"I'm going to the cliffs to-day, Williams," said Young one morning.
"Will you come?"
Williams was busy at the forge under the pleasant shade of the great
banyan-tree. Resting his hammer on the anvil, he looked up.
"No," he answered. "I can't go till I've finished this spade. It's the
last bit of iron we have left that'll serve for such a purpose."
"That's no reason why you should not let it lie till the afternoon or
to-morrow."
"True, but I've got another reason for pushing through with it. Isaac
Martin says the want of a spade keeps him idle, and you know it's a pity
to encourage idleness in a lazy fellow."
"You are right. What is Martin about just now?"
"Working at the big water-tank. It suits him, a heavy quiet sort of job
with the pick, requiring no energy or thought,--only a sleepy sort o'
perseverance, of which long-legged Isaac has plenty."
"Come, now," returned Young, with a laugh. "I see you are getting
jealous of Martin's superior intellect. But where are Quintal and
McCoy?"
"Diggin' in their gardens, I suppose. Leastwise, I heerd Mr Christian
say to Mainmast he'd seen 'em go off in that direction. Mr Christian
himself has gone to his old outlook aloft on the mountains. If he don't
see a sail at last it won't be for want o' keepin' a bright look-out."
The armourer smiled grimly as he thrust the edge of the half-formed
spade into the fire, and began to blow his bellows.
"You've got them to work again," said Young, referring to the bellows
which had belonged to the _Bounty_.
"Ay, patched 'em up after a fashion, though there's a good deal o'
windage somewheres. If them rats git hold of 'em again, the
blacksmith's occupation'll be gone. Here comes Bill Brown; p'r'aps _he_
won't object to go bird-nestin' with 'ee."
The armourer drew the glowing metal from the fire as he spoke, and sent
the bright sparks flying up into the leaves of the banyan-tree while the
botanist approached.
"I'll go, with all my heart," said Brown, on being invited by Young to
accompany him. "We'd better take Nehow with us. He is the best
cliff-man among the natives."
"That's just what I thought of doing," said Young, "and--ah! here comes
some one else who will be glad to go."
The midshipman's tone and manner changed suddenly as he held out both
hands by way of invitation to Sally, who came skipping forward, and ran
gleefully towards him.
Sally was no longer the nude cherub which had landed on the island. She
had not only attained to maturer years, but was precocious both in body
and mind,--had, as we have shown, become matronly in her ideas and
actions, and was clothed in a short petticoat of native cloth, and a
little scarf of the same, her pretty little head being decorated with a
wreath of flowers culled and constructed by herself.
"No, I can't go," answered Sally to Young's invitation, with a solemn
shake of her head.
"Why not?"
"'Cause I's got to look arter babby."
Up to this period Sally had shown a decided preference for the
ungrammatical language of the seamen, though she associated freely with
Young and Christian. Perhaps her particular fondness for John Adams may
have had something to do with this.
"Which baby, Sall? You know your family is a pretty large one."
"Yes, there's a stunnin' lot of 'em--a'most too many for me; but I said
_the_ babby."
"Oh, I suppose you mean Charlie Christian?"
"In coorse I means Challie," replied the child, with a smile that
displayed a dazzling set of teeth, the sparkle of which was only
equalled by that of her eyes.
"Well, but you can bring Charlie along with you," said Young, "and I'll
engage to carry him and you too if you get tired. There, run away; find
him, and fetch him quick."
Little Sall went off like the wind, and soon returned with the
redoubtable Charles in her arms. It was all she could do to stagger
under the load; but Charlie Christian had not yet attained to facility
in walking. He was still in the nude stage of childhood, and his
faithful nurse, being afraid lest he should get badly scratched if
dragged at a rapid pace through the bushes, had carried him.
Submitting, according to custom, in solemn and resigned surprise,
Charlie was soon seated on the shoulders of our midshipman, who led the
way to the cliffs. William Brown followed, leading Sally by the hand,
for she refused to be carried, and Nehow brought up the rear.
