The Lonely Island: The Refuge of the Mutineers Part 1

The Lonely Island.

by R.M. Ballantyne.

CHAPTER ONE.

THE REFUGE OF THE MUTINEERS.

THE MUTINY.

On a profoundly calm and most beautiful evening towards the end of the last century, a s.h.i.+p lay becalmed on the fair bosom of the Pacific Ocean.

Although there was nothing piratical in the aspect of the s.h.i.+p--if we except her guns--a few of the men who formed her crew might have been easily mistaken for roving buccaneers. There was a certain swagger in the gait of some, and a sulky defiance on the brow of others, which told powerfully of discontent from some cause or other, and suggested the idea that the peaceful aspect of the sleeping sea was by no means reflected in the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of the men. They were all British seamen, but displayed at that time none of the well-known hearty off-hand rollicking characteristics of the Jack-tar.

It is natural for man to rejoice in suns.h.i.+ne. His sympathy with cats in this respect is profound and universal. Not less deep and wide is his discord with the moles and bats. Nevertheless, there was scarcely a man on board of that s.h.i.+p on the evening in question who vouchsafed even a pa.s.sing glance at a sunset which was marked by unwonted splendour. The vessel slowly rose and sank on a scarce perceptible ocean-swell in the centre of a great circular field of liquid gla.s.s, on whose undulations the sun gleamed in dazzling flashes, and in whose depths were reflected the fantastic forms, snowy lights, and pearly shadows of cloudland. In ordinary circ.u.mstances such an evening might have raised the thoughts of ordinary men to their Creator, but the circ.u.mstances of the men on board of that vessel were not ordinary--very much the reverse.

"No, Bill McCoy," muttered one of the sailors, who sat on the breach of a gun near the forecastle, "I've bin flogged twice for merely growlin', which is an Englishman's birthright, an' I won't stand it no longer. A pretty pa.s.s things has come to when a man mayn't growl without tastin'

the cat; but if Captain Bligh won't let me growl, I'll treat him to a roar that'll make him c.o.c.k his ears an' wink six times without speakin'."

The sailor who said this, Matthew Quintal by name, was a short, thick-set young man of twenty-one or thereabouts, with a forbidding aspect and a savage expression of face, which was intensified at the moment by thoughts of recent wrongs. Bill McCoy, to whom he said it, was much the same in size and appearance, but a few years older, and with a cynical expression of countenance.

"Whether you growl or roar, Matt," said McCoy, with a low-toned laugh, "I'd advise you to do it in the minor key, else the Captain will give you another taste of the cat. He's awful savage just now. You should have heard him abusin' the officers this afternoon about his cocoa-nuts."

"So I should," returned Quintal. "As ill luck would have it, I was below at the time. They say he was pretty hard on Mr Christian."

"Hard on him! I should think he was," rejoined McCoy. "Why, if Mr Christian had been one of the worst men in the s.h.i.+p instead of the best officer, the Cap'n could not have abused him worse. I heard and saw 'im with my own ears and eyes. The cocoa-nuts was lyin', as it might be here, between the guns, and the Cap'n he came on deck an' said he missed some of his nuts. He went into a towerin' rage right off--in the old style--and sent for all the officers. When they came aft he says to them, says he, `Who stole my cocoa-nuts?' Of course they all said they didn't know, and hadn't seen any of the people take 'em. `Then,' says the Cap'n, fiercer than ever, `you must have stole 'em yourselves, for they couldn't have been taken away without your knowledge.' So he questioned each officer separately. Mr Christian, when he came to him, answered, `I don't know, sir, who took the nuts, but I hope you do not think me so mean as to be guilty of stealing yours.' Whereupon the Cap'n he flared up like gunpowder. `Yes, you hungry hound, I do,' says he; `you must have stolen them from me, or you would have been able to give a better account of them.'"

"That was pitchin' into 'im pretty stiff," said Quintal, with a grim smile. "What said Mr Christian?"

