The Lonely Island, Robert Michael Ballantyne [best electronic book reader txt] 📗

One of the women made three puddings, two of which were good, the third was poisoned. Menalee at once agreed to go to the fugitives, say he had stolen the puddings, and would be willing to share them. The two good puddings were to be given to Talaloo's wife and Timoa, the poisoned one to Talaloo himself. For further security Menalee was to carry a pistol with him, and use it if necessary.

The assassin was not long in tracking out his countrymen.

"You bring us food?" said Talaloo.

"Yes, I have stolen it. Will you have some?"

They all accepted the puddings, and Timoa and the woman began to eat; but Talaloo was quick witted. He observed something unusual in Menalee's manner, suspected poison, and would not eat his pudding. Laying it aside, he ate that of his wife along with her.

Menalee pretended not to notice this. After the others had done eating, he proposed that they should all go a little farther up into the bushes, where, he said, he had left his own wife among some breadfruit trees.

Talaloo agreeing to this, they rose and walked away. The footpath being narrow, they were obliged to go in single file. Menalee walked behind Talaloo. After having gone a few paces, the former drew his pistol, pointed it at the back of his countryman's head, and pulled the trigger, but it missed fire. Talaloo hearing the click, turned round, saw the pistol, and immediately fled; but his enemy was swift of foot, soon overtook him, and the two grappled. A severe struggle ensued, Timoa and the woman standing by and looking on, but rendering help to neither party.

The two combatants were pretty well matched. The pistol had fallen at the first onset, and for a few minutes it seemed doubtful which should prove the victor, as they swayed to and fro, straining their dark and sinewy forms in deadly conflict. At last the strength of Talaloo seemed to give way, but still he retained a vice-like grasp of his antagonist's right wrist.

"Won't you help me?" gasped Talaloo, turning an appealing glance on his wife.

"No," cried Menalee, "but she will help me to kill Talaloo."

The hardened woman picked up the pistol, and going towards her husband struck him on the head. Menalee quickly finished with his knife what the murderess had begun.

For a few minutes the three stood looking at the murdered man in silence, when they returned to the settlement and told what they had done. But the assassin's work was not yet over. Another of the natives, named Ohoo, had fled to the woods, threatening vengeance against the white men. It was deemed necessary that he too should be killed, and Menalee was again found to be a willing instrument. Timoa, who had exhibited such callous indifference at the murder of Talaloo, was his fitting companion. They soon found Ohoo, and succeeded in killing him.

Strange to say, the mutineers, after these foul deeds, dwelt for a long time in comparative peace and harmony. It seemed as if their worst feelings had found full vent and been expended in the double murder. No doubt this state of hollow peace was partly owing to the fact that the native men, now being reduced to four in number, felt themselves to be unable to cope with their masters, and quietly submitted to the inevitable.

But by degrees the evil spirits in some of the party began to reassert their power. McCoy and Quintal in particular became very savage and cruel. They never hesitated to flog or knock down a native on the slightest pretext, insomuch that these unhappy men were again driven to plot the destruction of their masters. Adams, Christian, and Young were free from the stain of wanton cruelty. Young in particular was kind to the natives, and a favourite both with men and women.


CHAPTER TEN.


DANGERS, JOYS, TRIALS, AND MULTIPLICATION.

"I'm going to the cliffs to-day, Williams," said Young one morning. "Will you come?"

Williams was busy at the forge under the pleasant shade of the great banyan-tree. Resting his hammer on the anvil, he looked up.

"No," he answered. "I can't go till I've finished this spade. It's the last bit of iron we have left that'll serve for such a purpose."

"That's no reason why you should not let it lie till the afternoon or to-morrow."

"True, but I've got another reason for pushing through with it. Isaac Martin says the want of a spade keeps him idle, and you know it's a pity to encourage idleness in a lazy fellow."

"You are right. What is Martin about just now?"

"Working at the big water-tank. It suits him, a heavy quiet sort of job with the pick, requiring no energy or thought,--only a sleepy sort o' perseverance, of which long-legged Isaac has plenty."

"Come, now," returned Young, with a laugh. "I see you are getting jealous of Martin's superior intellect. But where are Quintal and McCoy?"

"Diggin' in their gardens, I suppose. Leastwise, I heerd Mr Christian say to Mainmast he'd seen 'em go off in that direction. Mr Christian himself has gone to his old outlook aloft on the mountains. If he don't see a sail at last it won't be for want o' keepin' a bright look-out."

The armourer smiled grimly as he thrust the edge of the half-formed spade into the fire, and began to blow his bellows.

"You've got them to work again," said Young, referring to the bellows which had belonged to the _Bounty_.

