The Lonely Island: The Refuge of the Mutineers Part 17

Quintal, who stood with all the other men by the forge watching John Williams as he wrought at a piece of red-hot iron, and overheard the remark, did not, he said, feel so sure of that. Them n.i.g.g.e.rs was fond o' their liberty, and it was his opinion they should get up a grand hunt, and shoot 'em down off-hand. There would be no peace till that was done.

"There would be no peace even after that was done," said Isaac Martin, with a leer, "unless we shot you along wi' them."

"It's impossible either to shoot or drown Matt Quintal, for he's born to be hanged," said McCoy, sucking viciously at his cocoa-nut-loaded pipe, which did not seem to draw well.

"That's true," cried Mills, with a laugh, in which all the party except Christian joined more or less sarcastically according to humour.

"Oh, mother," exclaimed Otaheitan Sally, going into her hut on tiptoe a few minutes later, with her great eyes dilated in horror, "the white mens is talkin' of shootin' Timoa and Nehow!"

"Never mind, dear," replied her mother in her own language, "it's only talk. They'll never do such a thing. I'm sure Mr Young did not agree to help in such a deed, did he?"

"O no, mother," answered Sally, with tremendous emphasis; "he said it would be very _very_, wicked to do such tings."

"So it would, dear. No fear. It's only talk."

Satisfied with this a.s.surance, Sally went off with a cleared visage to superintend some operation in connection with her ever-increasing infantry charge, probably to pay some special attention to her favourite Charlie, or to chaff "that b.o.o.by" Thursday October, though, to say truth, Thursday was no b.o.o.by, but a smart intelligent fellow.

The very next day after that, Timoa and Nehow came down to Edward Young as he was at work alone in his yam-field. This field was at a considerable distance from the settlement, high up on the mountain-side.

The two men had left their weapons behind them.

"We's comed for give you a helpin' hand, Missr Yong, if you no lay hands on us," said Nehow.

"I have no wish to lay hands on you," replied Young; "besides, I have no right to do so. You know I never regarded you as slaves, nor did I approve of your bad treatment. But let me advise you to rejoin us peaceably, and I promise to do what I can to make things go easier."

"Nebber!" exclaimed Nehow, fiercely.

"Well, it will be the worse for yourselves in the long-run," said Young, "for Quintal and McCoy will be sure to go after you at last and shoot you."

The two men looked at each other when he said that, and smiled intelligently.

"However, if you choose to help me now," continued Young, "I'll be obliged to you, and will pay you for what you do."

The men set to work with a will, for they were fond of the kindly mids.h.i.+pman; but they kept a bright look-out all the time, lest any of the other Englishmen should come up and find them there.

For two or three evenings in succession Timoa and Nehow came to Young's field and acted in this way. Young made no secret of the fact, and Quintal, on hearing of it, at once suggested that he and McCoy should go up and lie in ambush for them.

"If you do," said Young, with indignation, "I'll shoot you both. I don't jest. You may depend on it, if I find either of you fellows skulking near my field when these men are at work there, your lives won't be worth a sixpence."

At this Quintal and McCoy both laughed, and said they were jesting.

Nevertheless, while walking home together after that conversation, they planned the carrying out of their murderous intention.

Thus, with plot and counterplot, did the mutineers and Otaheitans render their lives wretched. What with the bitter enmity existing between the whites and blacks, and the mutual jealousies among themselves, both parties were kept in a state of perpetual anxiety, and the beautiful isle, which was fitted by its Maker to become a paradise, was turned into a place of torment.

Sometimes the other native men, Tetaheite and Menalee, joined Nehow and Timoa in working in Young's garden, and afterwards went with them into the bush, where they planned the attack which was afterwards made.

At last the lowering cloud was fully charged, and the thunderbolt fell.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

MURDER!

The planting time came round at Pitcairn, and all was busy activity in the little settlement at Bounty Bay. The women, engaged in household work and in the preparation of food, scarcely troubled themselves to cast an anxious eye on the numerous children who, according to age and capacity, rolled, tumbled, staggered, and jumped about in noisy play.

