James Norman Hall - The Mutiny on the Bounty - Complete Trilogy

“Right, sir,” said Ellison, though I could see that he regretted his fruit. “You’ll find them sweet!”

“And this fan,” said the midshipman, taking it from Ellison’s hand. “Will you give it to me?”

“I cannot, sir. It comes from a girl. You’ve a taio of your own.”

“He pays me no attention these days. What have you there?”

“A bundle of tapa cloth.”

Hallet stooped to feel the thick bundle and gave the seaman an evil smile. “It feels uncommonly like a sucking pig. Shall I call Mr. Samuel?” Ellison flushed and the other went on, without giving him time to reply, “See here! A bargain—the fan’s mine, and I say nothing about the pig.”

Without a word, the young seaman snatched up his bundle and strode off to the forecastle in a rage, leaving the fan in his superior’s hands. I was about to utter angry words when Samuel, the captain’s clerk, walked aft. Hallet stopped him. “Do you want a bit of tender pork?” he asked in a low voice. “Then go to the forecastle. I suspect that Ellison has a sucking pig wrapped up in a bale of the Indian cloth!” Samuel gave him a nod and a knowing leer, and passed. I stepped forward.

“You little swine!” I said to Hallet.

“You’ve been spying on me, Byam!” he squeaked.

“And if you were not such a contemptible little sneak, I’d do more than that!”

The captain’s boat was approaching, and, swallowing my anger, I began to prepare the manuscript of my week’s work for his inspection. Half an hour later, when the interview with Bligh was over and we came on deck, I found Christian at the gangway, to receive a gift of provisions and other things sent out by Maimiti, a great landowner in her own right.

There were a brace of fat hogs, as well as taro, plantains, and other vegetables; fine mats, Indian cloaks, and a pair of very handsome pearls from the Low Islands. Bligh strolled to the gangway, and, seeing the hogs, called for Samuel and ordered him to take them over for ship’s stores. Christian flushed.

“Mr. Bligh,” he said, “I meant these hogs for my own mess.”

“No!” answered the captain harshly.

He glanced at the mats and cloaks, which Christian was about to send below. “Mr. Samuel,” he went on, “take charge of these Indian curiosities, which may be useful for trading in other groups.”

“One moment, sir,” protested Christian. “These things were given me for members of my family in England.”

Instead of replying, the captain turned away contemptuously toward the gangway. Maimiti’s servant was handing up to Christian a small package done up in the tapa cloth. “Pearls,” said the man in the Indian tongue. “My mistress sends them to you, to be given your mother in England.” Still deeply flushed with anger, Christian took the package from the man’s hand.

“Did he say pearls?” put in Bligh. “Come—let me see them!”

Samuel craned his neck and I admit that I did the same. Reluctantly, and in angry silence, Christian unwrapped the small package to display a matched pair of pearls as large as gooseberries, and of the most perfect orient. Samuel, a London Jew, permitted himself an exclamation of astonishment. After a moment’s hesitation, Bligh spoke.

“Give them to Mr. Samuel,” he ordered. “Pearls are highly prized in the Friendly Islands.”

“Surely, sir,” exclaimed Christian angrily, “you do not mean to seize these as well! They were given me for my mother!”

“Deliver them to Mr. Samuel,” Bligh repeated.

“I refuse!” replied Christian, controlling himself with a great effort.

He turned away abruptly, closing his hand on the pearls, and went below. A glance passed between the captain and his clerk, but though Bligh’s hands were clasping and unclasping behind his back, he said no more.

It was not hard to imagine the feelings of the Bounty’s people at this time—rationed in the midst of plenty, and treated like smugglers each time they returned from shore. There must have been much angry murmuring in the forecastle, for the contrast between life on shore and life on the ship was over-sharp. I had a home and my mother to return to, but the seamen could look forward to nothing in England save the prospect of the press gang, or begging on the Portsmouth streets. It seemed to me that if Mr. Bligh continued as he had begun, we should soon have desertions or worse.

