Pitcairn's Island

by Charles Nordhoff

  "No..." She hesitated. "But it is so far away...Shall we never go back to Tahiti?"

  Christian shook his head. "Never. I told you that before we came," he added gently.

  "I know..." She glanced up with a wistful smile, her eyes misted with tears. "You must not mind if I think of Tahiti sometimes."

  "Mind? Of course I shall not mind!...But we shall be happy here, Maimiti. I am sure of it. The land is strange to us now; but soon we shall have our houses built, and when our children come it will be home to us. You will never be sad, then."

  The relationship between Christian and this daughter of Polynesian aristocrats was no casual or superficial one. It was an attachment that had its beginning shortly after the Bounty's first arrival at Tahiti, and which had deepened day by day during the months the vessel remained there, assembling her cargo of young breadfruit trees. During the long sojourn on the island, Christian had made a serious effort to learn the native speech, with such success that he was now able to converse in it with considerable fluency. The language difficulty overcome, he had discovered that Maimiti was far more than the simple, unreflecting child of nature that he had, at first, supposed; but it was not until the time came when it was necessary for her to choose between him and giving up, forever, family and friends and all that had hitherto made life dear to her that he realized the depth of her loyalty and affection. There had been no hesitation on her part in deciding which it should be.

  Presently she turned toward him again, making an attempt to smile. "Let us go on," she said. She took Christian's hand, as though for protection against the strangeness and silence of the place, and they proceeded slowly, peering into the thickets on either side, stopping frequently to explore some small glade where the dense foliage of the trees had prevented the undergrowth from thriving. Of a sudden Maimiti halted and gazed overhead. "Look!" she exclaimed. "Itatae! "

  Coming from seaward, outlined in exquisite purity against the blue sky, were two snow-white terns. They watched them in silence for a moment.

  "These are the birds I love most of all," said Maimiti. "Do you remember them at Tahiti? Always you see two together."

  Christian nodded. "How close they come!" he said. "They seem to know you."

  "Of course they know me! Have I never told you how I chose the itatae for my own birds when I was a little girl? Oh, the beautiful things! You will see: within a week I shall have them eating out of my hand."

  She now looked about her with increasing interest and pleasure, pointing out to Christian various plants and trees and flowers familiar to her. Presently a parklike expanse, shaded by trees immemorially old, opened before them. On their right hand stood a gigantic banyan tree whose roots covered a great area of ground. Passing beyond this and descending the slope for a little way, they came to a knoll only a short distance above the place where the land fell steeply to the sea. It was an enchanting spot, fragrant with the odours of growing, blossoming things, and cooled by the breeze that rustled through the foliage of great trees that hemmed it in on the seaward side. Beyond, to the north, they looked across a narrow valley to the mountain which cut off the view in that direction. Christian turned to his companion.

  "Maimiti, this is the spot I would choose for our home."

  She nodded. "I wished you to say that! It is the very place!"

  "All of our houses can be scattered along this northern slope," he added, "and we are certain to find water in one of these small valleys."

  Maimiti was now as light-hearted as she had been sad a little time before. They sat down on a grassy knoll and talked eagerly of plans for the future, of the precise spot where their house should stand; of the paths to be made through the forests, of the gardens to be planted, and the like. At length they rose, and, crossing the deeply shaded expanse above, they came to a breadfruit tree which towered above the surrounding forest. It was the first they had seen. Another smaller tree had sprung from one of its roots, and by means of this Maimiti climbed quickly to the lower branches of the great one, which was loaded with fruit. She twisted off a dozen or more of the large green globes, tossing them down to Christian.

  "We shall have a feast to-day," she called down. "Did you bring your fire-maker?"

  Christian brought forth his flint and steel; they gathered twigs and leaves and dry sticks, and when the fire was burning briskly they placed the fruit in the midst of it to roast. When the rough green rinds had been blackened all round, they left the breadfruit among the hot ashes and again set out to explore further. Upon returning, an hour later, they found Minarii and Moetua squatting by the fire roasting sea birds' eggs which they had collected along the tops of the cliffs beyond the southern ridge. And Minarii had brought a cluster of green drinking coconuts and a bunch of fine plantains he had found in the depths of the valley.

