Pitcairn's Island

by Charles Nordhoff

  "Didn't I say we was daft, the lot of us? He's made us believe what he told us, and now we're done for."

  "I'd like to see ye with a rope around your neck, waitin' to be hoisted aloft," said Smith. "It's not Christian ye'd be callin' daft then."

  "Leave all that, lads," said McCoy. "We're to stop here now, and there's an end of it."

  "And Christian's always to have his way, is he, whatever's done?" Martin asked.

  "No, damn my eyes if he is!" Mills exclaimed. "We're jack-tars no longer, mates! Don't forget it! We're to have a say here as good as his own. He's promised it."

  "There's no need to fash yersel'," said McCoy. "Wasn't it Christian that made the offer? And he'll bide by it; that we know."

  "Who's sayin' he won't? But I want us to mind what he's said...There's the rum, now. He's promised us our grog as long as it lasts, and we've had none these two days."

  "Curse ye, John, for mindin' us o' that," said McCoy with a wry smile. "And how would we have it with us workin' aboard and the spirits ashore?" said Smith.

  "Aye, we're no settled yet," said McCoy. "Gie him time. We'll have our tot afore the evening."

  "There's Alex would a had us go without altogether," said Mills.

  "Ye've a thick skull, John. I was for makin' it last a good few years, and, as Christian says, ye can't do that and claim seamen's rations now. How much do we have? Ye know as well as myself, there's but the two puncheons—that's 164 gallons—and the three five-gallon tags."

  "There's but eight of us to drink it, Alex. Brown's an abstainer."

  "Aye," said McCoy, fervently. "God be thanked for Brown and the Indians! If they was fond o' grog..."

  "Like it or not, none the Indians would have. We could see to that," said Mills.

  "What I say is this," Smith continued. "Christian's give ye yer choice with the rum, and ye was all for yer half-pint a day. With eight of us to drink it, there's three and a half gallons a week. Afore the year's out, where'll we be for grog? And mind ye, there's no Deptford stores here. When it's gone, it's gone, and we'll do without for the rest of our lives."

  "We'll no think of that, Alex," said McCoy. "We'll just relish what we've got and thank God it's no less. Mon, but I'd like my dram this minute!"

  "What would ye say, messmates, to better than a dram for the four of us within the half-hour?" Martin asked. McCoy turned his head quickly.

  "What's that ye say, Isaac? How should we hae it, and the rum stored in Christian's tent?"

  "Oh, it's rum ye must have, is it?" Martin replied, with a sly smile. "Ye wouldn't look at brandy, I doubt? And fine old brandy, too?"

  "What are ye drivin' at, man?" asked Mills, harshly. "Can't ye speak out plain? There's no brandy in the stores."

  "Have I said it was in the stores?"

  "Hark 'ee, Isaac! If ye've been thievin' from the medicine chest..."

  "I've done no such thing. I'll tell 'ee, mates," he proceeded, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "A few days back while we was rippin' out the cabin partitions, I found eight quarts o' brandy under what was Old Sawbones's bed-place. I reckon he'd hid it away for his own use on a thirsty day. Anyway, there it was, packed careful in a canvas bag. Sez I when I found it: 'This'll belong to nobody but Isaac Martin. It's not ship's stores, it's finder's luck'; so I hid it away, and last night, after we'd come ashore, I found a safe place to stow it. But I'd no mind to be greedy with it. Yell allow that, for I've told what there was no need to tell if I'd meant to keep it."

  "That's plain truth, God bless ye!" said McCoy. "If I'd found it I doubt but I'd been hog enough to drink the lot of it on the sly."

  "Ye would so, Will," said Mills. "Ye've your good points, but sharin' anything in the way o' grog's not one of 'em. Where's this brandy now, Isaac?"

  "We passed where I hid it on the way up here. It's a good piece from the camp. We can drink it somewheres thereabout and the rest none the wiser. What do ye say, Alex? Must I give it up as ship's stores?"

  "That's no called for," McCoy put in earnestly.

  "To my thinkin' it belongs to the ship and calls to be shared by all."

  "There's three of us to say no to that," said Mills.

  Smith rose. "Do as ye please," he said, "but it's a bad beginning ye're makin'. I'll go along and leave ye to it."

  For a moment his companions looked after him in silence; then Martin called out, "If we're asked for, Alex, tell 'em we're walkin' the island and will sleep the night out."

  Smith turned and waved his hand. A moment later he was lost to view in the forest, below.

