The Lonely Island: The Refuge of the Mutineers
Page 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
THE DARKEST HOUR.
A long time after the events narrated in the last chapter, John Adamsand Edward Young sat together one evening in the cave at the top of themountain, where poor Fletcher Christian had been wont to hold his lonelyvigils.
"I've bin thinkin' of late," said Young, "that it is very foolish of usto content ourselves with merely fishing from the rocks, when there arebetter fish to be had in deep water, and plenty of material at hand formaking canoes."
"You're right, sir; we ought to try our hands at a canoe. Pity wedidn't do so before the native men was all killed. They knew what sorto' trees to use, and how to split 'em up into planks, an' all that sorto' thing."
"But McCoy used to study that subject, and talk much about it, when wewere in Otaheite," returned Young. "I've no doubt that with his aid wecould build a good enough canoe, and the women would be as able as themen, no doubt, to direct us what to do if we were in a difficulty.McCoy is a handy fellow, you know, with tools, as he has proved morethan once since the death of poor Williams."
Adams shook his head.
"No doubt, Mr Young, he's handy enough with the tools; but ever sincehe discovered how to make spirits, neither he nor Quintal, as you know,sir, are fit for anything."
"True," said Young, with a perplexed look; "it never occurred to mebefore that strong drink was such a curse. I begin now to understandwhy some men that I have known have been so enthusiastic in their outcryagainst it. Perhaps it would be right for you and me to refuse to drinkwith Quintal and McCoy, seeing that they are evidently killingthemselves with it."
"I don't quite see that, sir," objected Adams. "A glass of grog don'tdo me no harm that I knows of, an' it wouldn't do them no good if we wasto stop our allowance."
"It might; who can tell?" said Young. "I've not thought much about thematter, however, so we won't discuss it. But what would you say if wewere to hide the kettle that McCoy makes it in, and refuse to give it uptill the canoe is finished?"
Again Adams shook his head.
"They'd both go mad with DT," said he, by which letters he referred tothe drunkard's awful disease, _delirium tremens_.
"Well, at all events, we will try to persuade him to go to work, and thesooner the better," said Young, rising and leaving the cave.
In pursuance of this plan, Young spoke to McCoy in one of his few sobermoments, and got him persuaded to begin the work, and to drink lesswhile engaged in it.
Under the impulse of this novelty in his occupation, the unhappy man didmake an attempt to curb himself, and succeeded so far that he workedpretty steadily for several days, and made considerable progress withthe canoe.
The wood was chosen, the tree felled, the trunk cut to the proper lengthand split up into very fair planks, which were further smoothed by meansof a stone adze, brought by the natives from Otaheite, and it seemed asif the job would be quickly finished, when the terrible demon by whomMcCoy had been enslaved suddenly asserted his tyrannical power.Quintal, who rendered no assistance in canoe-building, had employedhimself in making a "new brew," as he expressed it, and McCoy went up tohis hut in the mountain one evening to taste.
The result, of course, was that he was absolutely incapable of work nextday; and then, giving way to the maddening desire, he and hiscomrade-in-debauchery went in, as they said, for a regular spree. Itlasted for more than a week, and when it came to an end, the two men,with cracked lips, bloodshot eyes, and haggard faces, looked as if theyhad just escaped from a madhouse.
Edward Young now positively refused to drink any more of the spirits,and Adams, although he would not go quite to that length, restrictedhimself to one glass in the day.
This at first enraged both Quintal and McCoy. The former cursed hiscomrades in unmeasured terms, and drank more deeply just to spite them.The latter refused to work at the canoe, and both men became souproarious, that Young and Adams were obliged to turn them out of thehouse where they were wont occasionally to meet for a social evening.
Thus things went on for many a day from bad to worse. Bad as things hadbeen in former years, it seemed as if the profoundest depth of sin andmisery had not yet been fathomed by these unhappy mutineers.