  "We shall eat well to-day," he said. "It is a rich land we have found. We have no need to seek further."

  "So I think," Christian replied. "Did you climb the ridge to the south'ard?"

  "Yes. There is good land beyond, better even than that in this valley. I was surprised to find it so; but on this side is where we should live."

  "That is good news, Minarii," Christian replied. "I, too, supposed that the sea lay directly below the southern ridge. How wide are the lands beyond?"

  "In some places they extend for all of five or six hundred paces, sloping gently down from the ridge to the high cliffs that front the sea."

  "Have you found any streams?"

  "One. It is small, but the water is good."

  "We shall not lack for sea fowls' eggs," said Moetua. "All the cliffs on that southern side are filled with crannies where they nest. I collected these in little time, but there is danger in gathering them; it made my eyes swim to look below."

  It was now getting on toward midday, but the lofty trees spread for them their grateful shade, and the breeze, though light, was refreshingly cool. While preparations for the meal went forward, Christian again strolled to the seaward side of the plateau, where he had a view of the full half-circle of the horizon. Far below, to the east, he could see the Bounty , looking small indeed under the cliffs, against the wide background of empty sea. Her anchors were holding well. Having satisfied himself that the ship had maintained her position, he seated himself with his back to a tree, hands clasped around his knees, and remained thus until he heard Maimiti's voice calling him from above. He rose and went slowly back to the others.

  Their meal was under way before Smith and Brown appeared. Both were enthusiastic over what they had found.

  "It's as fine a little place as ever I see, Mr. Christian," Smith said, warmly. "We climbed to the top of that peak, yonder."

  "How much land is there beyond the western ridge?"

  "Little enough, sir, and what there is, is all rocks and gullies." Christian turned to Brown. "What have you found in the way of useful plants and trees?"

  "I needn't speak of the coconut palms and the pandanus, sir. Ye've seen for yourself that there's more than enough for our needs. Then there's miro and sandalwood, and the tutui ..."

  "The candlenut? There is a useful find indeed!"

  "There's a good few scattered about; and the miro , as ye know, is a fine wood for house-building. As for food plants, it's as well we've a stock on board. We've found wild yams and a kind of taro, but little else."

  "You could overlook the whole of the island from the peak?"

  "Aye, sir," Smith replied.

  "What would you say of its extent, judging roughly?"

  "It can't be much over two miles long, sir, if that; and about half as wide. What do ye think, Will?"

  "Aye, it's about that," the gardener replied. "There's a fine grove of breadfruit on the shelf of land ye can see from here, sir, but I'm as glad we brought some young trees with us. We've varieties I didn't see, here, in looking about this morning."

  "Have you found any evidence that people have been here before us?"

  "To say the truth, sir, I never e
ven thought of that," Brown replied. "Ye don't mean white men, Mr. Christian?" Smith asked. "No. We are the first, I am sure, who have ever landed here; but Maimiti thinks Indians have once inhabited the place."

  "If they did, it must have been long ago. Never a trace did we see of anything of the kind."

  Christian now turned to Minarii, addressing him in the native tongue. "Minarii, is it possible, do you think, that Maoris have ever visited this land?"

  "É ," he remarked, quietly. "There has been a settlement here, where we now are. It is the place that would have been chosen for a village, and that great banyan tree has been planted. The breadfruit as well."

  Maimiti turned to Christian. "You see?" she said. "Did I not tell you so?"

  Christian smiled, incredulously. "I have great respect for your judgment, Minarii," he said, "but in this case I am sure you are wrong. Before us sea birds alone have inhabited this land."

  Minarii inserted his hand into the twist of tapa at his waist and drew forth a small stone adze, beautifully made and ground to perfect smoothness. "Then the sea fowl brought that?" he asked.