The sun, streaming through the leaves of the woods, studded shady places with b.a.l.l.s of quivering light, and blazed in fierce heat in the open where the men were at work, each in his respective garden. We have said that those gardens lay apart, at some distance from each other, and were partially concealed by shrubs or undulating knolls.

The garden of John Williams was farthest off from the settlement. He wrought in it alone on the day of which we write. Next to it was that of Fletcher Christian. He also worked alone that day.

About two hundred yards from his garden, and screened from it by a wooded rising ground, was a piece of plantation, in which John Mills, William McCoy, and Menalee were at work together. John Adams, William Brown, and Isaac Martin were working in their own gardens near their respective houses, and Quintal was resting in his hut. So was Edward Young, who, having been at work since early morning, had lain down and fallen into a deep slumber.

The three native men, Timoa, Nehow, and Tetaheite, were still away in the woods. If the unfortunate Englishmen had known what these men were about, they would not have toiled so quietly on that peaceful morning!

The Otaheitans met in a cocoa-nut grove at some distance to the eastward of the settlement. Each had a musket, which he loaded with ball. They did not speak much, and what they did say was uttered in a suppressed tone of voice.

"Come," said Timoa, leading the way through the woods.

The others followed in single file, until they reached the garden where Williams was at work. Here their movements were more cautious. As they advanced, they crept along on their knees with the motion of cats, and with as little noise. They could hear the sound of the armourer's spade, as he turned up the soil. Presently they came to an opening in the bushes, through which they could see him, not thirty yards off.

Timoa drew himself together, and in a crouching att.i.tude levelled his musket.

During their absence in the woods, these men had practised shooting at a mark, doubtless in preparation for the occasion which had now arrived.

The woods and cliffs rang to the loud report, and Williams fell forward without a cry or groan, shot through the heart.

The murderers rose and looked at each other, but uttered not a word, while Timoa recharged his gun.

The report had, of course, been heard by every one in the settlement, but it was a familiar sound, and caused neither surprise nor alarm.

McCoy merely raised himself for a moment, remarked to Mills that some one must have taken a fancy for a bit of pork to supper, and then resumed his work.

Christian also heard the shot, but seemed to pay no regard to it.

Ceasing his labour in a few minutes, he raised himself, wiped his forehead, and resting both hands on his spade, looked upwards at the bright blue sky. Fleecy clouds pa.s.sed across it now and then, intensifying its depth, and apparently riveting Christian's gaze, for he continued motionless for several minutes, with his clear eye fixed on the blue vault, and a sad, wistful expression on his handsome face, as if memory, busy with the past and future, had forgotten the present. It was his last look. A bullet from the bushes struck him at that moment on the breast. Uttering one short, sharp cry, he threw both hands high above his head, and fell backwards. The spasm of pain was but momentary. The sad, wistful look was replaced by a quiet smile. He never knew who had released his spirit from the prison-house of clay, for the eyes remained fixed on the bright blue sky, clear and steadfast, until death descended. Then the light went out, just as his murderers came forward, but the quiet smile remained, and his spirit returned to G.o.d who gave it.

It seemed as if the murderers were, for a few moments, awestruck and horrified by what they had done; but they quickly recovered. What they had set their faces to accomplish must now be done at all hazards.

"Did you hear that cry?" said McCoy, raising himself from his work in the neighbouring garden.

"Yes; what then?" demanded Quintal.

"It sounded to me uncommon like the cry of a wounded man," said McCoy.

"Didn't sound like that to me," returned Quintal; "more like Mainmast callin' her husband to dinner."

As he spoke, Tetaheite appeared at the edge of the garden with a musket in his hand, the other two natives remaining concealed in the bushes.

"Ho, Missr Mills," he called out, in his broken English, "me have just shoot a large pig. Will you let Menalee help carry him home?"

"Yes;--you may go," said Mills, turning to Menalee.

The Otaheitan threw down his tools, and joined his comrades in the bush, where he was at once told what had been done.