The cliffs to which their steps were directed were not more than an
hour's walk from the settlement at Bounty Bay, though, for Sally's sake,
the time occupied in going was about half-an-hour longer. It was a wild
spot which had been selected. The towering walls of rock were rugged
with ledges, spurs, and indentations, where sea-birds in myriads gave
life to the scene, and awakened millions of echoes to their plaintive
cries. There was a pleasant appearance of sociability about the birds
which was powerfully attractive. Even Nehow, accustomed as he was to
such scenes, appeared to be impressed. The middy and the botanist were
excited. As for Sally, she was in ecstasies, and the baby seemed lost
in the profoundest fit of wonder he had experienced since the day of his
birth.
"Oh, Challie," exclaimed his nurse in a burst of laughter, "what a face
you's got! Jis' like de fig'r'ead o' the _Bounty_." (Sall quoted
here!) "Ain't they bootiful birds?"
She effectually prevented reply, even if such had been intended, by
suddenly seizing her little charge round the neck and kissing his right
eye passionately. Master Charlie cared nothing for that. He gazed past
her at the gulls with the unobliterated eye. When she kissed him on the
left cheek, he gazed past her at the gulls with the other eye. When she
let him go, he continued to gaze at the gulls with both eyes. He had
often seen the same gulls at a distance, from the lower level of Bounty
Bay, but he had never before stood on their own giddy cliffs, and
watched them from their own favourite bird's-eye-view point; for there
were thousands of them sloping, diving, and wheeling in the airy abyss,
pictured against the dark blue sea below, as well as thousands more
circling upwards, floating and gyrating in the bright blue sky above.
It seemed as if giant snowflakes were trembling in the air in all
directions. Some of the gulls came so near to those who watched them
that their black inquiring eyes became distinctly visible; others swept
towards them with rustling wings, as if intending to strike, and then
glanced sharply off, or upwards, with wild cries.
"Wouldn't it be fun to have wings?" asked Brown of Sally, as she stood
there open-mouthed and eyed.
"Oh, _wouldn't_ it?"
"If I had wings," said Young, with a touch of sadness in his tone, "I'd
steer a straight course through the air for Old England."
"I didn't know you had such a strong desire to be hanged," said Brown.
"They'd never hang me," returned Young. "I'm innocent of the crime of
mutiny, and Captain Bligh knows it."
"Bligh would be but a broken reed to lean on," rejoined Brown, with a
shrug of contempt. "If he liked you, he'd favour you; if he didn't,
he'd go dead against you. I wouldn't trust myself in _his_ hands
whether innocent or guilty. Depend upon it, Mr Young, Fletcher
Christian would have been an honour to the service if he had not been
driven all but mad by Bligh. I don't justify Mr Christian's act--it
cannot be defended,--but I have great sympathy with him. The only man
who deserves to be hanged for the mutiny of the _Bounty_, in my opinion,
is Mr Bligh himself; but men seldom get their due in this world, either
one way or another."
"That's a powerfully radical sentiment," said Young, laughing; "it's to
be hoped that men will at all events get their due in the next world,
and it is well for you that Pitcairn is a free republic. But come, we
must go to work if we would have a kettle of fresh eggs. I see a ledge
which seems accessible, and where there must be plenty of eggs, to judge
from the row the gulls are making round it. I'll try. See, now, that
you don't get yourself into a fix that you can't get out of. You know
that the heads of you landsmen are not so steady as those of seamen."
"I know that the heads of landsmen are not stuffed with such conceit as
the heads of you sailors," retorted Brown, as he went off to gather
eggs.
"Now, Sally, do you stop here and take care of Charlie," said Young,
leading the little girl to a soft grassy mound, as far back from the
edge of the cliff as possible. "Mind that you don't leave this spot
till I return. I know I can trust you, and as for Charlie--"
"Oh, he never moves a'most, 'xcept w'en I lifts 'im. He's _so_ good!"
interrupted Sally.
"Well, just keep a sharp eye on him, and we'll soon be back with lots of
eggs."
While Edward Young was thus cautioning the child, William Brown was busy
making his way down the cliffs to some promising ledges below, and
Nehow, the Otaheitan, clambered up the almost perpendicular face of the
part that rose above them. [See frontispiece.]
It was interesting to watch the movements of the three men. Each was,
in his own way, venturesome, fearless, and more or less practised in
cliff climbing. The midshipman ascended the perpendicular face with
something of a nautical swagger, but inasmuch as the ledges, crevices,
and projections were neither so well adapted to the hands nor so sure as
ratlines and ropes, there was a wholesome degree of caution mingled with
his confidence. When the wished-for ledge was gained, he gave relief to
his feelings in a hearty British cheer that reverberated from cliff to
cliff, causing the startled sea-gulls to drive the very echoes mad with
their clangour.