  It was late afternoon when the party returned to the ship. Smith and Brown went forward, where they were surrounded at once by the other seamen, eager for a report of conditions ashore. Christian retired to his cabin and supped there, alone. Toward sunset he joined Young on deck. For some time he paced up and down, then halted by his companion, who stood at the rail gazing at the high slopes before them, all golden now in the light of the sinking sun.

  "We will call this 'Bounty Bay,' Mr. Young, unless you have a better suggestion?"

  "I was thinking that 'Christian's Landing' would be a suitable name, sir."

  Christian shook his head. "I wish my name to be attached to nothing here," he said, "not even to one of those rocks offshore. Tell me," he added, "now that we have found the place, how do you feel about it?"

  "That we might have searched the Pacific over without having discovered a more suitable one."

  "There is no real anchorage here," Christian went on. "The place where we lie is the best the island affords. You can imagine what this cove will be in a northerly blow. No ship would be safe for ten minutes in such an exposed position. You realize what a decision to remain here means? Our voyages are over until our last day."

  "That is of course, sir," Young replied, quietly.

  "And you are content that it shall be so?"

  "Quite."

  Christian turned his head and gave him a swift, scrutinizing glance. When he spoke again it was not as the Bounty's captain addressing an inferior officer. There was a friendly gleam in his eyes, and a note of appeal in his voice.

  "Old friend," he said, "from this time on, let there be no more ship's formality between us. The success or failure of the little colony we shall plant here depends largely upon us. I shall need your help badly, and it may be that you will need mine. Whatever happens, let us stand by each other."

  "That we shall," Young replied warmly, "and there is my hand upon it."

  Christian seized and pressed it cordially. "We have rough men to handle," he continued. "It was to be expected that the more unruly ones should have come here with me...Tell me frankly, why did you come? There was no need. You took no part in the mutiny; you might have remained on Tahiti with the other innocent men to wait for a ship to take you home. Once there, a court-martial would certainly have vindicated you."

  "Let me assure you of this," Young replied, "I have never regretted my decision."

  Christian turned again to look at him. "You mean that," he said, "I can see that you do. And yet, when I think what you have given up to throw in your lot with me..."

  "Do you remember Van Diemen's Land," Young asked, "where Bligh had me seized up at one of the guns and flogged?"

  "I am not likely to forget that," Christian replied, grimly.

  "I was a mutineer at heart from that day," Young went on. "I have never told you of this, but, had there been an opportunity, I would have deserted the ship before we sailed from Tahiti—for home, as we then thought. As you know, I slept through the whole of the mutiny. When I was awakened and ordered on deck, the thing was done. Bligh and those who went with him had been cast adrift, and the launch was far astern. Had I known in advance what you meant to do..." He paused. "I will not say, Christian, that I would have given you my active support. I think I should have lacked the courage..."

  "Let us speak no more of that," Christian interrupted. "You are here. You little know what comfort that thought brings me...I was thinking," he added presently, "what a paradise Pitcairn's Island might prove, could we have chosen our companions here. We have an opportunity such as chance rarely grants to men—to form a little world cut off from the rest of mankind, and to rear our children in complete ignorance of any life save what they will find on this small island."

  Young nodded. "Whom would you have chosen, could you have had your wish, from the Bounty's original company?"

  "I prefer not to think of the matter," Christian replied, gloomily. "We must do what we can with those we have. The Indians are fine fellows, with one or, perhaps, two exceptions. I have few regrets concerning them. As for the men of our own blood..." He broke off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

  "Brown and Alex Smith might have been chosen in any event," Young remarked.

  "I should have excepted them. They are good men, both."

  "And their respect and admiration for you are very near idolatry," Young added, with a faint smile. "That of Smith in particular; you've a loyal henchman there."

  "I'm glad you think so. I've a great liking for Smith. What do you know of him? Where does he come from?"

  "I've learned more about him these past three months than I did during the whole of the voyage out from England. He was a lighterman on the Thames at the time Bligh was signing on the Bounty men, but he hated the business and was only waiting for a suitable opportunity to go to sea again. He has told me that his true name is Adams, John Adams, and that he was born and reared in a foundling home near London."

  "Adams, you say? That's curious! Why did he change his name?"

