The Lonely Island: The Refuge of the Mutineers

“It was just then that I thought it time to put my pipe in my pocket, for, you see, I had been havin’ a puff on the sly as we was bearin’ down; an’ I put up my fore-finger to shove the baccy down, when one o’ them stingin’ little things comes along, whips my best cutty out o’ my mouth, an’ carries the finger along with it. Of coorse I warn’t goin’ below for such a small matter, so I pulls out my hankerchief, an’ says I to the little man that lost his hat, ‘Just take a round turn here, Jim,’ says I, ‘an’ I’ll be ready for action again in two minutes.’ Jim, he tied it up, but before he quite done it, the round shot was pitchin’ into us like hail, cuttin’ up the sails and riggin’ most awful.

“They told me afterwards that Nelson gave orders to steer straight for the bow of the great Santissima Trinidad, and remarked, ‘It’s too warm work to last long,’ but he did not return a single shot, though about fifty of our men had been killed and wounded. You see, he never was fond of wastin’ powder an’ shot. He generally reserved his fire till it could be delivered with stunnin’ effect.

“Just then a round shot carried away our main-topmast with all her stun-s’ls an’ booms. By good luck, however, we were close alongside o’ the enemy’s ship Redoubtable by that time. Our tiller ropes were shot away too, but it didn’t matter much now. The word was given, and we opened with both broadsides at once. You should have felt the Victory tremble, John Adams. We tackled the Redoubtable with the starboard guns, and the Bucentaur and Santissima Trinidad with the port guns. Of course they gave it us hot and strong in reply. At the same time Captain Hardy, in the Temeraire, fell on board the Redoubtable on her other side, and the Fougueux, another o’ the enemy, fell on board the Temeraire; so there we were four ships abreast—a compact tier—blazin’ into each other like mad, with the muzzles of the guns touchin’ the sides when they were run out, an’ men stationed with buckets at the ports, to throw water into the shot-holes to prevent their takin’ fire.

“It was awful work, I tell you, with the never-stopping roar of great guns and rattle of small arms, an’ the smoke, an’ the decks slippery with blood. The order was given to depress our guns and load with light charges of powder, to prevent the shot going right through the enemy into our own ship on the other side.

“The Redoubtable flew no colours, so we couldn’t tell when she struck, and twice the Admiral, wishing to spare life, gave orders to cease firing, thinking she had given in. But she had not done so, and soon after a ball from her mizzen-top struck Nelson on the left shoulder, and he fell. They took him below at once.

“Of course we in the mizzen-top knew nothing of this, for we couldn’t see almost anything for the smoke, only here and there a bit of a mast, or a yard-arm, or a bowsprit, while the very air trembled with the tremendous and continuous roar.

“We were most of us wounded by that time, more or less, but kept blazing away as long as we could stand. Then there came cheers of triumph mingling with the shouts and cries of battle. The ships of the enemy were beginning to strike. One after another the flags went down. Before long the cry was, ‘Five have struck!’ then ‘Ten, hurrah!’ then fifteen, then twenty, hurrah!”

“Hurrah! Old England for ever!” cried Adams, starting to his feet and waving his hat in a burst of irrepressible excitement, which roused the spirits of the youths around, who, leaping up with flushed faces and glittering eyes, sent up from the groves of Pitcairn a vigorous British cheer in honour of the great victory of Trafalgar.

“But,” continued Jack Brace, when the excitement had abated, “there was great sorrow mingled with our triumph that day, for Nelson, the hero of a hundred fights, was dead. The ball had entered his spine. He lived just long enough to know that our victory was complete, and died thanking God that he had done his duty.”

“That was truly a great battle,” said Adams, while Brace, having concluded, was refilling his pipe.

“Right you are, John,” said the other; “about the greatest victory we ever gained. It has settled the fleets of France and Spain, I guess, for the next fifty years.”

“But what was it all for?” asked Bessy Mills, looking up in the sailor’s face with much simplicity.

“What was it for?” repeated Brace, with a perplexed look. “Why, my dear, it was—it was for the honour and glory of Old England, to be sure.”

“No, no, Jack, not quite that,” interposed Adams, with a laugh, “it was to clap a stopper on the ambition of the French, as far as I can make out; or rather to snub that rascal Napoleon Bonnypart, an’ keep him within bounds.”

“But he ain’t easy to keep within bounds,” said Brace, putting his pipe in his pocket and rising; “for he’s been knockin’ the lobsters of Europe over like ninepins of late years. Hows’ever, we’ll lick him yet on land, as we’ve licked him already on the sea, or my name’s not—”

He stopped abruptly, having caught sight of Dan McCoy’s twinkling eye.

