SALLY'S CHIEF JOYS--DARK CLOUDS OVERSPREAD THE PITCAIRN SKY, AND DARKER
DEEDS ARE DONE.
Just before John Adams left the settlement for the purpose of calling
Christian, whose retreat at the mountain-top was by that time well-known
to every one, little Sally had gone, as was her wont, to enjoy herself
in her favourite playground. This was a spot close to the house of
Edward Young, where the debris of material saved from the _Bounty_ had
been deposited. It formed a bristling pile of masts, spars, planks,
cross-trees, oars, anchors, nails, copper-bolts, sails, and cordage.
No material compound could have been more dangerous to childhood, and
nothing conceivable more attractive to Sally. The way in which that
pretty little nude infant disported herself on that pile was absolutely
tremendous. She sprang over things as if she had been made expressly to
fly. She tumbled off things as if she had been created to fall. She
insinuated herself among anchor-flukes and chains as if she had been
born an eel. She rolled out from among the folds of sails as if she
were a live dumpling. She seemed to dance upon upturned nails, and to
spike herself on bristling bolts; but she never hurt herself,--at least
if she did she never cried, except in exuberant glee.
Now, it was while thus engaged one day that Sally became suddenly
conscious of a new sound. Young as she was, she was fully alive to the
influence of a new sensation. She paused in an attitude of eager
attention. The strange sound came from Christian's hut. Sally waddled
thither and looked in. The first thing that met her gaze was her own
mother with a live creature in her hands, which she was carefully
wrapping up in a piece of cloth. It was a pitifully thin whitey-brown
creature, with a puckered face, resembling that of a monkey; but Sally
had never seen a monkey, and probably did not think of the comparison.
Presently the creature opened its mouth, shut its eyes, and uttered a
painfully weak squall.
Cause and effect are not infrequently involved in mystery. We cannot
tell why Sally, who never cried, either when hurt or scolded, should, on
beholding this sight, set up a tremendous howl; but she did, and she
kept up the howl with such vigour that John Adams was attracted to the
spot in some alarm.
Stopping only long enough to look at the infant and see that the mother
was all right, Adams ran off at full speed to the mountain-top, as we
have seen, to be the first to announce the joyful news to the father.
Thus came into the world the first "descendant" of the mutineers of the
_Bounty_.
It was with unwonted animation that the men sat down to supper that
evening, each having congratulated Christian and inquired at the hut for
the baby and mother, as he came in from work.
"What will you call him?" inquired Young, after pledging the new arrival
in a cup of cocoa-nut milk.
"What day is it?" asked Christian.
"Thursday," answered Martin.
"Then I'll call him Thursday," said Christian; "it will commemorate the
day."
"You'd better add `October,' and commemorate the month," said Adams.
"So I will," said Christian.
"An' stick on `Seventeen-ninety' to commemorate the year," suggested
Mills.
"No, there are limits to everything," returned Christian; "three names
are enough. Come, fill up your cups, lads, and drink to Thursday
October Christian!"
With enthusiasm and a shout of laughter, the toast was pledged in
cocoa-nut milk, and once again Christian's hand was shaken by his
comrades all round.
The advent of TOC, as Adams called him, (or Toc, as he afterwards came
to be styled), was, as it were, the breaking of the ice. It was
followed ere long by quite a crop of babies. In a few months more a
Matthew Quintal was added to the roll. Then a Daniel McCoy furnished
another voice in the chorus, and Sally ceased to disquiet herself
because of that which had ceased to be a novelty. This all occurred in
1791. After that there was a pause for a brief period; then, in 1792,
Elizabeth Mills burst upon the astonished gaze of her father, and was
followed immediately by another Christian, whom Fletcher, discarding his
eccentric taste for days and months, named Charles.
By this time Sally had developed such a degree of matronly solicitude,
that she was absolutely intrusted at times with the care of the other
children. In a special manner she devoted herself to little Charlie
Christian, who was a particularly sedate infant. Indeed, solemnity was
stamped upon that child's visage from his birth. This seemed to
harmonise intensely with Sally's sense of fun. She was wont to take
Charlie away from his mother, and set him up on a log, or the rusty
shank of the _Bounty's_ "best bower," prop him up with sticks or
bushes--any rubbish that came to hand--and sit down in front of him to
gaze. Charlie, after the first few months of precarious infancy, became
extremely fat. He used to open his solemn eyes as wide as was possible
in the circumstances, and return the gaze with interest. Unable to
restrain herself, Sally would then open her pretty mouth, shut her
gorgeous eyes, and give vent to the richest peals of laughter.
