"Nor I, sir!" Smith put in. Others of the mutineers added their voices to his. There was no doubt as to the general feeling concerning the necessity for a safe hiding place.
"Very well," Christian continued. "It is agreed, apparently, by all, or most of you, that you have no wish to swing at a yardarm from one of His Majesty's ships-of-war. What, then, is best to be done? Surely it is to seek out some island unlikely to be visited for as long as we may live. We have found such an island; it lies before us. We are distant, here, more than a thousand miles from Tahiti, and far from the tracks of any vessel likely to cross the Pacific in whatever direction. It is a fertile and pleasant place; that you can see for yourselves. Our Indian friends, whose judgment I trust more than my own in such matters, say that it is capable of supplying all our needs. There are no inhabitants to molest us; our experiences at Tupuai will not be repeated here. To me it seems an ideal spot, and Mr. Young agrees that we might have searched the Pacific over without having found one better suited to men in our position. Now, then, reflect carefully. Shall we make our home here or shall we not? And those who are opposed must give better reasons than that of Mills."
"Is this to be for good, Mr. Christian?" McCoy asked.
"Yes. Let there be no mistake about that. I have already said that if we go ashore we go to stay."
"Then I don't favour it."
"For what reason?"
"The place is too sma'. We'd do better for ourselves on that island we raised after the mutiny, on our way to Tupuai."
"Rarotonga, you mean."
"Aye. It's a likelier place."
Christian reflected for a moment.
"I will say this, McCoy. I seriously considered taking the vessel to Rarotonga, but there are the best of reasons why I decided against the plan. The place is known to those of the Bounty's company who remained on Tahiti, and amongst them are men who will be sure to speak of it to the officers of whatever vessel may be sent in search of us. Furthermore, it is but little more than a hundred leagues from Tahiti. We could never feel safe there...Have you anything further to say?"
He waited, glancing from one to another of the mutineers. Mills avoided his gaze and stood with his arms folded, scowling at vacancy. Martin looked at Quintal and kicked him with his bare foot as though urging him to speak, but no further objections were offered.
"Very well, then. Those who favour choosing Pitcairn's Island as our home, show hands."
Five hands were lifted at once. McCoy, after a moment of hesitation, joined the affirmative vote. Martin followed.
"Well, Mills?" said Christian, sharply.
The old seaman raised his hand with an effort. "I can see it's best, Mr. Christian, but I deem it hard to be cut off for life on a rock the like o' this."
"You would find it harder still to be cut off at a rope's end," Christian replied, grimly.
"What's to be done with the ship, sir?" Martin asked.
"Burn her, I say." It was Smith who spoke.
"Aye, burn and scuttle her, Mr. Christian," said Williams. "There's no other way."
There was immediate dissent to this proposal on the part of both Martin and Mills, and for a moment all the seamen were shouting at once. Christian waited, then gave an order for silence.
"Not a man of you but is seaman enough to know that we can't keep the ship here," he said, quietly. "She must be dismantled and burned. What else could we do with her?"
The matter was discussed at some length, but it was plain to all that no other possibility offered itself, and when the question was put to a vote the show of hands was again unanimous.
"I have only one other thing to add," Christian said. "In matters of importance that concern us as a community, every man, from this day on, shall have his vote. All questions shall be decided by the will of the majority. Are you agreed to this?"
All were in favour of the proposal, and Christian, having admonished them to remember this in the future, dismissed them. When they had gone, Young turned to his commander.
"For their own good, Christian, you have been too generous."
"In granting them a voice in our affairs?"
"Yes. I think ultimate decisions should rest with you."
"I well realize the danger," Christian replied; "but there is no alternative. I alone am the cause of their being here. Had I not incited them to mutiny, the Bounty would now be nearing England—home." He broke off, staring gloomily at the land. "That thought must be often in their minds."
"They were your eager assistants," Young replied. "Not one of them joined you against his will."
"I know. Nevertheless, I swept them into action on the spur of the moment. They had no time to reflect upon the consequences. No, Edward, I owe the meanest man among them whatever compensation is now possible. Justice demands that I give each of them a voice in our affairs; yes, even though I know it to be to their own hurt. But you and I, together, can, I hope, direct them to wise decisions."
The sun had now set and the silence of the land seemed to flow outward to meet the silence of the sea. High overhead, sea birds in countless numbers floated to and fro with lonely cries in the still air, their wings catching the light streaming up from beyond the horizon. The Bounty rocked gently over the long smooth undulations sweeping in from the open sea.
At length Christian turned from the rail. "It is a peaceful spot, Edward," he said. "God grant that we may keep it so!"
CHAPTER III
The Bounty's people were astir with the first light of day, and preparations for disembarking supplies went rapidly forward. The mutineers, with the exception of Brown, the gardener, were to remain on board under Young's charge, sending the supplies ashore. This done, they were to proceed with the dismantling of the vessel. The native men and most of the women were to constitute the beach party, transporting cargo to the landing place by means of the ship's cutters and two canoes brought from Tahiti. As soon as a path had been made, they were to carry the stores on to the site above the cove selected for the temporary settlement. Williams, the blacksmith, had converted some cutlasses into bush knives by filing off the upper part of the long blades. Provided with these, and with axes, mattocks, and spades, Minarii and two of his native companions were soon hard at work on shore, hacking through the dense thickets and digging out a zigzag trail to the level ground above.
