CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
JOHN ADAMS LONGS FOR A CHUM AND BECOMES A STORY-TELLER.
Faithful to his promise, John Adams, after the death of Young, did hisbest to carry on the good work that had been begun.
But at first his spirit was very heavy. It had not before occurred tohim that there was a solitude far more profound and overwhelming thananything he had hitherto experienced. The difference between tencompanions and one companion is not very great, but the differencebetween one and none is immeasurable. Of course we refer to thatcompanionship which is capable of intelligent sympathy. The solitaryseaman still had his Otaheitan wife and the bright children of themutineers around him, and the death of Young had drawn out his heartmore powerfully than ever towards these, but they could not in anydegree fill the place of one who could talk intelligently of home, ofOld England, of British battles fought and won, of ships and men, andthings that might have belonged, as far as the women and children wereconcerned, to another world. They could only in a slight degreeappreciate the nautical phraseology in which he had been wont to conveysome of his strongest sentiments, and they could not in any degree enterinto his feelings when, forgetting for a moment his circumstances, hecame out with a pithy forecastle allusion to the politics or theGovernment of his native land.
"Oh, you meek-faced brute, if you could only speak!" he exclaimed oneday, dropping his eyes from the sea, on which he had been gazing, to theeyes of a pet goat that had been looking up in his face. "What's theuse of having a tongue in your head if you can't use it!"
As may be imagined, the goat made no reply to this remark, but continuedits gaze with somewhat of the solemnity of the man himself.
For want of a companion, poor Adams at this time took to talkingfrequently in a quiet undertone to himself. He also fell a good dealinto Fletcher Christian's habit of retiring to the cave on themountain-top, but he did not read the Bible while there. He merelycommuned with his own spirit, meditated sadly on the past, and wondereda good deal as to the probable future.
"It's not that I ain't happy enough here," he muttered softly to himselfone evening, while he gazed wistfully at the horizon as Christian hadbeen wont to gaze. "I'm happy enough--more so than what I deserve tobe, God knows--with them good--natured women an' jolly bit things ofchild'n, but--but I'm awful hard up for a chum! I do believe that ifBill McCoy, or even Matt Quintal, was here, I'd get along pretty wellwith either of 'em. Ah, poor Quintal! I feel as if I'd never git overthat. If it wasn't murder, it feels awful like it; an' yet I can't seethat they could call it murder. If we hadn't done it he would certainlyhave killed both me an' Mr Young, for Matt never threatened withoutperformin', and then he'd have gone mad an' done for the women an'child'n as well. No, it wasn't murder. It was necessity."
He remained silent for some time, and then his thoughts appeared torevert to the former channel.
"If only a ship would come an' be wrecked here, now, we could startfresh once more with a new lot maybe, but I'm not so sure about thateither. P'r'aps we'd quarrel an' fight an' go through the bloodybusiness all over again. No, it's better as it is. But a ship mighttouch in passin', an' we could prevail on two or three of the crew, oreven one, to stop with us. What would I not give to hear a man's voiceonce more, a good growlin' bass. I wouldn't be partickler as tosentiments or grammar, not I, if it was only gruff, an' well spiced withsea-lingo an' smelt o' baccy. Not that I cares for baccy myself now, orgrog either. Humph! it do make me a'most laugh to think o' the timesI've said, ay, and thought, that I couldn't git along nohow without mypipe an' my glass. Why, I wouldn't give a chip of a brass farden for apipe now, an' as to grog, after what I've seen of its cursed natur', Iwouldn't taste a drop even if they was to offer to make me Lord HighAdmiral o' the British fleet for so doin'. But I _would_ like once moreto see a bearded man; even an unbearded one would be better thannothin'. Ah, well, it's no manner o' use sighin', any more than cryin',over spilt milk. Here I am, an' I suppose here I shall be to the end o'the chapter."
Again he was silent for a long time, while his eyes remained fixed, asusual, on the horizon. Suddenly the gaze became intent, and, leaningforward with an eager expression, he shaded his eyes with his hand.
"It's not creditable," he murmured, as he fell back again into hisformer listless attitude, "it's not creditable for an old salt like meto go mistakin' sea-gulls for sails, as I've bin doin' so often of late.I'm out o' practice, that's where it is."
"Come, John Adams," he added, after another pause, and jumping upsmartly, "this will never do. Rouse yourself, John, an' give up thismumble-bumble style o' thing. Why, it'll kill you in the long-run ifyou don't. Besides, you promised Mr Young to carry on the work, andyou must keep your promise, old boy."
