The Gem of the Pacific
PITCAIRN ISLAND, brought to notice through the events already narrated,
is insignificantly small, being only about five miles and a half
in circumference and two miles and a half across. It was, when the
mutineers first settled on it, thickly covered with trees wherever
there was soil sufficient for their roots to take hold; but, in the
period of a hundred years, during which wild goats have roamed in
herds over certain portions of the island, many of the trees have
disappeared. The soil, thus made bare, has severely suffered by being
washed away by heavy rains, and scarcely a trace of the once luxuriant
growth of trees remains. Viewed from the sea, the island in two or
three places presents a bare and sterile appearance. Its isolated
position in mid-ocean, its rock-bound shores and precipitous cliffs,
alike impress the beholder with a sense of the security such a place
would afford to those whose chief aim was to hide their crimes and get
beyond the reach of well-merited punishment.
The highest part of the island is about one thousand one hundred and
nine feet above the sea. Facing the north is a peak, or immense rock,
scarcely less high, called the Goat House. A cave in the side of this
rock, partly hidden by lofty trees, is said to have been the intended
retreat of Christian and his companions, in the event of their being
sought after and their lone island discovered. The peak overlooking
Bounty Bay, called Ship-landing Point, because it stands directly over
the place where the _Bounty_ was driven near the rocks and destroyed,
has been described as “possessing considerable beauty.” It rises in
bold outline almost perpendicularly from the sea, its rugged, rocky
front softened here and there by patches of grass and shrubs. The
scenery surrounding the little bay, with its rocky shore, is always
beautiful. Vine-covered trees, with foliage of intensest green—more
especially the _pandanus_ palm tree—flourish in rich growth quite near
the water’s edge, the salt spray frequently moistening their branches,
while the soft sea air helps to diffuse the delicious fragrance of the
sweetest flower that the island boasts of, the _morinda citrifolia_,
named by the islanders simply “high white,” in distinction to the pure
white blossoms of the “four o’clock,” which blooms on a low bush.
Overhead, near the highest extremity of Ship-landing Point, looking
from the north, is seen a natural curiosity, a huge portion of the
rock showing in profile a representation of a man’s head of gigantic
size. It is called the Old Man’s Head, and it is not difficult to
imagine that it looks down upon the small bay with an expression of
mild benevolence. The ascent from the landing place is very steep, but
is made comparatively easy by a very tolerable road leading up the few
hundred feet.
On the southeast side of the island is the place known as “the Rope,”
so called because in former years the steep descent could only be
accomplished by means of a rope. A zigzag path, only wide enough to
afford a foothold, now leads down from the high precipice to the
water’s edge. The steep cliffs, rising almost perpendicularly from the
shore, are grandly beautiful. The variegated colors of the soil, the
rocks, and the foliage of trees, all blended together, or contrasted
in shades of black and gray, yellow and brown, red and green, make the
scenery altogether pleasing; and not less beautiful is the view of the
waters of the little bay, when, calm and smooth, it spreads out like a
lake, without a ripple on its surface, or when, with wild and roaring
sound, wave after wave breaks and rolls in toward the shore, leaving
the surface of the water as if covered with billows of loveliest lace,
pure and white.
[Illustration: PATH THROUGH COCOANUT GROVE.]
In the most sheltered corner of the bay, at the Rope, is a small
stretch of sand, on one end of which, at the foot of the rock that
towers above it, there were found by the mutineers some stone axes
and other implements, which were made and used by the natives that
originally inhabited the island. Here, too, are cut in the rocks some
of the figures made by the rude artists of those by-gone ages. Most of
the characters have been obliterated by more than a century’s exposure
to every kind of weather. A few, however, remain quite distinct, as may
be seen by the accompanying illustration.
[Illustration: FIGURES CUT IN THE ROCKS AT THE ROPE.]
The _pandanus_ palm tree, with its clustering branches of drooping
leaves, fringes the shores of the bay nearly its whole extent. The
innumerable huge stones and rocks that cover the bottom of the bay
make it impossible for a boat to land. Its waters teem with myriads
of small fish. The bêche de mer drags out its existence in the many
sand-bottomed pools, while the cray fish and whelk, both of which are
eaten, make their home beneath and among the seaweed-covered rocks that
abound in the shallow bay. Looking north from the ridge of the Rope,
the eye rests upon a small but lovely valley, named St. Paul’s Valley,
it being in the vicinity of St. Paul’s Rock. Grand old trees, with
their varied and changing tints of foliage, render the scenery always
beautiful, while, as an accompaniment to their gentle, rustling music,
comes the booming sound of the surf on the rocks far below.
