The Lonely Island: The Refuge of the Mutineers

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

  THE PITCAIRNERS HAVE A NIGHT OF IT.

  Although John Adams had often, in the course of his residence onPitcairn, jested and chatted and taken his share in relating many ananecdote, he had never up till that time resolved to "go in," as hesaid, "for a regular story, like a book."

  "Women an' child'n," he began, "it may be that I'm goin' to attempt morethan I'm fit to carry out in this business, for my memory's none o' thebest. However, that won't matter much, for I tell 'ee, fair an'aboveboard at the beginnin', that when I come to gaps that I can't fillup from memory, I'll just bridge 'em over from imagination, d'ye see?"

  "What's imagination?" demanded Dan McCoy, whose tendency to pertinterruption and reply nothing yet discovered could restrain.

  "It's a puzzler," said Otaheitan Sally, in a low tone, which calledforth a laugh from the others.

  It did not take much to make these people laugh, as the observant readerwill have perceived.

  "Well, it _is_ a puzzler," said Adams, with a quiet smile and aperplexed look. "I may say, Dan McCoy, in an off-hand rough-an'-readysort o' way, that imagination is that power o' the mind which enables aman to tell lies."

  There was a general opening of juvenile eyes at this, as if recentbiblical instruction had led them to believe that the use of such apower must be naughty.

  "You see," explained Adams, "when a man, usin' his imagination, tellswhat's not true, just to deceive people an' mislead 'em, we call itlyin', but when his imagination invents what's not true merely for thefun o' the thing, an' tells it as a joke, never pretendin' that it'strue, he ain't lyin', he's only tellin' a story, or a anecdote, or aparable. Now, Dan, put that in your pipe an' smoke it. Likewise shutyour potato-trap, and let me go on wi' my story, which is, (he lookedimpressively round, while every eye gazed, and ear listened, and mouthopened in breathless attention), the Adventure of Robinson Crusoe an'his man Friday!"

  All eyes were turned, as if by magic, on Thursday,--as if there must besome strange connection here. Toc suddenly shut his mouth and hung hishead in confusion at this unexpected concentration of attention onhimself.

  "You've no need to be ashamed, Thursday," said Adams, with a laugh."You've got the advantage of Friday, anyhow, bein' a day in advance ofhim. Well, as I was about to say, boys an' girls, this Robinson Crusoewas a seafarin' man, just like myself; an' he went to sea, an' wasshipwrecked on a desolate island just like this, but there was nobodywhatever on that island, not even a woman or a babby. Poor Robinson wasall alone, an' it wasn't till a consid'rable time after he had goneashore that he discovered Friday, (who was a black savage), throughseein' his footprint in the sand."

  Adams having burst thus suddenly into the very marrow of his story, hadno reason thereafter to complain either of interruption or inattention.Neither had he reason to find fault with the wealth of his prolificimagination. It would have done the soul of a painter good to havewatched the faces of that rapt, eager, breathless audience, and it wouldhave afforded much material for reflection to a student of mind, had he,knowing the original story of Robinson Crusoe, been permitted to tracethe ingenious sinuosities and astounding creations by which Adams wovehis meagre amount of original matter into a magnificent tale, which notonly thrilled his audience, but amazed himself.

  In short, he quite justified the assurance formerly given to Sally, thatthe story of Robinson Crusoe would make the hair of his hearers stand onend, their sides almost split open, and the very marrow in their spineswriggle. Indeed, his version of the tale might have caused similarresults in Robinson Crusoe himself, had he been there to hear it,besides causing his eyebrows to rise and vanish evermore among the hairof his head with astonishment.

  It was the same with the Pilgrim's Progress, which he often told to themafterwards. Simple justice to Adams, however, requires us to state thathe was particularly careful to impress on his hearers that the Pilgrim'sProgress was a religious tale.

  "It's a allegory, you must know," he said, on first introducing it,"which means a story intended to teach some good lesson--a story whichsays one thing and means another."

  He looked pointedly at Dan McCoy here, as if to say, "That's anexhaustive explanation, which takes the wind out o' _your_ sails, youngman," but Dan was not to be so easily silenced.