"Oh, you's so good, Charlie!"
She had learned by that time to speak broken English in an infantine
fashion, and her assertion was absolutely true, for Charlie Christian
was preternaturally good.
The same cannot be said of all the members of this little community.
Ere long, a period approached when the harmony which had hitherto
prevailed was about to be broken. Increasing life had marked their
course hitherto. Death now stepped in to claim his share.
The wife of John Williams went out one day to gather gulls' eggs among
the cliffs. The women were all in the habit of doing this at times, and
they had become expert climbers, as were also the men, both white and
brown.
When day began to close, they wondered why Mrs Williams was so late of
returning. Soon her husband became uneasy; then, taking alarm, he went
off to search for her, accompanied by all the men. The unfortunate
woman was found dead at the base of the cliffs. She had missed her
footing and fallen while searching for eggs.
This accident had at first a deeply solemnising effect on the whole
community. Accustomed though these men were to the sight of death in
some of its worst forms in war, they were awed by this sudden and
unexpected assault of the great enemy. The poor mangled body lying so
quietly among the rocks at the foot of the awful precipice, the sight of
the husband's grief, the sad and silent procession with the ghastly
burden in the deepening gloom of evening, the wailing of the women, and
the awestruck gaze of such of the children as were old enough to know
that something terrible had occurred, though unable to understand it,--
all conspired to deepen the impression, even on those among the men who
were least easily impressed; and it was with softened feelings of pity
that Quintal and McCoy, volunteering their services on the occasion, dug
the first grave at Pitcairn.
Time, however, soon wore away these feelings. Williams not only got
over his bereavement easily, but soon began to wish for another wife.
It was, of course, impossible to obtain one righteously in the
circumstances; he therefore resolved to take the wife of Talaloo the
Otaheitan.
It must not be supposed that all Williams', comrades supported him in
this wicked design. Christian, Young, and Adams remonstrated with him
strongly; but he was obstinate, and threatened to take the boat and
leave the island if they interfered with him. As he was an expert
blacksmith, his comrades could not afford to lose him, and ceased
remonstrating. Eventually he carried out his intention.
This was, as might have been expected, the beginning of trouble. The
coloured men made common cause of it, and from that time forward began
to plot the destruction of their white masters. What made matters worse
was that Talaloo's wife was not averse to the change, and from that time
became a bitter enemy of her Otaheitan husband. It was owing to this
wicked woman's preference for Williams that the plot was afterwards
revealed.
One evening, while sitting in Christian's house, Talaloo's wife began to
sing a sort of extempore song, the chorus to which was:--
"Why does black man sharpen axe?
To kill white man."
Hearing this, Christian, who was close at hand, entered the hut and
demanded an explanation. On being informed of the plot of the Otaheitan
men to murder all the whites, a dark frown overspread his face. Hastily
seizing his musket, he loaded it, but it was observed that he put no
bullet in.
The Otaheitans were assembled at the time in a neighbouring house.
Christian went straight to the house, charged the men with their guilty
intentions, pointed his gun at them, and pulled the trigger. The piece
missed fire. Before he could re-cock, Talaloo leaped through the
doorway, followed by his friend Timoa, and took shelter in the woods.
The other four men begged for mercy, said that the two who had just left
were the instigators as well as ringleaders in the plot, and promised to
hunt them down and murder them if their own lives should be spared. As
Christian had probably no fixed intention to kill any of the men, and
his sudden anger soon abated, he accepted their excuses and left them.
It was impossible, however, for the mutineers to feel confidence in the
natives after that. The two men who had fled for refuge to the bush did
not return to the settlement, but remained in hiding.
One day Talaloo's wife went, with some of the other women, to the
southern side of the island to fish from the rocks. They were soon
busily at work. The lines used had been made by themselves from the
fibrous husk of the cocoa-nut. The hooks had been brought on shore from
the _Bounty_. Chattering and laughing with the free-and-easy gaiety of
savages, they plied their work--it seemed more like play--with varying
success.
Suddenly the wife of Talaloo heard a faint hiss behind her. Turning her
head, she saw her former husband in the bushes. He beckoned to her, and
disappeared. None of the other women appeared to have heard or observed
the man. Presently, Talaloo's wife rose, and going into the woods,
joined her husband. She found him in company with Timoa.
"Is Talaloo become a dog that he should be driven to live in the bush?"
demanded the man, with a stern air.