The botanist, on the other hand, proceeded with the extreme care of a
man who knew that a false step or uncertain grip might send him into the
seething mass of foam and rocks below. But he did not hesitate or
betray want of courage in attempting any difficulty which he had made up
his mind to face.
The proceedings of Nehow, however, seemed little short of miraculous.
He appeared to run up perpendicular places like a cat; to leap where the
others crept, to scramble where his companions did not dare to venture,
and, loosely speaking, to hang on occasionally to nothing by the point
of his nose, his eyelids, or his finger-nails! We say that he appeared
to do all this, but the gulls who watched and followed him in noisy
indignation could have told you, if they had chosen, that his eye was
quick, that his feet and hands were sure, and that he never trusted foot
or hand for one moment on a doubtful projection or crevice.
For some time all went well. The three men soon returned, each with a
few eggs which they laid on the grass in three little heaps, to be
watched and guarded by Sally, and to be stared at in grave surprise by
Charlie. They carried their eggs in three round baskets without lids,
and with handles which folded over on one side, so that the baskets
could be fitted into each other when not in use, or slung round the
necks of the egg-collectors while they were climbing.
The last to return to the children was William Brown. He brought his
basket nearly half full of fine eggs, and set it down beside the two
heaps already brought in.
"Ain't they lovely, Sall?" asked Brown, wiping the perspiration from his
brow with the sleeve of his coat. That same coat, by the way, was very
disreputable--threadbare and worn,--being four years old on the lowest
calculation, and having seen much rough service, for Brown had an
objection to the tapa cloth, and said he would stick to the old coat as
long as it would stick to him. The truth is he felt it, with his worn
canvas trousers and Guernsey shirt, to be in some sense a last link to
"home," and he was loath to part with them.
"Lovely!" exclaimed Sally, "they's jus' bootiful." Nothing could exceed
"bootiful" in Sally's mind--she had paid the eggs the highest possible
compliment.
Charlie did them, at the same moment, the greatest possible damage, by
sitting down in the basket, unintentionally, with an awful crash.
From the gaze of horror that he cast upwards, it was evident that he was
impressed with a strong belief that he had done something wrong, though
the result did not seem to him unpleasant. The gaze of horror quickly
changed into one of alarm when he observed the shocked countenance of
Sally, and he burst into uncontrollable tears.
"Poor thing," said Brown, lifting him out of the mess and setting him on
his legs. "Never mind, old man, I'll fetch you a better basketful soon.
You clean him up, Sall, and I'll be back in a jiffy."
So saying, Brown took up his basket, emptied out the mess, wiped it with
a bunch of grass, and descended the short slope to the cliff edge,
laughing as he went.
Poor Sally's shocked expression had not yet passed off when Charlie came
to a sudden stop, shut his mouth tightly and opened his eyes, as though
to say, "Well, how do you take it now?"
"Oh, Challie, but you _is_ bad to-day."
This was enough. The shades of darkest night settled down on Charlie's
miserable soul. Re-shutting his eyes and reopening his mouth, he poured
forth the woe of his inconsolable heart in prolonged and passionate
howling.
"No, no; O _don't_!" cried the repentant Sally, her arms round his neck
and fondling him. "I didn't mean it. I'm _so_ sorry. It's me that's
bad--badder than you ever was."
But Charlie refused to be comforted. He flung himself on the grass in
agony of spirit, to the alarm and grief of his poor nurse.
"Me's dood?" he cried, pausing suddenly, with a blaze of inquiry in his
wet visage.
"Yes, yes, good as gold--gooder, far gooder!"
Sally did not possess an enlightened conscience at that time. She would
have said anything to quiet him, but he would not be quieted.
"Me's dood--O _dood_! ah-o-ee-aw-ee!"
The noise was bad enough, but the way he flung himself about was worse.
There was no occasion for Sally to clean him up. Rolling thus on the
green turf made him as pure, if not bright, as a new pin; but it had
another effect, which gave Sally a fright such as she had never up to
that time conceived of, and never afterwards forgot.