Although the Bounty's stores had been shared with the mutineers who remained on Tahiti, there was still a generous amount on board: casks of spirits, salt beef and pork, dried peas and beans, an abundant supply of clothing, kegs of powder and nails, iron for blacksmith work, lead for musket balls, and the like. There were also fourteen muskets and a number of pistols. The livestock consisted of half a dozen large crates of fowls, twenty sows, two of which had farrowed during the voyage, five boars, and three goats. The island being small, it was decided to free both the fowls and the animals and let them fend for themselves until the work of house-building was under way.
The weather was all that could be desired; the sky cloudless, the breeze light and from the southwest. So it remained for five days. By the end of that time the precious stock of plants and animals had been carried ashore as well as most of the ship's provisions, and shelters made of the Bounty's spare sails had been erected on a spot overlooking the cove.
An incident occurred at this time which aroused intense excitement among the Maori members of the company. It was an immemorial custom, among the Polynesians, when migrating from one land to another, to carry with them several sacred stones from their ancestral maraes , or temples, to be used to consecrate their temples in a new land. The Tahitians had brought with them two such stones from the marae of Fareroi, on the northern coast of their homeland. Minarii, the chief in whose charge they were, had brought them on deck to be taken ashore, and Martin, seeing them at the gangway and knowing little and caring less of their significance to the natives, had thrown them overboard. The native men were all ashore at the time, but Martin's act had been witnessed by some
of the women, who were horrified at what he had done. One of them leaped overboard and swam to the beach, informing the men of what had happened. They returned in all haste, and the white seamen, forward, resolved to brazen out the sacrilegious act performed by Martin. A pitched battle was averted only by the quick-wittedness of Maimiti and the tactfulness of Young, who had the liking and respect of the native men. Fortunately, the stones could still be dimly seen lying on the white sand below the vessel, and it was the work of only a few minutes to dive, secure them with lines, and draw them up. This done, peace was restored and the natives returned to their work ashore.
On the morning of the fifth day the wind shifted to the northeast and blew freshly into the cove. All had agreed that the vessel was to be beached as soon as the wind favoured, and Young now put everything in readiness for the Bounty's last brief voyage. Christian, who had spent the night ashore, returned at once. Most of the native women were aboard at this time and the mutineers were at their stations, waiting, talking in low voices among themselves. Christian clambered over the rail, glanced briefly around, and went to the wheel.
"It could not have happened better for us, Ned," he said quietly. "There's been no trouble aboard?"
"Thus far, no," Young replied. "We'll have her ashore before Mills gathers his wits together. I've kept Martin working aft with me until a moment ago."
Christian called to the men forward. "Stand by to back the fore-topmast staysail!"
"Aye, aye, sir!"
"Break out the anchors."
The men at the windlass heaved lustily, their sunburned backs gleaming with sweat. The stronger of the women assisted at this task, while others ran aloft to loose the fore-topsail. With her staysail backed, the vessel swung slowly around, the topsail filled, and, while the anchors were tatted, the ship gathered way and drove quietly on toward the beach.
The spot selected for running the vessel ashore lay under the lofty crag, later called Ship-Landing Point, on the left side of the cove. Yielding the wheel to Young, Christian now went forward to direct the vessel's course. It was a tense moment for all the Bounty's company; men and women alike lined the bulwarks, gazing ahead across the narrowing strip of water. Martin, McCoy, and Quintal stood together on the larboard side.
Martin shook his head, gloomily. "Mark my word, mates! Many's the time we'll rue this day afore we're done!"
Quintal thumped him on the back. "Over the side with 'ee, Isaac, and swim back to Tahiti if ye've a mind that way. I'm for stoppin'."
"Aye, ye was easy won over, Matt Quintal," Martin replied. "It's all for the best, is it? We'll see afore the year's out...God a mercy! There's bottom!"
The vessel, still a quarter of a mile from shore, struck lightly. The rock could be seen, but it was at such a depth that it no more than scraped the hull gently; in a few seconds she was clear of it, but her end was near. Riding more and more violently to the onshore swell, she approached two rocks, barely awash and about four fathoms apart. A moment later the ground swell carried her swiftly forward, lifting her bow high, and she struck heavily.
The impact was both downward and forward; with her own movement and the sea to help her, she slid on until her bow was lifted two or three feet. There, by a lucky chance, she stuck, so firmly wedged that the sea could drive her no further. The broken water foamed around her, and now and then a heavier swell, breaking under her counter, showered her decks with spray.
No time was lost in making the vessel as secure as possible. The rocks where she struck lay at about thirty yards from the beach, and were protected in a southeasterly direction by the cliff that formed that side of the cove. Two hawsers were now carried from the bow to the shore and made fast to trees. The vessel remained in the position in which she had struck, canted at a slight angle to starboard. Christian, having satisfied himself that she was as secure as he could make her, set the men to work at once at the task of dismantling.