"The white men are strong," answered his wife, with a subdued look; "the
women can do nothing."
"You can stay with me here in the bush if you will," said Talaloo. "The
white men are strong, but we are stronger. We will kill the white men."
He turned with an air of offended dignity, and strode away. His wife
meekly followed, and Timoa went with them.
Now, there was one woman among the fishers whose eyes were sharp and her
hearing was keen.
This was Susannah, the wife of the midshipman Edward Young. She had
followed Talaloo's wife, saw what occurred, and carried back a report to
the settlement. A council of war was at once held.
"If we leave these men at liberty," said Williams, "we shall never again
be able to go to rest in security."
"Something must be done," said Christian, with the air of a man whose
mind wanders far away from the subject in hand.
"Kill them," suggested McCoy.
"Yes," said Quintal; "I vote that we get up a grand hunt, run them to
earth, and shoot them like dogs, as they are."
"Not so easy as you think to hunt down such men among these wild and
wooded hills," said Young. "Besides, it is only Talaloo who has
threatened us; Timoa is guiltless, I think."
"I'll tell you what we'll do, lads; we'll poison 'em," said Williams.
"I've heard of such a thing bein' done at Otaheite by one of the women.
She knows how to get the poison from some sort of plant, I believe, and
I'm pretty sure that Menalee will help us."
The plan thus suggested was finally adopted. One of the women made
three puddings, two of which were good, the third was poisoned. Menalee
at once agreed to go to the fugitives, say he had stolen the puddings,
and would be willing to share them. The two good puddings were to be
given to Talaloo's wife and Timoa, the poisoned one to Talaloo himself.
For further security Menalee was to carry a pistol with him, and use it
if necessary.
The assassin was not long in tracking out his countrymen.
"You bring us food?" said Talaloo.
"Yes, I have stolen it. Will you have some?"
They all accepted the puddings, and Timoa and the woman began to eat;
but Talaloo was quick witted. He observed something unusual in
Menalee's manner, suspected poison, and would not eat his pudding.
Laying it aside, he ate that of his wife along with her.
Menalee pretended not to notice this. After the others had done eating,
he proposed that they should all go a little farther up into the bushes,
where, he said, he had left his own wife among some breadfruit trees.
Talaloo agreeing to this, they rose and walked away. The footpath being
narrow, they were obliged to go in single file. Menalee walked behind
Talaloo. After having gone a few paces, the former drew his pistol,
pointed it at the back of his countryman's head, and pulled the trigger,
but it missed fire. Talaloo hearing the click, turned round, saw the
pistol, and immediately fled; but his enemy was swift of foot, soon
overtook him, and the two grappled. A severe struggle ensued, Timoa and
the woman standing by and looking on, but rendering help to neither
party.
The two combatants were pretty well matched. The pistol had fallen at
the first onset, and for a few minutes it seemed doubtful which should
prove the victor, as they swayed to and fro, straining their dark and
sinewy forms in deadly conflict. At last the strength of Talaloo seemed
to give way, but still he retained a vice-like grasp of his antagonist's
right wrist.
"Won't you help me?" gasped Talaloo, turning an appealing glance on his
wife.
"No," cried Menalee, "but she will help me to kill Talaloo."
The hardened woman picked up the pistol, and going towards her husband
struck him on the head. Menalee quickly finished with his knife what
the murderess had begun.
For a few minutes the three stood looking at the murdered man in
silence, when they returned to the settlement and told what they had
done. But the assassin's work was not yet over. Another of the
natives, named Ohoo, had fled to the woods, threatening vengeance
against the white men. It was deemed necessary that he too should be
killed, and Menalee was again found to be a willing instrument. Timoa,
who had exhibited such callous indifference at the murder of Talaloo,
was his fitting companion. They soon found Ohoo, and succeeded in
killing him.
Strange to say, the mutineers, after these foul deeds, dwelt for a long
time in comparative peace and harmony. It seemed as if their worst
feelings had found full vent and been expended in the double murder. No
doubt this state of hollow peace was partly owing to the fact that the
native men, now being reduced to four in number, felt themselves to be
unable to cope with their masters, and quietly submitted to the
inevitable.
But by degrees the evil spirits in some of the party began to reassert
their power. McCoy and Quintal in particular became very savage and
cruel. They never hesitated to flog or knock down a native on the
slightest pretext, insomuch that these unhappy men were again driven to
plot the destruction of their masters. Adams, Christian, and Young were
free from the stain of wanton cruelty. Young in particular was kind to
the natives, and a favourite both with men and women.