In all these doings, it would have gone hard with the poor women andchildren if Adams and Young had not increased in their kindness andconsideration for them, as the other two men became more savage andtyrannical.
At last matters came to such a crisis that it became once more a matterof discussion with Young and Adams whether they should not destroy themachinery by which the spirits were made, and it is probable that theymight have done this, if events had not occurred which rendered the actunnecessary.
One day William McCoy was proceeding with a very uncertain step alongthe winding footpath that led to his house up in the mountain. Theman's face worked convulsively, and it seemed as if terrible thoughtsfilled his brain. Muttering to himself as he staggered along, hesuddenly met his own son, who had grown apace by that time, being nearlyseven years of age. Both father and son stopped abruptly, and lookedintently at each other.
"What brings you here?" demanded the father, with a look of as muchdignity as it was in his power to assume.
The poor boy hesitated, and looked frightened. His natural spirit offun and frolic seemed of late to have forsaken him.
"What are 'ee afraid of?" roared McCoy, who had not quite recovered fromhis last fit of _delirium tremens_. "Why don't 'ee speak?"
"Mother's not well," said Daniel, softly; "she bid me come and tellyou."
"What's that to me?" cried McCoy, savagely. "Come here, Dan." Helowered his tone, and held out his hand, but the poor boy was afraid toapproach.
Uttering a low growl, the father made a rush at him, stumbled over atree-root, and fell heavily to the earth. Little Dan darted into thebush, and fled home.
Rising slowly, McCoy looked half-stunned at first, but speedilyrecovering himself, staggered on till he reached the hut, when he wildlyseized the bottle from its shelf, and put it to his lips, which werebleeding from the fall, and covered with dust.
"Ha ha!" he shouted, while the light of delirium rekindled in his eyes,"this is the grand cure for everything. My own son's afraid o' me now,but who cares? What's that to Bill McCoy! an' his mother's ill too--ha!--"
He checked himself in the middle of a fierce laugh, and stared beforehim as if horror-stricken.
"No, no!" he gasped. "I--I didn't. Oh! God be merciful to me!"
Again he stopped, raised both hands high above his head, uttered a wildlaugh which terminated in a prolonged yell, as he dashed the bottle onthe floor, and darted from the hut.
All the strength and vigour which the wretched man had squandered seemedto come back to him in that hour. The swiftness of youth returned tohis limbs. He ran down the path by which he had just come, and passedQuintal on the way.
"Hallo, Bill! you're pretty bad to-night," said his comrade, lookingafter him. He then followed at a smart run, as if some new idea hadsuddenly occurred to him. Two of the women met McCoy further down, butas if to evade them, he darted away to the right along the track leadingto the eastward cliffs. The women joined Quintal in pursuit, but beforethey came near him, they saw him rush to the highest part of the cliffsand leap up into the air, turning completely over as he vanished fromtheir sight.
At that spot the cliff appeared to overhang its base, and was severalhundred feet high. Far down there was a projecting rock, wheresea-gulls clustered in great numbers. McCoy, like the lightning-flash,came in contact with the rock, and was dashed violently out into space,while the affrighted sea-birds fled shrieking from the spot. Nextmoment the man's mangled body cleft the dark water like an arrow,leaving only a little spot of foam behind to mark for a few seconds hiswatery grave.
It might have been thought that this terrible event would have had asobering effect upon Matthew Quintal, but instead of that it made himworse. The death of his wife, too, by a fall from the cliffs about
thesame time, seemed only to have the effect of rendering him more savage;insomuch that he became a terror to the whole community, and frequentlythreatened to take the lives of his remaining comrades. In short, theman seemed to have gone mad, and Young and Adams resolved, inself-defence, to put him to death.
We spare the reader the sickening details. They accomplished theterrible deed with an axe, and thus the number of the male refugees onPitcairn was reduced to two. The darkest hour of the lonely island hadbeen reached--the hour before the dawn.