The Lonely Island: The Refuge of the Mutineers

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

  TREATS OF A BIRTH AND OF DEVASTATION.

  More than eighteen years had now elapsed without the dwellers on thatlittle isle of the Southern Sea having beheld a visitant from the greatworld around them. That world, meanwhile, had been convulsed withuseless wars. The great Napoleon had run through a considerable portionof his withering career, drenching the earth with blood, and heapingheavy burdens of debt on the unfortunate nations of Europe. Nelson hadshattered his fleets, and Wellington was on the eve of commencing thatvictorious career which was destined, ere long, to scatter his armies;but no echo of the turmoil in which all this was being accomplished hadreached the peaceful dwellers on Pitcairn, who went on the even tenor oftheir way, proving, in the most convincing and interesting manner, thatafter all "love is the fulfilling of the law."

  But the year 1808 had now arrived, a year fraught with novelty,interest, and importance to the Pitcairners.

  The first great event of that year was the birth of a son to ThursdayOctober Christian, and if ever there was a juvenile papa who opened hiseyes to the uttermost, stared in sceptical wonder, pinched himself tosee if he were awake, and went away into the bush to laugh and rejoicein secret, that man was TOC.

  "Boys and girls," said Thursday, about a month after the birth, "we'llcelebrate this event with a picnic to Martin's Cove, if you would likeit."

  There was an assumption of fine paternal dignity about Toc when he saidthis, which was quite beautiful to behold. His making the proposal,too, without any reference to John Adams, was noted as being unusual.

  "Don't you think we'd better ask father first?" suggested OtaheitanSally.

  "Of course I do," said Toc, on whose ear the word "father" fellpleasantly. "You don't suppose, do you, that I'd propose to do anythingof importance without his consent?"

  It may strike the supercilious reader here that a picnic, even onPitcairn, was not a matter of profound importance, but he must rememberthat that particular picnic was to be held in honour of Thursday's baby.It may be that this remark is thrown away on those who are not in theposition of Thursday. If so, let it pass.

  "We will invite Father Adams to go with us," continued Toc, ingeniouslyreferring to Adams in a manner suggestive of the idea that there wereother fathers on the island as well as he.

  When Father Adams was invited, he accepted the invitation heartily, and,slapping Toc on his huge broad back, wished him joy of the "noo babby,"and hoped he might live to see it grow up to have "a babby of its ownsimilar to itself, d'ye see?" at which remark Toc laughed with evidentdelight.

  Well, the whole thing was arranged, and they proceeded to carry thepicnic into effect. It was settled that some were to go by land, thoughthe descent from the cliffs to the cove was not an easy or safe one.Others were to go by water, and the water-party was sub-divided into twobands. One band, which included Susannah and the amazing baby, was togo in canoes; the other was to swim. The distance by water might beabout eight miles, but that was a mere trifle to the Pitcairners, someof whom could swim right round their island.

  It turned out, however, that that charming island was not altogetherexempt from those vicissitudes of weather which play such a prominentpart in the picnicry of other and less favoured lands, for while theywere yet discussing the arrangements of the day, a typhoon stepped inunexpectedly to arrest them.

  It may be that there are some persons in Britain who do not knowprecisely what a typhoon is. If they saw or felt one, they would not beapt to forget it. Roughly speaking, a typhoon is a terrific storm.Cyclopaedias, which are supposed to tell us about everything, say thatthe Chinese name such a storm "Tei-fun," or "hot-wind." No-fun wouldseem to be a more appropriate term, if one were to name it from results.One writer says of typhoons, "They are storms which rage with suchintensity and fury that those who have never seen them can form noconception of them; you would say that heaven and earth wished to returnto their original chaos."

  Obviously, if this writer be correct, there would be no use in ourattempting to enlighten those "who can form no conception" of the thing.Nevertheless, in the hope that the writer referred to may be asignorant on this point as he is in regard to the "wishes" of "heaven andearth," we will attempt a brief description of the event which put sucha sudden stop to what may be called the Toc-baby-picnic.