There was no respite for anyone during the following week. The topgallant masts were sent down as soon as the ship was beached. The topmasts now followed, whereupon the fore, main, and mizzenmasts were cut into suitable lengths for handling and for use as lumber ashore. Most of the men were employed on board, and the women, excellent swimmers, helped to raft the timbers through the surf. So steep was the slope above the landing beach that it was necessary to dig out the hillside and bank up the earth so that the timbers and planking might be stacked beyond reach of the sea until such time as they could he carried on to the settlement. Realizing the need for haste, all worked with a will. Fortunately, the shift in wind had been no forerunner of heavy weather. The breeze remained light and the sea fairly calm.
At length the vessel had been gutted of cabins, lockers, and store-rooms, the deck planking had been removed, and the men were ripping-off the heavy oaken strakes. Their task being so nearly finished, a day of rest was granted, and for the first time since the Bounty had left England, no one was aboard the vessel. An abundance of fish was caught during the morning, and with these, fresh breadfruit, plantains, and wild yams the native men had found, the Bounty's people made the most satisfying meal they had enjoyed since leaving Tahiti. Never before had they eaten together, and the feeling of constraint was apparent to all. Christian and Young tried to put the men at ease, but the meal passed in silence for the most part. The women, according to Polynesian custom, waited until the men had finished before partaking of the food. Their hunger satisfied, the men drew apart and lay in the shade, some sleeping, some talking in desultory fashion. Early in the afternoon, Martin, Mills, and McCoy, who had seen little of the island thus far, set out to explore it with Alexander Smith as their guide.
They toiled slowly on into the depths of the valley, making their way with difficulty through the dense forests and vine-entangled thickets. An hour had passed before they reached the ridge overlooking the western side of the island. The breeze was refreshingly cool at that height, and they seated themselves in a shady spot overlooking the wild green lands below. No sound was heard save their own laboured breathing and the gentle rustling of the wind through the trees that shaded them. Mills sat with his arms crossed on his knees, gazing morosely into the depths of the thickets beneath them.
"And this is what Christian's brought us to!" he said. "There's what we can see from here, and no more."
"There's room enough," said McCoy.
"Room? Ye're easy pleased," Martin put in, gloomily. "A bloody rock, I call it!"
"Aye, Tahiti's the place," said Smith, scornfully. "Ye'd have us all go back there to be took by the first ship that comes out from England. Ye're perishin' to be choked off at a rope's end, Isaac. None o' that for me!"
McCoy nodded. "It's no such a grand place for size, this Pitcairn's Island; but Christian's right—it's safe. We'll never be found."
"And here we'll bide to our last day!" said Mills. "Have 'ee thought o' that, shipmates?" He smote his horny palms together. "God's curse on the pack of us! What fools we've been to break up the ship!"
McCoy sat up abruptly. "Hearken to me, John. Ye and Isaac had your chance to stay at Tahiti, but I mind me weel ye was all for comin' awa' with the rest of us to a safer place. And now we've found it, ye'll nae hae it. And what would ye hae done with the ship? Hoist her three hunnerd feet up the rocks? Where could we keep her?"
"It's as Christian says," Smith added. "We're not free to go where we like."
"And whose fault is that?" Mills replied. "If he'd minded his own bloody business..."
"Aye," said Martin, "we'd ha' been home by now, or near it. We've a deal to be thankful for to Mr. Fletcher Christian!"
"I'd like well to hear ye tell him that," said Smith. "Ye'll be sayin' next he drove us into the mutiny. There was no man more willin' than yerself, Isaac Martin, to seize the ship."
"That's truth," said McCoy. "Give Christian his due. We was all of a mind, there."
"The man's clean daft. Is there one of ye can't see it?"
"Daft!..."
"Sit ye quiet, Alex. So he is, and we've all been daft with him. He's queer by nature, that's my belief, and since we took the ship he thinks the world ain't big enough to hide him and us in. He's a master talker when he's a mind to talk; that I'll say, else he'd never coaxed a man of us off Tahiti. What if a ship did come there? Couldn't we ha' hid in the mountains? There's places a plenty where God himself couldn't ha' found us. Or if we was afeared o' that, we'd only to take a big Indian canoe and sail to Eimeo or one of them islands to leeward, a good hundred miles from Tahiti. We could ha' played hide-and-seek with a dozen King's ships till they got sick o' the chase and went off home. Then we'd live easy for ten or fifteen years till the next one came. Ain't that common sense? Speak up, Will!"
"Aye," McCoy replied, uneasily. "Like enough we might hae done it."
"Might! Damn my eyes! I've spoke o' ships because Christian's got ships on the brain, but I'll warrant them as stayed on Tahiti is as safe as we'll be here. Bligh'll never get home; Christian himself knows that. Does anyone but him think they'll send a ship out from England, halfway round the world, to see what's become of a little transport? Bloody likely! They'll mark her down as lost by the act o' God, and that'll be the end of it."
"Damn your blood!" said Mills, scowling at him. "Why couldn't ye ha' spoke like this to Christian? What's the good o' talkin' of it now?"
Pitcairn's Island Page 4