  "What's the use, father," he asked, with an air of affected simplicity,"of a story sayin' one thing an' meanin' another? Wouldn't it be morehonest like if it said what it meant at once, straight off?"

  "P'r'aps it would," returned Adams, who secretly enjoyed Dan'sirrepressible impudence; "but, then, if it did, Dan, it would take awayyour chance of askin' questions, d'ye see? Anyhow, _this_ story don'tsay what it means straight off, an' that gives me a chance to expoundit."

  Now, it was in the expounding of the Pilgrim's Progress that JohnAdams's peculiar talents shone out brilliantly, for not only did he"misremember," jumble, and confuse the whole allegory, but he somisapprehended its meaning in many points, that the lessons taught andthe morals drawn were very wide of the mark indeed. In regard to someparticular points, too, he felt himself at liberty to let his geniushave free untrammelled scope, as, for instance, in the celebrated battlebetween Christian and Apollyon. Arguing with himself that it was notpossible for any man to overdo a fight with the devil, Adams made up hismind to "go well in" for that incident, and spent a whole evening overit, keeping his audience glaring and on the rack of expectation thewhole time. Taking, perhaps, an unfair advantage of his minuteknowledge as a man-of-war's-man of cutlass-drill and of fighting ingeneral, from pugilistic encounters to great-gun exercise, including allthe intermediate performances with rapiers, swords, muskets, pistols,blunderbusses, and other weapons for "general scrimmaging," he sowrought upon the nerves of his hearers that they quivered with emotion,and when at last he drove Apollyon discomfited from the field, likechaff before the wind, there burst forth a united cheer of triumph andrelief, Dan McCoy, in particular, jumping up with tumbled yellow locksand glittering eyes in a perfect yell of exultation.

  But, to return from this digression to the story of Robinson Crusoe. Itmust not be supposed that Adams exhausted that tale in one night. No;soon discovering that he had struck an intellectual vein, so to speak,he resolved to work it out economically, and with that end in view,devoted the first evening to a minute dissection of Crusoe's characteras a man and a seaman, to the supposed fitting out and provisioning ofhis ship, to the imaginary cause of the disaster to the ship, which,(with Bligh, no doubt, in memory), he referred to the incompetence andwickedness of the skipper, and to the terrible incidents of the wreck,winding up with the landing of his hero, half-dead and alone, on theuninhabited island.

  "Now, child'n," he concluded, "that'll do for one night; and as it's ofno manner of use sending you all to bed to dream of bein' shipwreckedand drownded, we'll finish off with a game of blind-man's-buff."

  Need we say that the disappointment at the cutting short of the storywas fully compensated by the game? Leaping up with another cheer,taught them by the best authorities, and given with true Britishfervour, they scattered about the room.

  Otaheitan Sally was, as a matter of course, the first to be blindfolded.

  And really, reader, it was wonderful how like that game, as played atPitcairn, was to the same as performed in England. To justify thisremark, let us describe it, and see whether there were any points ofmaterial difference.

  The apartment, let it be understood, was a pretty large one, lighted bytwo nut-candles in brackets on the walls. There was little furniture init, only a few stools and two small tables, which were quickly thrustinto a corner. Then Sally was taken to the centre of the room by Adams,and there blindfolded with a snuff-coloured silken bandana handkerchief,which had seen much service on board of the _Bounty_.

  "Now, Sall, can you see?" asks Adams.

  "No, not one bit."

  "Oh, yes you can," from Charlie Christian, who hovers round her like themoth round the candle.

 
"No, really, I can't."

  "Yes you can," from Dan McCoy, who is on the alert; "I see your piercin'black eyes comin' right through the hankitchif."

  "Get along, then," cries Adams, twirling Sally round, and skipping outof the way.

  It is not the first time the women have played at that game, and theirshort garments, reaching little below the knees, seem admirably adaptedto it, while they glide about with motions little less easy and agilethan those of the children, and cause the roof to ring with laughter atthe various misadventures that occur.