"Ay, patched 'em up after a fashion, though there's a good deal o' windage somewheres. If them rats git hold of 'em again, the blacksmith's occupation'll be gone. Here comes Bill Brown; p'r'aps _he_ won't object to go bird-nestin' with 'ee."

The armourer drew the glowing metal from the fire as he spoke, and sent the bright sparks flying up into the leaves of the banyan-tree while the botanist approached.

"I'll go, with all my heart," said Brown, on being invited by Young to accompany him. "We'd better take Nehow with us. He is the best cliff-man among the natives."

"That's just what I thought of doing," said Young, "and--ah! here comes some one else who will be glad to go."

The midshipman's tone and manner changed suddenly as he held out both hands by way of invitation to Sally, who came skipping forward, and ran gleefully towards him.

Sally was no longer the nude cherub which had landed on the island. She had not only attained to maturer years, but was precocious both in body and mind,--had, as we have shown, become matronly in her ideas and actions, and was clothed in a short petticoat of native cloth, and a little scarf of the same, her pretty little head being decorated with a wreath of flowers culled and constructed by herself.

"No, I can't go," answered Sally to Young's invitation, with a solemn shake of her head.

"Why not?"

"'Cause I's got to look arter babby."

Up to this period Sally had shown a decided preference for the ungrammatical language of the seamen, though she associated freely with Young and Christian. Perhaps her particular fondness for John Adams may have had something to do with this.

"Which baby, Sall? You know your family is a pretty large one."

"Yes, there's a stunnin' lot of 'em--a'most too many for me; but I said _the_ babby."

"Oh, I suppose you mean Charlie Christian?"

"In coorse I means Challie," replied the child, with a smile that displayed a dazzling set of teeth, the sparkle of which was only equalled by that of her eyes.

"Well, but you can bring Charlie along with you," said Young, "and I'll engage to carry him and you too if you get tired. There, run away; find him, and fetch him quick."

Little Sall went off like the wind, and soon returned with the redoubtable Charles in her arms. It was all she could do to stagger under the load; but Charlie Christian had not yet attained to facility in walking. He was still in the nude stage of childhood, and his faithful nurse, being afraid lest he should get badly scratched if dragged at a rapid pace through the bushes, had carried him.

Submitting, according to custom, in solemn and resigned surprise, Charlie was soon seated on the shoulders of our midshipman, who led the way to the cliffs. William Brown followed, leading Sally by the hand, for she refused to be carried, and Nehow brought up the rear.

The cliffs to which their steps were directed were not more than an hour's walk from the settlement at Bounty Bay, though, for Sally's sake, the time occupied in going was about half-an-hour longer. It was a wild spot which had been selected. The towering walls of rock were rugged with ledges, spurs, and indentations, where sea-birds in myriads gave life to the scene, and awakened millions of echoes to their plaintive cries. There was a pleasant appearance of sociability about the birds which was powerfully attractive. Even Nehow, accustomed as he was to such scenes, appeared to be impressed. The middy and the botanist were excited. As for Sally, she was in ecstasies, and the baby seemed lost in the profoundest fit of wonder he had experienced since the day of his birth.

"Oh, Challie," exclaimed his nurse in a burst of laughter, "what a face you's got! Jis' like de fig'r'ead o' the _Bounty_." (Sall quoted here!) "Ain't they bootiful birds?"

She effectually prevented reply, even if such had been intended, by suddenly seizing her little charge round the neck and kissing his right eye passionately. Master Charlie cared nothing for that. He gazed past her at the gulls with the unobliterated eye. When she kissed him on the left cheek, he gazed past her at the gulls with the other eye. When she let him go, he continued to gaze at the gulls with both eyes. He had often seen the same gulls at a distance, from the lower level of Bounty Bay, but he had never before stood on their own giddy cliffs, and watched them from their own favourite bird's-eye-view point; for there were thousands of them sloping, diving, and wheeling in the airy abyss, pictured against the dark blue sea below, as well as thousands more circling upwards, floating and gyrating in the bright blue sky above. It seemed as if giant snowflakes were trembling in the air in all directions. Some of the gulls came so near to those who watched them that their black inquiring eyes became distinctly visible; others swept towards them with rustling wings, as if intending to strike, and then glanced sharply off, or upwards, with wild cries.

"Wouldn't it be fun to have wings?" asked Brown of Sally, as she stood there open-mouthed and eyed.

"Oh, _wouldn't_ it?"

"If I had wings," said Young, with a touch of sadness in his tone, "I'd steer a straight course through the air for Old England."

"I didn't know you had such a strong desire to be hanged," said Brown.

"They'd never hang me," returned Young. "I'm innocent of the crime of mutiny, and Captain Bligh knows it."

"Bligh would be