The Lonely Island | Page 2

me so mean as to be guilty of stealing yours.' Whereupon the
Cap'n he flared up like gunpowder. `Yes, you hungry hound, I do,' says
he; `you must have stolen them from me, or you would have been able
to give a better account of them.'"
"That was pitchin' into 'im pretty stiff," said Quintal, with a grim smile.
"What said Mr Christian?"
"He said nothin', but he looked thunder. I saw him git as red as a turkey

cock, an' bite his lips till the blood came. It's my opinion, messmate,"
added McCoy, in a lower tone, "that if Cap'n Bligh don't change his
tone there'll be--"
"Come, come, mate," interrupted a voice behind him; "if you talk
mutiny like that you'll swing at the end o' the yard-arm some fine
mornin'."
The sailor who joined the others and thus spoke was a short, sturdy
specimen of his class, and much more like a hearty hare-brained tar
than his two comrades. He was about twenty-two years of age, deeply
pitted with small-pox, and with a jovial carelessness of manner that had
won for him the sobriquet of Reckless Jack.
"I'm not the only one that talks mutiny in this ship," growled McCoy.
"There's a lot of us whose backs have bin made to smart, and whose
grog has been stopped for nothin' but spite, John Adams, and you know
it."
"Yes, I do know it," returned Adams, sharply; "and I also know that
there's justice to be had in England. We've got a good case against the
Captain, so we'd better wait till we get home rather than take the law
into our own hands."
"I don't agree with you, Jack," said Quintal, with much decision, "and I
wonder to see you, of all men, show the white feather."
Adams turned away with a light laugh of contempt, and the other two
joined a group of their mates, who were talking in low tones near the
windlass.
Matthew Quintal was not the only man on board who did not agree
with the more moderate counsels of Reckless Jack, alias John Adams,
alias John Smith, for by each of those names was he known. On the
quarter-deck as well as on the forecastle mutterings of deep indignation
were heard.
The vessel was the celebrated Bounty, which had been fitted up for the

express purpose of proceeding to the island of Otaheite, (now named
Tahiti), in the Pacific for plants of the breadfruit tree, it being thought
desirable to introduce that tree into the West India Islands. We may
remark in passing, that the transplantation was afterwards accomplished,
though it failed at this time.
The Bounty had been placed under the command of Lieutenant Bligh of
the Royal Navy. Her burden was about 215 tons. She had been fitted
with every appliance and convenience for her special mission, and had
sailed from Spithead on the 23rd December 1787.
Lieutenant Bligh, although an able and energetic seaman, was of an
angry tyrannical disposition. On the voyage out, and afterwards at
Otaheite, he had behaved so shamefully, and with such unjustifiable
severity, both to officers and men, that he was regarded by a large
proportion of them with bitter hatred. It is painful to be obliged to write
thus of one who rose to positions of honour in the service; but the
evidence led in open court, coupled with Bligh's own writings, and
testimony from other quarters, proves beyond a doubt that his conduct
on board the Bounty was not only dishonourable but absolutely brutal.
When the islanders were asked at first the name of the island, they
replied, "O-Tahiti," which means, "It is Tahiti", hence the earlier form
of the name--Otaheite.
It was after the Bounty had taken in the breadfruit trees at Otaheite, and
was advanced a short distance on the homeward voyage, that the events
we are about to narrate occurred.
We have said that mutterings of deep discontent were heard on the
quarter-deck. Fletcher Christian, acting lieutenant, or master's mate,
leaned over the bulwarks on that lovely evening, and with compressed
lips and frowning brows gazed down into the sea. The gorgeous clouds
and their grand reflections had no beauty for him, but a shark, which
swam lazily alongside, showing a fin now and then above water,
seemed to afford him a species of savage satisfaction.
"Yes," he muttered, "if one of his legs were once within your ugly jaws,

we'd have something like peace again after these months of torment."
Fletcher Christian, although what is called a high-spirited youth, was
not quick to resent injury or insult. On the contrary, he had borne with
much forbearance the oft-repeated and coarse insolence of his superior.
His natural expression was bright and his temperament sunny. He
possessed a powerful frame and commanding stature,