and murderous endin view. Now, for the first time, a furious battle had been fought fornothing, with no object to be gained, and no end in view; with besottedidiots for the champions, and with strong drink for the cause.