  For several days previously the weather had been rather cloudy, andthere had been a few showers; but this would not have checked theproceedings if the wind had not risen so as to render it dangerous tolaunch the canoes into the surf on the beach of Bounty Bay. As the dayadvanced it blew a gale, and Toc congratulated himself on havingresisted the urgent advice of the volatile Dan McCoy to stick atnothing.

  About sunset the gale increased to a hurricane. John Adams, withseveral of the older youths, went to the edge of the precipice, near theeastern part of the village, where a deep ravine ran up into themountains. There, under the shelter of a rock, they discussed thesituation.

  "Lucky that you didn't go, Toc," said Adams, pointing at the sea, whosewaves were lashed and churned into seething foam.

  "Yes, thanks be to God," replied Thursday.

  "It will blow harder yet, I think," said Charlie Christian, who hadgrown into a tall stripling of about seventeen. He resembled his fatherin the bright expression of his handsome face and in the vigour of hislithe frame.

  "Looks like it, Charlie. It minds me o' a regular typhoon we had whenyou was quite a babby, that blew down a lot o' trees, an' almost tookthe roofs off our huts."

  As he spoke it seemed as if the wind grew savage at having beenrecognised, for it came round the corner of the rock with a tremendousroar, and nearly swept Adams's old seafaring hat into the rising sea.

  "I'd ha' bin sorry to lose 'ee," muttered John, as he thrust the glazedand battered covering well down on his brows. "I wore you in the_Bounty_, and I expect, with care, to make you last out my time, an'leave you as a legacy to my son George."

  "Look-out, father!" shouted Matt Quintal and Jack Mills in the samebreath.

  The whole party crouched close in beside the rock, and looked anxiouslyupwards, where a loud rending sound was going on. Another moment and alarge cocoa-nut palm, growing in an exposed situation, was wrenched fromits hold and hurled like a feather over the cliffs, carrying a mass ofearth and stones along with it.

  "It's well the rock overhangs a bit, or we'd have got the benefit o'that shower," said Adams. "Come, boys, it's clear that we're goin' tohave a dirty night of it, an' I think we'd better look to our roofs an'make all snug. If our ground-tackle ain't better than that o' the treewhich has just gone by the board, we shall have a poor look-out."

  There was much cause for the anxiety which the seaman expressedregarding the roofs of the houses. Already, before they got back to thevillage, part of the roof of one of the oldest huts had been strippedoff, and the women were beginning to look anxiously upwards as theyheard the clattering overhead.

  "Now, lads, all hands to work. Not a moment too soon either. Out wi'the old tacklin' o' the _Bounty_. Get the tarpaulins up. Lash one overToc's hut. Clap some big stones on Quintal's. Fetch the ladders, someo' you youngsters. Out o' the way, boys. Here, Mainmast; you get thelittle 'uns off to their bunks. Fetch me the big sledge-hammer,Charlie. Look alive, lads!"

  While he shouted these directions, John Adams went to work as activelyas the youngest among them. Every one wrought with a will. In a fewminutes all moveables were carried under shelter, heavy stones wereplaced where they were required, tarpaulins and stout ropes were lashedover roofs and pegged to the ground, shutters and doors were made fast,and, in short, the whole village was "made snug" for a "dirty night"with almost as much celerity as if it had been a fully-manned andwell-disciplined ship of the line.

  As John Adams had said, it was not begun a moment too soon. They hadbarely finished, indeed, when the heavens appeared to rend with ablinding flash of lightning. Then came a thunder crash, or, rather, aseries of crashes and fl
ashes, that seemed to imply the final crack ofdoom. This was followed by rain in sheets so heavy that it seemed as ifthe ocean had been lifted and poured upon the island. To render theconfusion worse confounded, the wind came in what may be called swirls,overturning trees as if they were straws, and mixing up rain, mud,stones, and branches in the great hurly-burly, until ancient chaosseemed to reign on land and sea.

  "It's an awful night," said John Adams, as he sat beside his wife andlistened, while the children, unable to sleep, peeped in awe and wonderfrom their several bunks round the room. "God save them that's at seathis night."

  "Amen!" said Mrs Adams.

