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

During those days of doubt and depression at Hitihiti’s house, when Hina strove to divert my thoughts and my good old taio tried fruitlessly to cheer me up, I ceased to be a boy and became a man. Morrison was settled with Poino, the famous warrior who lived not far off, and Stewart was living with Peggy, in the house of Tipau, at the foot of One Tree Hill. I went frequently to pass the time of day with these two friends, and from their example learned to be ashamed of my fruitless depression. Morrison and Millward, who lived with Stewart at Poino’s house, were already planning the little schooner they eventually built, and in which, without awaiting the arrival of a ship from home, they hoped to sail to Batavia, whence they might get passage to England. Stewart, who loved gardening, worked daily at beautifying the grounds about the new house old Tipau was building for him. When I mentioned my thoughts to him, he only smiled and said: “Never worry about what you cannot change,” and went on with his digging, and planting, and laying out of paths. Perceiving at last that hard work was the remedy for my greensickness, I set to once more on my dictionary and was soon absorbed in the task.

One morning, about ten days after the departure of the Bounty, I found myself unable to sleep and set out for a walk on the long curving beach that led to Point Venus. It was still an hour before dawn, but the stars were bright and the northerly breeze blowing from the region of the equator made the air warm and mild. A dog barked at me as I passed an encampment of fishermen asleep on the sands under blankets of bark cloth. Their great net, hung on stakes to dry, stretched for a quarter of a mile along my path. At the very tip of the point, sheltered by the reef and provided with a deep, safe entrance, lies one of the most beautiful little harbours on the island, resorted to by travelers in sailing canoes who wish to pass the night on shore. The water is always calm and beautifully clear, and a good-sized vessel can be moored so close inshore that a man may leap from her stern to the beach.

The point was a favourite resort of mine at this hour, for the view up the coast at sunrise was one I loved. I was pleased to find the cove deserted, and, settling myself comfortably on one of the high sand dunes, I gazed eastward, where the first faint flush of dawn was beginning to appear. At that moment a slight sound caught my ear, and, glancing seaward, I perceived that a large sailing canoe was stealing in through the passage. Her great brown sails of matting were ghostly blots on the sea, and presently I could hear the low commands of the man at the masthead, conning her in. She came on fast under her press of sail, rounded-to smartly inside, and dropped her stone anchor with a resounding plunge. The sails were furled while paddlers brought her stern to the land, and a man sprang ashore to make fast her stern-line to a coconut stump.

From the size of the vessel and the number of her crew, I judged that she carried passengers of consequence, but whoever they were, they still slept under the little thatched awning aft. Several of the crew came on land to build a fire of coconut husks and prepare food for the morning meal, and I saw two women helped ashore, who strolled away westward along the point and disappeared.

It was full daylight, with the rim of the sun just above the horizon, when I rose, unperceived by the travelers, and walked across to the large river which emptied into the sea on the west side of the point. It was called Vaipoopoo, and close to the mouth there was a long reach of deep clear water in which I loved to swim—a quiet and beautiful spot, distant from the habitations of the Indians. The water was a good twenty yards across and so deep that a boat of twelve tons burthen might have entered to a distance of a quarter of a mile. Tall old mapé trees arched overhead, their buttressed roots forming many a rustic seat along the banks.

I had long since chosen such a seat for myself, high above the still water and at a distance of about a cable’s length from the beach. Frequently in the late afternoon I spent an hour or two alone at this place, listening to the rustling of the trees high overhead, and watching the small speckled fresh-water fish as they rose for their evening meal of flies. In my fancy I had named this spot Withycombe, after our home in England, for indeed there were moments when the place seemed English to the core, when I fancied myself in the warm summer twilight at home, watching the trout rise in one of our West Country streams.

To Withycombe, then, I repaired for my morning bath. I threw off the light mantle of Indian cloth from my shoulders and girded up the kilt about my waist. Next moment I slipped into the deep clear water and swam leisurely downstream, drifting with the gentle flow of the current. High in a tree overhead a bird was singing—an omaomao, whose song is sweeter than that of our English nightingale.

As I drifted downstream I perceived suddenly, seated among the buttressed roots of an old tree, a young girl lovely as a water-sprite. I must have made some slight splashing sound, for she turned her head with a little start and gazed full into my eyes. I recognized her at once—she was Tehani, whom I had seen in Tetiaroa long before. She gave no sign of shyness or embarrassment, for a girl of her position had in those days nothing to fear by day or by night, alone or in company. A rude word to her would have been the cause of instant death to the offender; an act of violence to her person might easily have brought on a devastating war. This sense of security imparted to the girls of Tehani’s class an innocent assurance of manner which was by no means the least of their charms.

“May you live!” I said, Indian fashion, rounding-to against the current.

“And you!” replied Tehani, with a smile. “I know who you are! You are Byam, the taio of Hitihiti!”

“True,” said I, eager to prolong the conversation. “Shall I tell you who you are? You are Tehani, Poino’s relative! I saw you in Tetiaroa, when you danced there.”

She laughed aloud at this. “Ah, you saw me? Did I dance well?”

“So beautifully that I have never forgotten that night!”

“Arero mona!” she exclaimed mockingly, for the Indians call a flatterer “sweet tongue.”

“So beautifully,” I went on as if I had not heard, “that I said to Hitihiti: ‘Who is yonder girl, lovelier than any girl in Tahiti, who might be the young goddess of the dance herself?’ ”

“Arero mona!” she mocked again, but I could see the blush mantling her smooth cheeks. She had just come out of the river and her brown hair lay in damp ringlets on her shoulders. “Come—let us see which can swim further under water, you or I!” Tehani slipped into the stream, and dived so smoothly that she scarcely rippled the still water. Clinging to the great root which had been her seat, I watched for what seemed an interminable time. The river turned in a bend about fifty yards below me, and at last, from out of sight beyond the bend, I heard Tehani’s voice. “Come,” she called gaily. “It is your turn to try!”

I dove at the words and began to swim downstream, about a fathom deep. The water was clear as air and I could see the shoals of small bright fish scatter before me and seek refuge among the shadowy boulders below. On and on I went, determined that no girl should excel me in the water, an element I have always loved. Aided by the current, my progress was swift, and finally, when my lungs would endure no more and I felt satisfied that I had won, I came to the surface with a gasp. A chuckle musical as the murmur of the stream greeted me, and shaking the water from my eyes I saw the girl seated on a long root, flush with the water, a full ten yards beyond.