  McCoy shook his head admiringly. "He's a grand stubborn character. And there's no man fonder of his grog; there's the wonder of it."

  "If we'd the brandy with us we could ha' won him over for all his fine notions o' what's fair to the rest," Martin replied. He rose to his feet. "Well, shipmates?"

  "Aye, lead on, Isaac," said McCoy, eagerly. "We'll no be laggin' far behind."

  Once below the ridge they lost the breeze and sweat streamed from their half-naked bodies as they pushed their way through the tall fern into the thickets below. At length they reached the depths of the valley, where the air was moist and cool. Martin led the way, walking in the bed of a small stream. Presently he stopped and looked about him uncertainly. McCoy gave him an anxious glance. "Ye've not lost yer bearin's, Isaac?"

  "It's somewhere hereabout," said Martin.

  "Curdle ye, Isaac! Don't ye know ? What like was the place where ye hid it?" said Mills.

  "It was by just such a tree as this. There was a hollow by the roots and I put it there...No, it'll be a step farther down."

  They proceeded slowly, Martin glancing from side to side. Presently his face lighted up. "Yon's the one," he said, hurrying forward. A widespreading hibiscus tree that looked as ancient as the land itself overhung the stream, its branches filled with lemon-coloured blossoms. Martin knelt by the trunk and reached to his arm's length among the gnarled and twisted roots. The eyes of his companions glistened as he drew out, one by one, eight bottles. He sat back on his heels, glancing triumphantly up at them.

  "God love ye, Isaac!" McCoy exclaimed, in an awed voice.

  "And it's old Sawbones's best brandy, mind ye that! Whereabout shall we go to drink it? We can't sit comfortable-like here."

  McCoy and Martin carrying three bottles each, and Mills with two, they proceeded down the valley for another fifty yards until they came to a little glade carpeted with fern and mottled with sunlight and shadow. At this point the tiny stream made a bend, and in the hollow against the further bank was a pool of still water, two or three yards wide. Here they seated themselves with grunts of satisfaction. Martin, taking a heavy clasp knife which he carried at his belt, knocked off the neck of a bottle with one clean even blow.

  "Ye needna be so impatient as all that," said McCoy. "Bottles'll be handy things here."

  Martin took a long pull before replying. "If there was one, there was fifteen dozen empties took ashore from the spirit room," he said. His companions were not far behind him in enjoying their first drink. McCoy, replacing the cork in his bottle, leaned it carefully against the tree beside him.

  "Isaac, I'll never forget ye for this," he said. "It fair sickens me to think I could nae hae done the same if I'd found the brandy."

  "Enjoy yourself hearty, Will. There's plenty for all. I'll be blind drunk afore I've finished my second."

  "We needna be hasty, there's a blessing," McCoy replied. "We've the night before us, and there's water close by to sober us up now and again."

  "I'm as willin' Matt Quintal's not with us," said Mills.

  "Aye," Martin replied. "There's a good shipmate when he's sober, but God spare me when he's had a drop too much!"

  McCoy nodded. "There's no demon worse. D'ye mind his wreckin' the taproom at the Three Blackamoors the week we left Portsmouth? When it took five of us to get him down?"

  "Mind! I've the marks on me yet," said Mills. "God strike me! What's this?"
/>   A tiny bouquet of flowers and fern, attached to a slender ribbon of bark, came dropping down through the foliage of the tree that shaded them. After dangling in front of Mills's nose for a moment, it was jerked up again. A ripple of laughter was heard, and, looking up quickly, they could see an elfin-like face peeping down from among the green leaves.

  "It's your own wench, Mills! Damme if it's not!" said Martin. Mills's rugged face sftened. "So it is! Come out o' that, ye little witch! What are ye doin' here?" he called.

  The girl descended to the lowest branch and perched there, out of reach, smiling down at them.

  "She's a rare lass for roamin' the woods and mountains," said Mills, fondly. He held out his arms. "Jump, ye little mischty!" The girl leaped and he caught her in his arms. She was dressed in a kirtle of bark cloth reaching to her knees, and her thick hair fell in a rippling mass over her bare breasts and shoulders. Mills held her off at arm's length, gazing at her admiringly.

  "Ye've spoke truth, John," said Martin. "She's a proper little witch."

  "Aye," said McCoy, "ye've the prettiest lass o' the lot. I wonder she'd come awa' from her kinfolks and a' with a dour old stick the like o' yersel'."