"He said nothin', but he looked thunder. I saw him git as red as a turkey c.o.c.k, an' bite his lips till the blood came. It's my opinion, messmate," added McCoy, in a lower tone, "that if Cap'n Bligh don't change his tone there'll be--"

"Come, come, mate," interrupted a voice behind him; "if you talk mutiny like that you'll swing at the end o' the yard-arm some fine mornin'."

The sailor who joined the others and thus spoke was a short, st.u.r.dy specimen of his cla.s.s, and much more like a hearty hare-brained tar than his two comrades. He was about twenty-two years of age, deeply pitted with small-pox, and with a jovial carelessness of manner that had won for him the sobriquet of Reckless Jack.

"I'm not the only one that talks mutiny in this s.h.i.+p," growled McCoy.

"There's a lot of us whose backs have bin made to smart, and whose grog has been stopped for nothin' but spite, John Adams, and you know it."

"Yes, I do know it," returned Adams, sharply; "and I also know that there's justice to be had in England. We've got a good case against the Captain, so we'd better wait till we get home rather than take the law into our own hands."

"I don't agree with you, Jack," said Quintal, with much decision, "and I wonder to see you, of all men, show the white feather."

Adams turned away with a light laugh of contempt, and the other two joined a group of their mates, who were talking in low tones near the windla.s.s.

Matthew Quintal was not the only man on board who did not agree with the more moderate counsels of Reckless Jack, _alias_ John Adams, _alias_ John Smith, for by each of those names was he known. On the quarter-deck as well as on the forecastle mutterings of deep indignation were heard.

The vessel was the celebrated _Bounty_, which had been fitted up for the express purpose of proceeding to the island of Otaheite, (now named Tahiti), in the Pacific for plants of the breadfruit tree, it being thought desirable to introduce that tree into the West India Islands.

We may remark in pa.s.sing, that the transplantation was afterwards accomplished, though it failed at this time.

The _Bounty_ had been placed under the command of Lieutenant Bligh of the Royal Navy. Her burden was about 215 tons. She had been fitted with every appliance and convenience for her special mission, and had sailed from Spithead on the 23rd December 1787.

Lieutenant Bligh, although an able and energetic seaman, was of an angry tyrannical disposition. On the voyage out, and afterwards at Otaheite, he had behaved so shamefully, and with such unjustifiable severity, both to officers and men, that he was regarded by a large proportion of them with bitter hatred. It is painful to be obliged to write thus of one who rose to positions of honour in the service; but the evidence led in open court, coupled with Bligh's own writings, and testimony from other quarters, proves beyond a doubt that his conduct on board the _Bounty_ was not only dishonourable but absolutely brutal.

When the islanders were asked at first the name of the island, they replied, "O-Tahiti," which means, "It is Tahiti", hence the earlier form of the name--_Otaheite_.

It was after the _Bounty_ had taken in the breadfruit trees at Otaheite, and was advanced a short distance on the homeward voyage, that the events we are about to narrate occurred.

We have said that mutterings of deep discontent were heard on the quarter-deck. Fletcher Christian, acting lieutenant, or master's mate, leaned over the bulwarks on that lovely evening, and with compressed lips and frowning brows gazed down into the sea. The gorgeous clouds and their grand reflections had no beauty for him, but a shark, which swam lazily alongside, showing a fin now and then above water, seemed to afford him a species of savage satisfaction.

"Yes," he muttered, "if one of his legs were once within your ugly jaws, we'd have something like peace again after these months of torment."

Fletcher Christian, although what is called a high-spirited youth, was not quick to resent injury or insult. On the contrary, he had borne with much forbearance the oft-repeated and coa.r.s.e insolence of his superior. His natural expression was bright and his temperament sunny.

He possessed a powerful frame and commanding stature, was agile and athletic, and a favourite with officers and men. But Bligh's conduct had soured him. His countenance was now changed. The last insult about the cocoa-nuts, delivered openly, was more than he could bear. "When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war." In this case the tug was tremendous, the immediate results were disastrous, and the ultimate issues amazing, as will be seen in the sequel of our tale.