  Mrs Adams, however, does not join. Besides being considerably olderthan her husband, that good woman has become prematurely short-sightedand deaf. This being so, she sits in a corner, not inappropriately, toact the part of grandmother to the players, and to serve as anoccasional buffer to such of the children as are hurled against her.

  Now, Otaheitan Sally, having gone rather cautiously about withoutcatching any one except Charlie--whom she pretends not to know, examinesfrom head to foot, and then guesses wrong on purpose--becomes suddenlywild, makes a desperate lunge, as she thinks, at Dan McCoy, and tumblesinto Mrs Adams's lap, amid shouts of delight.

  Of course Dan brought about this incident by wise forethought. His nextsuccess is unpremeditated. Making a pull at Sally's skirt, he glidesquickly out of her way as she wheels round, and hits Mainmast anunintentional backhander on the nose. This is received by Mainmast witha little scream, and by the children with an "Oh! o-o" of consternation,while Sally, pulling down the handkerchief, hastens to give needlessassurance that she is "_so_ vexed," etcetera. Susannah joins her incondoling, and so does widow Martin; but Mainmast, with tears in hereyes, (drawn by the blow), and a smile on her lips, declares that she"don't care a button." Sally is therefore blindfolded again. Shecatches Charlie Christian immediately, and feeling that there is noother way of escaping from him, names him.

  Then Charlie, being blindfolded, sets to work with one solitary end inview, namely, to capture Sally. The injustice to the others of thisproceeding never enters his innocent mind. He hears no voice butSally's; he clutches at nobody but Sally. When he is compelled to layhold of any one else, he guesses wrong, not on purpose, but because heis thinking of Sally. Perceiving this, Sally retires quietly behindMrs Adams's chair, and Charlie, growing desperate, makes wild dashes,tumbling into the corner among the tables and stools, sending thestaggerers spinning in all directions, and finally pitching headlonginto Mrs Adams's lap.

  At last he catches John Adams himself and as there is no possibility ofmistaking him, the handkerchief is changed, and the game becomes moresedate, at the same time more nervous, for the stride of the seaman isawful, and the sweep of his outstretched arms comprehensive. Besides,he has a way of listening and making sudden darts in unexpecteddirections, which is very perplexing.

  After a few failures, Adams makes what he calls a wild roll tostarboard, followed instantly by a heavy lurch to port, and pins DanMcCoy into a corner.

  "Ha! I've grabbed you at last, have I?" says he.

  "Who is it?" shout half-a-dozen voices.

  "Who but Dan'l? There's impudence in the very feel of his hair."

  So Dan is blindfolded. And now comes the tug of war. If it was fastand furious before, it is maniacal madness now. The noise isindescribable, yet it fails to waken two infants, who, with expressionsof perfect peace on their innocent faces, repose in two bunks at oneside of the room.

  At last Thursday October tumbles into one of these bunks, and all butimmolates an infant. Mrs Adams is fairly overturned; one table comesby a damaged leg, the other is split lengthwise, and one of the candlesis blown out. These symptoms are as good as a weather-glass to Adams.

  "Now, then, one and all, it's time for bed," he says.

  Instantly the rioting comes to a close, and still panting from theirexertions, the elder children carry out the tables and rectify theirdamages as well as may be, while the younger range the stools round thewall and sit down on them or on the floor.

  "Fetch the Bible and Prayer-book, Matt Quintal," says Adams.

  They are about to close the evening with worship. It has becomehabitual now, and there is no difficulty in calming the spirits of thechildren to the proper tone, for they have been trained by a man who isunaffected and sincere. They slide easily, because naturally, from gayto grave; and they would as soon think of going to work withoutbreakfast, as of going to rest without worship.

  A chapter is read with comparative ease by John Adams, for he hasapplied himself heartily to his task, and overcome most of his olddifficulties. Then he reads a short prayer, selected from thePrayer-book. The Lord's Prayer follows, in which they all join, and theevening comes to a close.

  Trooping from Adams's house, they dispersed to their respective homes.The lights are extinguished. Only the quiet stars remain to shed a softradiance over the pleasant scene; and in a few minutes more the peopleof Pitcairn are wrapped in deep, healthy, sound repose.