  Mills stroked her hair with his great rough hand. "Ye'll allow this, Will: ye've not seen her weepin' her eyes out for Tahiti like some o' the women."

  "Nay, I'll grant that," said McCoy. "She seems a contented little body."

  "I'd be pleased to say the like o' my wench, Susannah," said Martin, glumly. "She was willin' enough to come away with us, but now we're here she's fair sick to be home again. I've had no good of her since we beached the ship."

  "It's in reason she should be, Isaac," McCoy replied. "My woman's the same way. Gie 'em time; they'll joggle down well enough. Mills's lass here'll learn 'em how to make the best of things, won't 'ee, Prudence?"

  The girl's lips parted in a ready smile, revealing her small white teeth.

  "How d'ye manage with her, John?" Martin asked. "Ye're the dumbest o' the lot for speakin' the Indian lingo. Is it sign talk ye use with her?"

  "Never ye mind about that," Mills replied gruffly. "I've no call to learn their heathen jabber. Prudence takes to English like a pigeon picks up corn."

  "They're a queer lot, all these Indian wenches," said Martin. "Why is it, now, they make such a fuss about cookin' the food?"

  "It's against their heathen notions," said McCoy. "Young's told me how it is. Indian men won't have their womenfolks fussin' with their vittles. It's contrary to their religion, he says."

  "I'll learn mine better'n that, once we're settled," Martin replied. "She'll bloody well do as I tell her."

  "There's no need to beat it out of 'em, Isaac. They'll come around well enough, once they see how it is with us."

  "Aye, give 'em time; they'll follow our ways," said Mills. "It ain't in reason to expect it at the start."

  "And the men with 'em, if they know what's good for 'em."

  "Ye'll go easy there, Isaac," said McCoy, "else we'll have a fine row on our hands one o' these days. Minarii and Tetahiti's a pair not to be trifled with."

  "Say ye so, Will?" Mills replied grimly. "They'd best learn at the start who's masters here."

  "Christian and Young treat 'em like they was as good as ourselves," said Martin.

  "There's three we can do as we like with, but mind the others!" said McCoy. "Will the lass ken what we say, John?"

  "She's not that far along. Will 'ee sing 'em a song, Prudence?" he asked.

  The girl laughed and shook her head.

  "It strikes me she knows more 'n she lets on," said Martin.

  "I've been learnin' her one," Mills went on proudly. "Come, now, lass:—

  We hove our ship to when the wind was sou'west, boys,

  We hove our ship to for to strike soundings clear....

  Ye mind how it goes? Come, there's a good wench."

  After considerable urging the girl began singing in a soft, clear voice and a quaint pronunciation of the English words that delighted her listeners. She broke off and they cheered her heartily.

  "Damme if that ain't pretty, now!" said Martin. "Give her a sup o' brandy; there's nothin' better to wet the whistle."

  "Will 'ee have a taste, sweetheart?" said Mills, holding out the bottle. Prudence shook her head. "She don't fancy the stuff," he said, "and I ain't coaxed her to relish it."

  "And it's right ye are," said McCoy, "seeing there's none too much for oursel's. If the women learned to booze we'd be bad off in no time for grog."

  "What! A wench not drink with her fancy-man?" said Martin. "That's not jack-tar's fashion. Give her a sup."

  "Aye, ye're right, Isaac," Mills replied. "It ain't natural on a spree. Come, lass, just a drop now."

  He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her to him, holding the bottle to her lips. Thus urged, the girl closed her eyes and took two or three resolute swallows. Choking and sputtering, she pushed the bottle away and ran to the near-by stream. The three men laughed heartily.

  "Fancy a dolly-mop at home makin' such a face as that over good brandy," said Martin.

  "My old woman could drink her half-pint in two ticks, not winkin' an eye," said McCoy..."There's an odd thing," he added; "I doubt I've thought of her twice this past twelve-month."

  "Was ye wedded to her, Will?"

  "Aye; all shipshape and Bristol-fashion. I liked her well enough, too."

  "If I know women she'll not be sleepin' cold the nights ye've been away," said Mills.

  "Aye, she'll hae dragged her anchor long afore this," McCoy replied. He raised his bottle. "Well, here's luck to her wherever she is."

  Prudence returned from the brook and seated herself again at Mills's side.

  "How is it with ye, lass?"

  She laughed and pointed to the bottle. "More," she replied.

