Mutiny of the Bounty and story of Pitcairn Island, 1790-1894

by Rosalind Amelia Young

A VISIT TO PITCAIRN ISLAND.

When Captain Cornelius A. Davis, of the five-masted schooner Governor Ames—the only schooner of her class in the world, as well as the largest fore-and-aft vessel in existence—dropped anchor off Pitcairn Island, four thousand miles south of San Francisco, a few months ago, he was surprised to find himself greeted by name by a delegation of islanders who came on board. The inhabitants of the historic little island are accustomed to keep a sharp lookout for all passing vessels, and as soon as one is sighted in the offing, a boat pushes out to her, carrying friendly greetings and the offer of any assistance that may be needed. From each captain news of the ship he has left behind in the last port is obtained, together with the probable date of their sailing; so that in a majority of instances when a vessel reaches Pitcairn she is recognized immediately, and the skipper discovers that he does not need any introduction to his new-found island friends—for such they very soon prove themselves to be. He is invited to land and partake of the best the island affords, and the impression he carries away with him is uniformally a pleasant one. Captain Davis says that he would have been glad to stay at the island two or three days if there had been any good excuse for doing so, but after he had secured some fresh fruit for the crew, he felt compelled to resume his voyage. Puget Sound had been left behind thirty-five days earlier, and Liverpool was still one hundred and twenty-nine days away.

There is no more picturesque incident, perhaps, in the annals of marine venture than the mutiny on board the British ship Bounty, in 1789, and the subsequent landing of several of the mutineers on Pitcairn Island, a speck of land which had been discovered some years before by Carteret, and named for the midshipman who first descried it from the masthead. These mutineers, fearing punishment, resolved to hide themselves from the world, and accordingly sought out this lonely spot, and, together with a number of Polynesian men and women, founded a new community far from the ordinary track of commerce. At first, according to the scant historical accounts which have come down to us, there was riot and reveling on the island, but gradually the rougher element in the population disappeared, and when the American vessel Topaz rediscovered the little settlement in 1808, it seems to have been orderly and prosperous. For more than half a generation the whereabouts of the mutineers of the Bounty had been a mystery, and their rediscovery at this time aroused a good deal of interest, especially in England. It was as if the sea had given up its dead. Everything pertaining to the little strip of land in the far Pacific was hailed with interest, and in the eighty-six years since then many books and papers descriptive of it and its people have been written. In a few weeks another volume is to be published in California by the Seventh-day Adventists, who have recently succeeded in converting the islanders to their faith. Formerly they were associated with the Church of England.

The community to-day is a model one in many respects. Since the time of the hardy mutineers a great change has taken place, and it is said that nobody on the island ever indulges in intoxicants, tobacco, or profanity. A rude church and schoolhouse—the structure shown in two of the illustrations accompanying this article—has been erected, and one of the descendants of the early settlers preaches regularly to all the members of the settlement, for church going is regarded as a matter of course on Pitcairn; and, moreover, there are not very many other divertisements. When it is remembered that there are only about one hundred and thirty people on the entire island, and that the island is scarcely three miles in length, it is easy to understand the lack of excitement which sometimes characterizes life there. And yet a spirit of intense loyalty pervades the community. Nobody has any desire to remove permanently to any other place, and those who visit the United States and Great Britain do so merely to prepare themselves for more useful labor at home. The other day young Henry Christian, a descendant of the leader of the mutiny on board the Bounty, arrived in San Francisco, whither he had come for the purpose of pursuing a course of study at an American school, but there can be no doubt that he will return in due time to Pitcairn. With him came also the president of the island, James R. McCoy; for the islanders elect an officer with this title, although they are under the nominal rule of England. Queen Victoria sent them two lifeboats some years ago, and these are used constantly in boarding the vessels that anchor off shore. A British flag, too, flies from one of the peaks of the island, the flagstaff being planted in the muzzle of one of the old cannon with which the Bounty was equipped.

Captain Davis is an expert amateur photographer, and he succeeded, during his few hours’ stay on the island, in getting some admirable views of the people and their surroundings. One of these views [see page [231]] shows most of the adult inhabitants grouped around Miss Andre, a young woman from Ohio, who assists the native minister in his religious work, and instructs the men and women of the community in the ordinary branches of education. Captain Davis listened to a well-recited lesson in geography the day he was there, and he says that these grown-up students seemed intelligent and eager to learn. Their faces are strong and impressive, and while there is a considerable trace of “Kanaka” blood in most of the countenances, others are thoroughly Caucasian. The mixture of totally dissimilar races has in this instance, at least, resulted in a sturdy, resourceful, and self-reliant stock.

The primary school is taught by Miss Rosa Young, a native of Pitcairn, and the author of the book descriptive of the island which is about to be published. She is the island editor as well as schoolteacher, writing a chronicle of the community from time to time, which passes from one to another of the people. There is no printing press on the island, and this is the only contemporary record of its doings enjoyed by the settlement. But then, with only one hundred and thirty people to keep track of, doubtless everybody who is so inclined contrives to be pretty well posted. On two different occasions Pitcairn has been deserted by its inhabitants, for one reason or another, and the present inhabitants are descended mostly from two families who returned to the island as late as 1858. In 1830 the eighty-seven people then resident there removed to Tahiti through fear of drought, and, though the moral laxity of the latter place so disturbed them that they went back to Pitcairn the next year, in 1856 they undertook a second pilgrimage, this time to Norfolk Island, where many of them or their descendants live to-day. William and Moses Young, together with their families, however, appear to have pined for Pitcairn, and accordingly journeyed back there again.

The landing place shown in one of the pictures [see page [27]] on another page is at Bounty Bay, where the original settlers of the island destroyed their vessel more than a hundred years ago, and where, as the illustration shows, many of the inhabitants gathered to bid Captain Davis good-by. Up from this spot runs a path to the settlement itself, which is three or four hundred feet above the level of the sea. The main street is bordered with palm trees, and the thatched cottages on either side give evidence of thrift and prosperity. There are no cows or oxen on the island, but goats are plentiful, and as the land is steep and rocky in places, these sure-footed animals are doubtless better adapted to the needs of the people. Oranges grow in abundance, and so do sweet potatoes, yams, bananas, and pineapples. Captain Davis says that the dinner provided in his honor at the house of the Advent missionary was bountiful and excellent.

In these days of hurry and bustle it is refreshing to catch a glimpse of an Arcadian community like this, whose little world is far removed from all our modern tendencies in civilization. There are no telephones or telegraphs on Pitcairn Island; no oceanic cable brings from the distant mainland the tidings of war or catastrophe on the other side of the globe. Scarcely any of the inhabitants ever saw a railway train or an electric light, and probably not even one of them has ever been inside of a theater. The papers and magazines that they read are weeks old by the time they reach Pitcairn, and much that they contain must be as unintelligible as Greek to the islanders. What do they know of college football games? or how much can they comprehend of the excitement of a presidential election? They are a people apart, and their horizon is bounded by limitless sea and sky.—Henry Robinson Palmer, in Harper’s Weekly, December 8, 1894.