In his rollings Charlie came to the edge of the knoll where a thick but
soft bush concealed a ledge, or drop, of about two feet. Through this
bush he passed in a moment. Sally leaped up and sprang to the spot,
just in time to see her charge rolling helplessly down the slope to what
appeared to be certain death.
There was but a short slope between the bush and the cliff. Rotund
little Charlie "fetched way" as he advanced, despite one or two feeble
clutches at the rocks.
If Sally had been a few years older she would have bounded after him
like a goat, but she had only reached that period of life which rendered
petrifaction possible. She stood ridged for a few moments with heart,
head, and eyes apparently about to burst. At last her voice found vent
in a shriek so awful that it made the heart of Young, high on the cliffs
above, stand still. It had quite the contrary effect on the legs of
Brown. That cautious man chanced to be climbing the cliff slowly with a
fresh basketful of eggs. Hearing the shriek, and knowing full well that
it meant imminent danger, he leaped up the last few steps of the
precipice with a degree of heedless agility that equalled that of Nehow
himself. He was just in time to see Charlie coming straight at him like
a cannon shot. It was really an awful situation. To have received the
shock while his footing was still precarious would have insured his own
destruction as well as that of the child. Feeling this, he made a
kangaroo-like bound over the edge of the cliff, and succeeded in
planting both feet and knees firmly on a grassy foundation, just in
time. Letting go his burden, he spread out both arms. Charlie came
into his bosom with extreme violence, but he remained firm, while the
basket of eggs went wildly downward to destruction.
Meanwhile, Sally stood there with clasped hands and glazed eyes, sending
up shriek after shriek, which sent successive stabs to the heart of
Edward Young, as he scurried and tumbled, rather than ran, down from the
upper cliffs towards her.
In a few minutes he came in pale and panting. A minute later and Nehow
ran round a neighbouring point like a greyhound.
"All right?" gasped Young.
"All right," replied Brown.
"Wheeaow-ho!" exclaimed Nehow, expanding his cavernous mouth with a grin
of satisfaction.
It is worthy of record that little Sally did not revisit these
particular cliffs for several years after that exciting and eventful
day, and that she returned to the settlement with a beating and grateful
heart.
It must not be supposed that Charlie Christian remained for any great
length of time "the babby" of that infant colony. By no means. In a
short time after the event which we have just described, there came to
Pitcairn a little sister to Charlie. She was named Mary, despite the
earnest suggestion of Isaac Martin, that as she was "born of a
Wednesday," she ought to be called by that name.
Of course Otaheitan Sally at once devoted herself to the newcomer, but
she did not on that account forsake her first love. No; her little
brown heart remained true to Charlie, though she necessarily gave him
less of her society than before.
Then Mrs Quintal gave her husband the additional burden, as he styled
it, of a daughter, whom he named Sarah, for no other reason, that any
one could make out, than the fact that his wife did not like it, and his
friend McCoy had advised him on no account to adopt it. Thus was little
Matthew Quintal also provided with a sister.
Shortly after that, John Adams became a moderately happy father, and
called the child Dinah, because he had never had a female relation of
that name; indeed, he had never possessed a relation of any kind
whatever that he knew of, having been a London street-boy, a mere waif,
when he first became aware, so to speak, of his own existence.
About the same time that little Dinah was born, John Mills rushed one
day into the yam-field of Edward Young, where the midshipman was at
work, seized his hand, and exclaimed--"I wish you joy, sir, it's a
_girl_!"
Not to be out-done in civility, Young carefully watched his opportunity,
and, only four days later, rushed into the yam-garden of John Mills,
where he was smoking, seized his hand, and exclaimed--"I congratulate
you, Mills, it's a _boy_!" So, Young called his daughter Folly, because
he had an old aunt of that name who had been kind to him; and Mills
called his son John, after himself, who, he said, was the kindest friend
he ever had.
By this time poor Otaheitan Sally became overburdened with care. It
became evident that she could not manage to look after so large a family
of helpless infants, even though her services should only be required
when the mothers were busy in the gardens. Mrs Isabella Christian,
_alias_ Mainmast, was therefore relieved of part of her field duties,
and set apart for infantry drill.
Thus the rising generation multiplied and grew apace; and merry innocent
laughter and gleeful childlike shouts began to resound among the cliffs
and groves of the lonely refuge of the mutineers.