Going on board to report myself one morning in mid-January, I found the captain pacing the quarter-deck in a rage. I stood to leeward of him for some time before he noticed me, and then, catching his eye, I saluted him and said, “Come on board, sir.”

“Ah, Mr. Byam,” he said, coming to a halt abruptly. “I cannot run over your work to-day; we’ll put it off till next week. The ship’s corporal and two of the seamen—Muspratt and Millward—have deserted. The ungrateful scoundrels shall suffer for this when I get my hands on them! They took the small cutter and eight stand of arms and ammunition. I have just learned that they left the cutter not far from here and set out for Tetiaroa in a sailing canoe.” Mr. Bligh paused, his face set sternly, and seemed to reflect. “Has your taio a large canoe?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“In that case I shall put the pursuit in your hands. Ask for Hitihiti’s canoe and as many of his men as you think necessary, and sail for Tetiaroa to-day. The wind is fair. Secure the men without using force if you can, but secure them! Churchill may give you some trouble. Should you find that they are not on the island, return to-morrow if the wind permits.”

When I had taken leave of the captain, I found Stewart and Tinkler in the berth.

“You’ve heard the news, of course,” said Stewart.

“Yes; Mr. Bligh told me, and I’ve the task of catching the men.”

Stewart laughed. “By God! I don’t envy you!”

“How did they make off with the cutter?” I asked.

“Hayward was mate of the watch, and was fool enough to take a caulk. The men stole away with the cutter while he slept. Bligh was like a madman when he learned it. He’s put Hayward in irons for a month, and threatens to have him flogged on the day of his release!”

An hour later I found Hitihiti at the house, and told him of my orders and of the captain’s request for the loan of his large sailing canoe. He agreed at once to let me have her, with a dozen of his men, and insisted on accompanying the expedition himself.

My host’s vessel was of the kind called va’a motu—a single sailing canoe, about fifty feet long and two foot beam. On the larboard side, at a distance of about a fathom from the hull, was a long outrigger, or float, made fast to cross booms fore and aft, which crossed the gunwales and were lashed fast to them. Her mast was tall and strongly stayed, and her great sail of closely woven matting was bordered with a light frame of saplings.

I watched idly while Hitihiti’s retainers rolled the vessel out from her shed where she was kept, carefully oiled and chocked high above the ground. They fetched the mast and stepped it, and set up the standing rigging all ataut. Then, in their leisurely fashion, the women of the household fetched bunches of newly husked drinking nuts and other provisions for the voyage. The men seemed to look forward eagerly to the expedition—a break in the dreamy monotony of their lives. Counting on taking the deserters by surprise, they seemed to have no fear of the muskets, but Hitihiti asked me with some concern if I were sure that Churchill and his companions had no pistols. When I assured him that the deserters were not provided with pistols, he brightened at once, and began to speak of the voyage.

We sailed at two o’clock in the afternoon, with a fresh easterly breeze on the beam. Tetiaroa lies almost due north of Matavai, about thirty miles distant. It is a cluster of five low coral islands, set here and there on the reef which encircles a lagoon some four miles across, and is the property of what mariners call the royal family—that of the great chief Teina, or Pomare. It is the fashionable watering place for the chiefs of the north end of Tahiti; they repair to its shady groves to recover from the ravages of the ava with which they constantly intoxicate themselves, and to live on a light wholesome diet of coconuts and fish. And to Tetiaroa also repair the pori—the young girls, one from each district of Tahiti, who are placed on stone platforms at certain times of the year, where they may be admired and compared with their competitors by passers-by. In Tetiaroa, these pori are fed on a special diet, kept in the shade to bleach their skins, and constantly rubbed with the perfumed mollifying oil called monoi; and I must do the old women who care for them the justice to remark that the whole of Europe might be searched without finding a score of young females lovelier than the pori I saw on one small coral island.