"To whom does your amiable wish refer?" asked a brother-officer named Stewart, who came up just then and leaned over the bulwarks beside him.

"Can you not guess?" said the other, sternly.

"Yes, I can guess," returned the mids.h.i.+pman, gazing contemplatively at the shark's fin. "But, I say, surely you don't really mean to carry out your mad intention of deserting."

"Yes, I do," said Christian with emphasis. "I've been to the fore-c.o.c.kpit several times to-day, and seen the boatswain and carpenter, both of whom have agreed to help me. I've had a plank rigged up with staves into a sort of raft, on which I mean to take my chance. There's a bag all ready with some victuals in it, and another with a few nails, beads, etcetera, to propitiate the natives. Young Hayward is the only other officer besides yourself to whom I have revealed my intention.

Like you, he attempts to dissuade me, but in vain. I shall go to-night."

"But where will you go to?" asked Stewart.

Christian pointed to Tofoa, one of the Friendly Islands, which was then in sight like a little black speck on the glowing sky where the sun had just disappeared.

"And how do you propose to escape _him_?" said the mids.h.i.+pman, pointing significantly to the shark, which at the moment gave a wriggle with its tail as if it understood the allusion and enjoyed it.

"I'll take my chance of that," said Christian, bitterly, and with a countenance so haggard yet so fierce that his young companion felt alarmed. "See here," he added, tearing open his vest and revealing within it a deep sea-lead suspended round his neck; "I had rather die than live in the torments of the last three weeks. If I fail to escape, you see, there will be no chance of taking me alive."

"_Better try to take the s.h.i.+p_!" whispered a voice behind him.

Christian started and grew paler, but did not turn his head to see who had spoken. The mids.h.i.+pman at his side had evidently not heard the whisper.

"I cannot help thinking you are wrong," said Stewart. "We have only to bear it a little longer, and then we shall have justice done to us in England."

Well would it have been for Fletcher Christian, and well for all on board the _Bounty_, if he had taken the advice of his young friend, but his spirit had been tried beyond its powers of endurance--at least so he thought--and his mind was made up. What moral suasion failed to effect, however, the weather accomplished. It prevented his first intention from being carried out.

While the shades of evening fell and deepened into a night of unusual magnificence, the profound calm continued, and the s.h.i.+p lay motionless on the sea. The people, too, kept moving quietly about the deck, either induced thereto by the sweet influences around them, or by some indefinable impression that a storm sometimes succeeds a calm as well in the moral as the material world. As the s.h.i.+p had no way through the water, it was impossible for the rash youth to carry out his plan either during the first or middle watches. He was therefore compelled to give it up, at least for that night, and about half-past three in the morning he lay down to rest a few minutes, as he was to be called by Stewart to relieve the watch at four o'clock.

He had barely fallen into a troubled slumber when he was awakened by Stewart, and rose at once to go on deck. He observed in pa.s.sing that young Hayward, the mate of his watch, had lain down to take a nap on the arm-chest. Mr Hallet, the other mids.h.i.+pman of the watch, had also gone to sleep somewhere, for he was not to be seen. Whether the seriously reprehensible conduct of these two officers roused his already excited spirit to an ungovernable pitch, or their absence afforded a favourable opportunity, we cannot tell, but certain it is that Fletcher Christian opened his ear at that time to the voice of the tempter.

"_Better try to take the s.h.i.+p_," seemed burning in words of fire into his brain.

Quick to act as well as to conceive, he looked l.u.s.tily and earnestly at the men of his watch. The one who stood nearest him, looking vacantly out upon the sea, was Matthew Quintal. To him Christian revealed his hastily adopted plan of seizing the s.h.i.+p, and asked if he would join him. Quintal was what men call a deep villain. He was quite ripe for mutiny, but from some motive known only to himself he held back, and expressed doubt as to the possibility of carrying out the plan.

"I did not expect to find cowardice in _you_," said Christian, with a look of scornful indignation.