  By midnight the typhoon had reached its height. The timbers of thehouses appeared to groan under the strain to which they were subjected.The whole heavens seemed in a continual blaze, and the thunder came, notin bursts, but in one incessant roar, with intermittent cracks now andthen. Occasionally there were louder crashes than usual, which weresupposed to be only more violent thunder, but they were afterwards foundto be the results of very different causes.

  "Now, old 'ooman, you turn in," said Adams, when the small hours ofmorning had advanced a little. "You'll only be unfit for work to-morrowif you sit up bobbin' about on your stool like that."

  Mrs Adams obediently and literally tumbled into her bunk without takingthe trouble to undress, while her anxious husband trimmed the lamp, tookdown the _Bounty's_ Bible, and made up his mind to spend the remainderof the night in study.

  Away at the other end of the village, near the margin of the ravinebefore referred to, there stood a cottage, in which there was evidentlya watcher, for the rays of his light could be seen through the chinks ofthe shutters. This was the house occupied by Thursday October Christianand his wife and baby.

  Thursday, like Adams, felt the anxieties of fatherhood strong upon him,and was unable to sleep. He therefore, also like Adams, made up hismind to sit up and read. Carteret's Voyages claimed his attention, andhe was soon deep in this old book, while his wife lay sound asleep, withthe baby in her arms in the same condition. Both were quite deaf to theelemental turmoil going on around them.

  The watchful husband and father was still poring over his book, whenthere came a noise so deafening that it caused him to start to his feet,and awoke his wife. "_That_ can't be thunder," he exclaimed, and sprangto the door.

  The sight that met his gale when he looked out was sufficientlyterrible. Day had begun to dawn, and the grey light showed him a largemass of earth and trees moving down the ravine. The latter werecrashing and overturning. As he gazed they went bodily over the cliffs,a mighty avalanche, into the sea. The whole had evidently been loosenedfrom the rocks by the action of the wind on the trees, coupled with thedeluges of rain.

  But this was not the worst of it. While Thursday was gazing at thissight, another crash was heard higher up the ravine. Turning quickly inthat direction, he saw the land moving slowly towards him. Immensemasses of rock were borne along with slow but irresistible violence.Many cocoa-nut trees were torn up by the roots and carried bodily alongwith the tough stream of mud and stones and general debris. Some ofthese trees advanced several yards in an upright position, and then fellin dire confusion.

  Suddenly Toc observed to his horror that the mass was slowly bearingdown straight towards his hut. Indeed, so much had his mind beenimpressed with the general wreck, that he had failed to observe a fewtons of stones and rubbish which even then appeared on the point ofoverwhelming him.

  Without uttering a word he sprang into the hut.

  "What's wrong, Thursday?" asked his wife, in some alarm.

  "Never mind. Hold your tongue, an' hold tight to Dumplin'."

  The baby had been named Charles, after Toc's young brother, and theinelegant name of "Dumplin'" had been given him to prevent his beingconfounded with Charlie, senior.

  Susannah did as she was bid, and the young giant, rolling her and thebaby and the bedclothes into one bundle, lifted them in hiswide-spreading arms and rushed out of the house.

  He had to pass a neighbour's house on the way, which also stooddangerously near the ravine. Kicking its door open, he shouted, "Allhands, ahoy! Turn out! turn out!" and passed on.

  A few seconds later John Adams, who had gone to sleep with his noseflattened on the Bible, was startled by the bursting in of his door.

  "Hallo, Toc!" he cried, starting up; "what's wrong, eh?"

  "All right, father, but the ravine is bearin' down on us."

  Thrusting his living bundle into an empty bunk, the stout youth left itto look after itself, and rushed out with Adams to the scene ofdevastation.

  The avalanche was still advancing when they reached the spot, but afortunate obstruction had turned it away from the houses. It movedslowly but steadily downwards like genuine lava, and in the course of afew hours swept some hundreds of cocoa-nut trees, a yam ground,containing nearly a thousand yams, one of the canoes, and a great massof heterogeneous material, over the cliffs into the sea. Then thestream ceased to flow, the consternation of the people began to abate,and they commenced to repair, as far as possible, the damage caused bythat memorable typhoon.