PITCAIRN ISLAND, brought to notice through the events already narrated, is insignificantly small, being only about five miles and a half in circumference and two miles and a half across. It was, when the mutineers first settled on it, thickly covered with trees wherever there was soil sufficient for their roots to take hold; but, in the period of a hundred years, during which wild goats have roamed in herds over certain portions of the island, many of the trees have disappeared. The soil, thus made bare, has severely suffered by being washed away by heavy rains, and scarcely a trace of the once luxuriant growth of trees remains. Viewed from the sea, the island in two or three places presents a bare and sterile appearance. Its isolated position in mid-ocean, its rock-bound shores and precipitous cliffs, alike impress the beholder with a sense of the security such a place would afford to those whose chief aim was to hide their crimes and get beyond the reach of well-merited punishment.
The highest part of the island is about one thousand one hundred and nine feet above the sea. Facing the north is a peak, or immense rock, scarcely less high, called the Goat House. A cave in the side of this rock, partly hidden by lofty trees, is said to have been the intended retreat of Christian and his companions, in the event of their being sought after and their lone island discovered. The peak overlooking Bounty Bay, called Ship-landing Point, because it stands directly over the place where the Bounty was driven near the rocks and destroyed, has been described as “possessing considerable beauty.” It rises in bold outline almost perpendicularly from the sea, its rugged, rocky front softened here and there by patches of grass and shrubs. The scenery surrounding the little bay, with its rocky shore, is always beautiful. Vine-covered trees, with foliage of intensest green—more especially the pandanus palm tree—flourish in rich growth quite near the water’s edge, the salt spray frequently moistening their branches, while the soft sea air helps to diffuse the delicious fragrance of the sweetest flower that the island boasts of, the morinda citrifolia, named by the islanders simply “high white,” in distinction to the pure white blossoms of the “four o’clock,” which blooms on a low bush.
Overhead, near the highest extremity of Ship-landing Point, looking from the north, is seen a natural curiosity, a huge portion of the rock showing in profile a representation of a man’s head of gigantic size. It is called the Old Man’s Head, and it is not difficult to imagine that it looks down upon the small bay with an expression of mild benevolence. The ascent from the landing place is very steep, but is made comparatively easy by a very tolerable road leading up the few hundred feet.
On the southeast side of the island is the place known as “the Rope,” so called because in former years the steep descent could only be accomplished by means of a rope. A zigzag path, only wide enough to afford a foothold, now leads down from the high precipice to the water’s edge. The steep cliffs, rising almost perpendicularly from the shore, are grandly beautiful. The variegated colors of the soil, the rocks, and the foliage of trees, all blended together, or contrasted in shades of black and gray, yellow and brown, red and green, make the scenery altogether pleasing; and not less beautiful is the view of the waters of the little bay, when, calm and smooth, it spreads out like a lake, without a ripple on its surface, or when, with wild and roaring sound, wave after wave breaks and rolls in toward the shore, leaving the surface of the water as if covered with billows of loveliest lace, pure and white.
PATH THROUGH COCOANUT GROVE.
In the most sheltered corner of the bay, at the Rope, is a small stretch of sand, on one end of which, at the foot of the rock that towers above it, there were found by the mutineers some stone axes and other implements, which were made and used by the natives that originally inhabited the island. Here, too, are cut in the rocks some of the figures made by the rude artists of those by-gone ages. Most of the characters have been obliterated by more than a century’s exposure to every kind of weather. A few, however, remain quite distinct, as may be seen by the accompanying illustration.
FIGURES CUT IN THE ROCKS AT THE ROPE.