  "He volunteered no information on that score, and I didn't feel free to question him."

  "No, naturally not. Well, whatever scrape he may have been in, I'll warrant there was nothing mean or underhanded in his share of it."

  "I'd be willing to take my oath on that," Young replied, heartily. "He's rough and uncouth, but you can depend upon him. He hasn't a tricky or a dishonest bone in his body."

  "There is a decision we must make soon," Christian said, after a moment of silence. "It concerns the vessel."

  "You mean to destroy her?"

  "Yes. Do you agree to the plan?"

  "Heartily."

  "There is nothing else we can do, the island being what it is; but I want the suggestion to come from the men themselves. They must soon see the necessity, if they have not already."

  "Supposing there were a safe anchorage?"

  "Not even then should I have wanted to keep her. No, we must burn all bridges behind us. I fancy there is not a lonelier island in the Pacific, and yet the place is known, and there is always the possibility of its being visited. A ship can't be concealed, but once we are rid of the Bounty we can so place our settlement that no evidence of it will appear from the sea. The landing is a dangerous one and not likely to be attempted by any vessel that may pass this way; certainly not if the place is thought to be uninhabited. We shall have little to fear, once we are rid of the vessel."

  "May I make a suggestion?"

  "Please do. Speak your mind to me at all times."

  "The men are impatient, I know, to learn of your plans. Would it not be well to tell them, to-night, how the island impresses you?"

  Christian reflected for a moment. "Good. I agree," he said. "Call them aft, will you?"

  He paced the quarter-deck while Young was carrying out this order. The men, both white and brown, gathered in a half-circle by the
mizzenmast to await Christian's pleasure. The women assembled behind them, peering over their shoulders and talking in subdued voices. It was a strange ship's company that gathered on the Bounty's deck to listen to the words of their leader.

  "Before anything more is done," he began, "I wish to be sure that you are satisfied with this island as a home for us. You were all agreed that we should search for the place, and that, if we found it suitable, we should settle here. You will have learned from your shipmates who went ashore with me what the island has to offer us. Remember, if we go ashore, we go to stay. If any object, now is the time to speak."

  There was an immediate response from several of the men.

  "I'm for stopping, Mr. Christian."

  "It's a snug little place. We couldn't wish for better, sir." Mills was the first of the dissenting party to speak.

  "It's not my notion of a snug little place."

  "Why not?" Christian asked.

  Addressed thus directly by his commanding officer, Mills shifted from one foot to the other, scowling uneasily at his companions.

  "I've spoke my mind, Mr. Christian; it ain't my notion of a place, and I'll stand by that."

  "But that's no reason, man! You must know why you're not satisfied. What is it that you object to?"

  "He'd be satisfied with no place, Mr. Christian; that's the truth of it," Williams, the blacksmith, put in.

  "You prefer Tahiti. Is that it?" Christian asked.

  "I'm not sayin' I'd not go back if the chance was offered." Christian regarded him in silence for a moment.

  "Listen to me, Mills," he proceeded. "And the rest of you as well. I have spoken of this matter before. I will repeat what I've said, and for the last time. We are not English seamen in good standing, in our own ship, free to do as we choose and to go where we choose. We are fugitives from justice, guilty of the double crime of mutiny and piracy. That we will be searched for, as soon as the fact of the mutiny is known, is beyond question."

  "Ye don't think old Bligh'll ever reach England, sir?" Martin interrupted.

  Christian paused and glanced darkly at him.

  "I could wish that he might," he said, "for the sake of the innocent men who went with him. As matters stand, it is not likely that any of them will ever again be heard of. Nevertheless, His Majesty will not suffer one of his vessels to disappear without ordering a wide and careful search to be made, to learn, if possible, her fate. A ship-of-war will he sent out for that purpose, and Tahiti will be her destination. There she will learn of the mutiny from those of our company who remained on that island. The Pacific will then be combed for our hiding place; every island considered at all likely as our refuge will be visited. Should we be discovered and taken, death will be the portion of every man of us. For my own part, I mean never to be taken."