"Yes," rang out a clear sweet voice from the inner end of the cave, "andyou promised to give up coming here to mope; so you must keep yourpromise to me as well, father."
Otaheitan Sally tripped into the cave, and seating herself on the stoneledge opposite, beamed up in the sailor's face.
"You're a good girl, Sall, an' I'll keep my promise to you from this dayforth; see if I don't. I'll make a note of it in the log."
The log to which Adams here referred was a journal or register, whichEdward Young had begun to keep, and in which were inserted the incidentsof chief interest, including the births and deaths, that took place onthe island from the day of landing. After Young's death, John Adamscontinued to post it up from time to time.
The promise to Sally was faithfully kept. From that time forward, Adamsgave up going to the outlook, except now and then when anything unusualappeared on the sea, but never again to mope. He also devoted himselfwith increased assiduity to the instruction of the women and children inBible truths, although still himself not very clear in his own mind asto the great central truth of all. In this work he was ably assisted bySally, and also by Young's widow, Susannah.
We have mentioned this woman as being one of the youngest of theOtaheitans. She was also one of the most graceful, and, strange to say,though it was she who killed Tetaheite, she was by nature one of thegentlest of them all.
The school never became a prison-house to these islanders, either womenor children. Adams had wisdom enough at first to start it as a sort ofplay, and never fell into the civilised error of giving the pupils toomuch to do at a time. All the children answered the daily summons toschool with equal alacrity, though it cannot be said that theirperformances there were equally creditable. Some were quick andintelligent, others were slow and stupid, while a few were slow but byno means stupid. Charlie Christian was among these last.
"Oh, Charlie, you _are_ such a booby!" one day exclaimed OtaheitanSally, who, being advanced to the dignity of monitor, devoted much ofher time to the instruction of her old favourite. "What _can_ be thematter with your brains?"
The innocent gaze of blank wonder with which the "Challie" of infancyhad been wont to receive his companion's laughing questions, had notquite departed; but it was chastened by this time with a slightpuckering of the mouth and a faint twinkle of the eyes that weresuggestive.
Sitting modestly on the low bench, with his hands clasped before him,this strapping pupil looked at his teacher, and said that really he didnot know what was wrong with his brains.
"Perhaps," he added, looking thoughtfully into the girl's upturned orbs,"perhaps I haven't got any brains at all."
"O yes, you have," cried Sall, with a laugh; "you have got plenty, ifyou'd only use them."
"Ah!" sighed Charlie, stretching out one of his strong muscular arms andhands, "if brains were only things that one could lay hold of like anoar, or an axe, or a sledge-hammer, I'd soon let you see me use them;but bein' only a soft kind o' stuff in one's skull, you know--"
A burst of laughter from Sally not only cut short the sentence, butstopped the general hum of the school, and drew the attention of themaster.
"Hallo, Sall, I say, you know," said Adams, in remonstrative tone, "youforget that
you're a monitor. If you go on like that we'll have to makea school-girl of you again."
"Please, father, I couldn't help it," said Sally, while her cheeksflushed crimson, "Charlie is such a--"
She stopped short, covered her face with both hands, and bending forwardtill she hid her confusion on her knees, went into an uncontrollablegiggle, the only evidences of which, however, were the convulsivemovements of her shoulders and an occasional squeak in the region of herlittle nose.
"Come now, child'n," cried Adams, seating himself on an invertedtea-box, which formed his official chair, "time's up, so we'll have aslap at Carteret before dismissing. Thursday October Christian willbring the book."
There was a general hum of satisfaction when this was said, forCarteret's Voyages, which, with the Bible and Prayer-book, formed theonly class-books of that singular school, were highly appreciated byyoung and old alike, especially as read to them by Adams, whoaccompanied his reading with a free running commentary of explanation,which infused great additional interest into that old writer's book.TOC rose with alacrity, displaying in the act the immense relativedifference between his very long legs and his ordinary body, in regardto which Adams used to console him by saying, "Never mind, Toc, yourlegs'll stop growin' at last, and when they do, your body will come outlike a telescope. You'll be a six-footer yet. Why, you're taller thanI am already by two inches."
In process of time Carteret was finished; it was then begun a secondtime, and once more read through. After that Adams felt a chill feelingof helplessness steal over him, for Carteret could not be read over andover again like the Bible, and he could not quite see his way to readingthe Church of England prayers by way of recreation. In his extremity hehad recourse to Sally for advice. Indeed, now that Sall was approachingyoung womanhood, not only the children but all the grown people of theisland, including their chief or "father," found themselves when introuble gravitating, as if by instinct, to the sympathetic heart and theready hand.