  "There's a proper wench, John," said Martin, admiringly. "Damn my eyes if she won't make a proper boozer, give her time. All she needs is a sup o' water to follow."

  Mills smiled down at her, proudly. "She'll do," he said. "Here, darlin', drink hearty."

  "Ahoy there, mates!"

  The three men looked up quickly to find Quintal standing behind them.

  "God love us! It's Matt himself," said McCoy, uneasily.

  "Come aboard, Matt; we was wishin' for ye," Martin put in with an attempt at heartiness.

  Quintal squatted on the balls of his feet, his brawny hands on his knees, and grinned at them accusingly. "I've no doubt o' that," he said, "and searchin' for me far and wide. And where did ye find all this?"

  "Never ye mind, Matt. We ain't thieved it. It's private stock. Would ye relish a taste?"

  Quintal looked longingly at the bottle. "Ye know damned well I would. No, don't coax me, Isaac. I'd best leave it alone."

  "That's common sense, lad," said McCoy. "Ye ken yer weakness. We'll no think the less o' ye for standin' out against it."

  Quintal seated himself in the fern with his back to a tree. "Go on with your boozin'," he said. "What's this, Mills? The little wench ain't shakin' a cloth?"

  "She's havin' her first spree," said Mills. "She's took to brandy that easy. Where's Jack Williams?"

  "I've not seen him these two hours."

  "Not alone, I'll warrant, wherever he is. And it won't be Fasto that's with him."

  "Aye, he's fair crazed over that—what's her name? Hutia?"

  "Why can't he keep to his own?" Mills growled.

  "Where's the need, John?" Martin asked. "I mean to take a walk with Hutia myself, once we're well ashore."

  "Aye, ye'll be a proper trouble-maker, Isaac, give ye half a chance," said Quintal. "The Indians can play that game as well as ourselves. I'm with John. Let each man keep to his own."

  "Aye, aye, to that!" said McCoy. "Once there was trouble started 'twixt us and the Indians, there'd be the deil and a' to pay. We've the chance, here, to live quiet and peaceful as ever we like. I say, let's take it and hold fast by it."

  "And how long will
the Indians hold by it, think ye?" asked Martin. "There's three without women. They'll be snoopin' after ours, fast enough."

  "They'll leave mine alone," said Mills. "That I'll promise!"

  "Say ye so, John? She'll be amongst the first. I'll warrant some of 'em's had her before now."

  Mills sprang to his knees and grasped Martin by the shoulders, shaking him violently.

  "What d'ye say, ye devil? Speak up if ye've seen it! Tell me who, or I'll throttle ye!"

  "Let me go, John! God's name! I've seen naught! I was only havin' a game wi' ye."

  Mills glared at him suspiciously, but upon being reassured by the others he released him and resumed his place.

  "Christian's gone aboard again," said Quintal; "him and Young."

  "There, lads, we can take it easy," said McCoy in a relieved tone. "Prudence, will 'ee gie us a dance?" He turned to Mills: "Ye don't mind, John? It's a joy to see her."

  "Mind? Why should he?" said Martin. "Come, Prudence, up wi' ye, wench!"

  The fumes of the brandy had already mounted to the girl's brain and she was ready enough to comply. The men well understood the quick rhythmic slapping of hands upon knees that marked the time for the dances of the Maori women. Prudence danced proudly, with the natural abandon of the young savage, pausing before each of the men in turn, her slim bare arms akimbo, gazing tauntingly into their eyes as she went through the provocative movements of the dance. Of a sudden she broke off with a peal of laughter and ran lightly away into the thickets.

  The men cheered heartily. "Come back, ye little imp," Martin called. "We'll have more o' the same."

  "That we will," said McCoy. "John, I'll trade wenches wi' ye any day ye like."

  "Keep your own," said Mills, with a harsh laugh. "I'm well pleased with what I got. Come back, ye little mischty! We've not done wi' ye yet."

  The girl feigned reluctance for a moment; then, running back to Mills, she seized the bottle from his hands and drank again. Quintal watched her with fascinated eyes, nervously clasping and unclasping his great hairy hands. By this time the others were in the mellow state of the first stages of a spree.

  "Matt Quintal," Martin exclaimed, "I'll see no man sit by with a dry gullet! Ye're perished for a drink, that's plain. Come, have a sup." He passed over a bottle which Quintal accepted, hesitatingly. "Thank 'ee, Isaac. I'll have a taste and no more."