“Now, John Adams, I must go, else the Cap’n’ll think I’ve deserted altogether.”

“Oh, don’t go yet; please don’t!” pleaded Dolly Young, as she grasped and fondled the seaman’s huge hand.

Dolly was at that time about nine years of age, and full of enthusiasm. She was seconded in her entreaties by Dinah Adams, who seized the other hand, while several of the older girls sought to influence him by words and smiles; but Jack Brace was not to be overcome.

“I’ll be ashore again to-morrow, p’r’aps, with the Captain, if he lands,” said Brace, “and spin you some more yarns about the wars.”

With this promise they were obliged to rest content. In a few minutes the visitor was carried over the surf by Toc and Charlie in their canoe, and soon put on board the Topaz, which stood inshore to receive him.

Chapter Thirty

Adams and the Girls

Great was the interest aroused on board the Topaz when Jack Brace narrated his experiences among the islanders, and Captain Folger resolved to pay them a visit. He did so next day, accompanied by the Englishman and some of the other men, the sight of whom gladdened the eyes and hearts of Adams and his large family.

Besides assuring himself of the truth of Brace’s statements, the Captain obtained additional proof of the truth of Adams’s account of himself and his community in the form of the chronometer and azimuth compass of the Bounty.

“How many did you say your colony consists of?” asked Folger.

“Thirty-five all told, sir,” answered Adams; “but I fear we shall be only thirty-four soon.”

“How so?”

“One of our lads, a dear boy of about eight years of age, is dying, I fear,” returned Adams, sadly.

“I’m sorry to hear it, and still more sorry that I have no doctor in my ship,” said Folger, “but I have a smatterin’ of doctors’ work myself. Let me see him.”

Adams led the way to the hut where poor James Young lay, tenderly nursed by Mary Christian. The boy was lying on his bed as they entered, gazing wistfully out at the little window which opened from the side of it like the port-lights or bull’s-eyes of a ship’s berth. His young nurse sat beside him with the Bounty Bible open on her knees. She shut it and rose as the strangers entered.

The poor invalid was too weak to take much interest in them. He was extremely thin, and breathed with great difficulty. Nevertheless his face flushed, and a gleam of surprise shot from his eyes as he turned languidly towards the Captain.

“My poor boy,” said Folger, taking his hand and gently feeling his pulse, “do you suffer much?”

“Yes,—very much,” said little James, with a sickly smile.

“Can you rest at all?” asked the Captain.

“I am—always—resting,” he replied, with a pause between each word; “resting—on Jesus.”

The Captain was evidently surprised by the answer.

“Who told you about Jesus?” he asked.

“God’s book—and—the Holy—Spirit.”

It was obvious that the exertion of thinking and talking was not good for poor little James. Captain Folger therefore, after smoothing the hair on his forehead once or twice very tenderly, bade him good-bye, and went out.

“Doctors could do nothing for the child,” he said, while returning with Adams to his house; “but he is rather to be envied than pitied. I would give much for the rest which he apparently has found.”

“Give much!” exclaimed Adams, with an earnest look. “Rest in the Lord is not to be purchased by gifts. Itself is the grand free gift of God to man, to be had for the asking.”

“I know it,” was the Captain’s curt reply, as he entered Adams’s house. “Where got you the chronometer and azimuth compass?” he said, on observing these instruments.

“They belonged to the Bounty. You are heartily welcome to both of them if you choose; they are of no use to me.” (See Note.)

Folger accepted the gift, and promised to write to England and acquaint the Government with his discovery of the colony.

“You see, sir,” said Adams, with a grave look, while hospitably entertaining his visitor that afternoon, “we are increasing at a great rate, and although they may perhaps take me home and swing me up to the yard-arm, I think it better to run the risk o’ that than to leave all these poor young things here unprotected. Why, just think what might happen if one o’ them traders which are little better than pirates were to come an’ find us here.”

He looked at the Captain earnestly.

“Now, if we were under the protection o’ the British flag—only just recognised, as it were,—that would go a long way to help us, and prevent mischief.”

At this point the importunities of some of the young people to hear about the outside world prevailed, and Folger began, as Jack Brace had done the day before, to tell them some of the most stirring events in the history of his own land.

But he soon found out that the mental capacity of the Pitcairners was like a bottomless pit. However much they got, they wanted more. Anecdote after anecdote, story after story, fact after fact, was thrown into the gulf, and still the cry was, “More! more!”