"I'll tell you what to do," said Sally, when appealed to, as she tookthe seaman's rough hand and fondled it; "just try to invent stories, andtell them to us as if you was readin' a book. You might even turnCarteret upside down and pretend that you was readin'."
Adams shook his head.
"I never could invent anything, Sall, 'xcept w'en I was tellin' lies,an' that's a long while ago now--a long, long while. No; I doubt that Icouldn't invent, but I'll tell 'ee what; I'll try to remember some oldyarns, and spin them off as well as I can."
The new idea broke on Adams's mind so suddenly that his eyes sparkled,and he bestowed a nautical slap on his thigh.
"The very thing!" cried Sally, whose eyes sparkled fully more than thoseof the sailor, while she clapped her hands; "nothing could be better.What will you begin with?"
"Let me see," said Adams, seating himself on a tree-stump, and knittinghis brows with a severe strain of memory. "There's Cinderella; an'there's Ally Babby or the fifty thieves--if it wasn't forty--I'm notrightly sure which, but it don't much matter; an' there's Jack theGiant-killer, an' Jack and the Pea-stalk--no; let me see; it was abeanstalk, I think--anyhow, it was the stalk of a vegetable o' somesort. Why, I wonder it never struck me before to tell you all aboutthem tales."
Reader, if you had seen the joy depicted on Sally's face, and the richflush of her cheek, and her half-open mouth with its double row ofpearls, while Adams ran over this familiar list, you would have thoughtit well worth that seaman's while to tax his memory even more severelythan he did.
"And then," he continued, knitting his brows still more severely,"there's Gulliver an' the Lillycups or putts, an' the Pilgrim'sProgress--though, of course, I don't mean for to say I knows 'em allright off by heart, but that's no odds. An' there's Robinson Crusoe--ha! _that's_ the story for you, Sall; that's the tale that'll make yourhair stand on end, an' a'most split your sides open, an' cause the verymarrow in your spine to wriggle. Yes; we'll begin with RobinsonCrusoe."
Having settled this point to their mutual and entire satisfaction, thetwo went off for a short walk before supper. On the way, they metElizabeth Mills and Mary Christian, both of whom were now no longerstaggerers, but far advanced as jumpers. They led between them Adams'slittle daughter Dinah, who, being still very small, could not take longwalks without assistance and an occasional carry.
"Di, my pet," cried her father, seizing the willing child, and hoistingher on his shoulder. "Come, you shall go along with us. And you too,lassies, if you have no other business in hand."
"Yes, we'll go with you," cried Bessy Mills. "May was just saying itwas too soon to go home to supper."
"Come along, then," cried Adams, tossing his child in the air as hewent. "My beauty, you'll beat your mammy in looks yet, eh? an' whenyou're old enough we'll tell you all about Rob--"
He checked himself abruptly, cleared his voice, and looked at Sally.
"Well, father," said May Christian, quickly, "about Rob who?"
"Ahem! eh? well, yes, about Rob--ha, but we won't talk about him justnow, dear. Sally and I were havin' some private conversation just nowabout Rob, though that isn't the whole of his name neither, but we won'tmake it public at present. You'll hear about him time enough--eh,Sall?"
The girls were so little accustomed to anything approaching to mysteryor secrecy in John Adams, that they looked at him in silent wonder.Then they glanced at Sally, whose suppressed smile and downcast eyestold eloquently that there was, as Adams would have said, "something inthe wind," and they tried to get her to reveal the secret, but Sall wasimmovable. She would not add a single syllable to the information giveninadvertently by Adams, but she and he laughed a good deal in a quietway, and made frequent references to Rob in the course of the walk.
Of course, when the mysterious word was pronounced in the village in theevening, and what had been said and hinted about it was repeated,curiosity was kindled into a violent flame; and when the entire colonywas invited to a feast that night, the excitement was intense. From theoldest to the youngest, excluding the more recently arrived sprawlers,every eye was fixed on John Adams during the whole course of supper,except at the commencement, when the customary blessing was asked, atwhich point every eye was tightly closed.
Adams, conscious of increased importance, spoke little during the meal,and maintained an air of profounder gravity than usual until the disheswere cleared away. Then he looked round the assembled circle, and said,"Women an' child'n, I'm goin' to tell 'ee a story."
The Lonely Island: The Refuge of the Mutineers Page 22