In the valley between Ship-landing Point on the northeast and the Goat
House, facing north, lies, nestling among trees, the little village
settled by the mutineers a hundred years ago. Groves of cocoanut and
orange trees surround it, while the beautiful banyan tree, with its
curious growth of long, rope-like roots hanging in thick profusion,
and its towering branches covered for ten months of the year with a
springlike robe of green, lends a delightful charm to the scenery.
Although the island is rocky to some extent, it still possesses much
picturesque beauty. Steep ridges and deep valleys are its chief
characteristics, both being covered by grand old shade-giving trees.
The only drawback to a thorough enjoyment of walking or resting beneath
the trees is the absence of singing birds to enliven the branches with
their songs. One little homely bird with its coat of brown and white
is the only occupant of the woods, with the exception of a beautiful
white sea bird that in the early warmer season comes to deposit its egg
on a niche of the bare branch of the banyan or other large tree. These
two birds, the former with its constant “tweet, tweet,” and the latter
with its lively, shrill calls, impart some life to the otherwise silent
groves. Occasionally a few other varieties of sea birds, sailing
overhead, pierce the silent air with their cries.
[Illustration: MORINDA CITRIFOLIA.]
Ferns, of which there are about twenty-six varieties, adorn the valleys
in lovely and rich profusion. Of wild flowers there are but few, and
all of them are, with one exception, small, white, and fragrant. This
one is a sweet little flower that loves to open its golden eyes during
the colder months of the year, and is found mostly around the edge of
the high precipices. It is a universal favorite. The “flower tree”
(_morinda citrifolia_) is in bloom almost all the year round, but is at
its loveliest from October to March. Its pure white blossoms contrast
richly with the dark, glossy leaves, while its delightful perfume, as
well as its simple beauty, makes it a favorite with old and young.
Children, boys as well as girls, find a never-ceasing pleasure in
stringing the flowers into garlands, which they wear around their hats.
The bright blossoms that here and there meet the eye have been
introduced from time to time, mostly by the captains of passing
ships, who have kindly given from their own limited stock. Also many
seeds have been sent by friends in England, America, and the Sandwich
Islands; but only those from the last-named place have succeeded well,
most of the others, owing greatly, no doubt, to the want of proper
culture, having proved a failure. However, through the thoughtful
kindness of friends, the little island is not entirely destitute of
nature’s loveliest productions.
First among the principal fruits that the island produces is the
orange. The trees begin to be in blossom from the end of July at the
earliest, and continue flowering until October. The season of the
fruit is from April to November. As the trees occasionally produce a
second crop, it is not unusual to have them in fruit the year round.
Watermelons, muskmelons, pineapples, roseapples, and figs are in season
from November to April. Bananas, of which there are a few varieties,
can be had all the year round, but are at their best from January to
June. The guava grows wild, and from March to July the trees are laden
with fruit. Grapes might be cultivated. The sugar cane is also one of
the principal productions of the island, the rich syrup made from its
juice being used instead of sugar. Arrowroot is cultivated with profit.
The process of making it involves much labor. The plants are set in
the ground in the months of October and November, and the roots are
fully matured by June. The yam crop is set at the same time as the
arrowroot, and takes the same length of time to come to maturity.
Such are some of the present productions of the little island that
became the hiding place of the mutineers. They themselves doubtless
introduced the breadfruit, cocoanut, taro, yam, and one variety of
the sweet potato. The places they once owned and cultivated are still
called by their names, as John Adams’ Breadfruit Patch, Ned Young’s
Ground, McCoy’s Valley, and so on through the whole list. But, while
their names remain, every trace of their burial places is lost, the
grave of John Adams alone excepted.
Pitcairn! To thee, land of my birth,
My song I bring;
Thy hills and valleys, trees and flowers,
Their praise I sing.
The cocoanut, with waving plumes
Of shining green,
The sweetly-scented orange blooms,
Both here are seen.
And stately trees, and luscious fruits,
Thy soil supplies;
But the enriching showers and rains
The heaven denies.
Thou once wast fertile, rich, and green,
But now, how bare;
And yet thou still art beautiful,
Still sweet and fair.
Such matchless days of calm, fair skies
Thy summers bring!
And lovely, too, are all the hours
Of balmy spring.
Each season, as it rolls around,
New beauties gives;
And every object, silent, cries,
“My Maker lives.”
[Illustration]