A Bounty Boy

CHAPTER III-1

CHAPTER III C. B.’s Childhood

The story of a boy growing from his birth to manhood in our centres of civilization cannot fail to be of interest if properly told, principally because of the thousand and one dangers that beset him in that perilous journey. This is the case, no matter how well or how ill brought up he may be, peril encompasses him round about, visible as well as invisible, peril from which no amount of care can adequately protect him. Indeed the care that is often bestowed has the effect of rendering the child’s life a burden to him, especially if he be brought up at home. Moreover, if we are foolish enough to believe one thousandth part of what we read about food and drink and the deadly microbes and bacteria that lie in wait for us everywhere, we should certainly perish of worry or become, as faddists always do become, a misery to ourselves and a nuisance to all around us.

But here on Norfolk Island the child had every chance. And in telling of C. B. I am only taking the ordinary type: he had no advantages over his fellows. Fed by his mother alone, who had never known a day’s illness in her life, never knowing the taste of drugs, living in the open air without ever being pampered by tight clothing of any kind, never too hot, never too cold; how could he help growing up to the age when he could run about, without an ache or a pain, a sturdy, perfectly developed, perfectly healthy child? Of course he could swim as soon as he could walk, that to any one who knows the island goes without saying, and as soon as he could toddle down to the shore with the other children, spent, as they did, quite half of his time in the sea. The food given him was of the simplest: fruit and vegetables, milk and fish, very little meat, because it was extremely scarce for one thing, and for another, these gentle people only hunt when necessity drives, and never kill a domestic animal if it can be avoided.

So this child of love and prayer grew and waxed strong, a joy and delight to his parents, and a pleasure to all the community, as all the children were. In exuberant animal delight he and his companions climbed the trees and the mountains, tumbled about in the surf like so many dolphins, with never an anxious or fussy parent to say “don’t.” Cuts, scratches, bruises they gained in plenty, all treated in the simplest way and all getting cured in almost magically quick time, as do the hurts of animals and savages. And it must never be forgotten that these people led the perfectly natural lives of savages without any of the savage vices, that they knew and practised the virtues of civilization without its follies and crimes; what then could be expected in the result but perfect health and happiness?

With all this boisterous enjoyment of childhood the simple education that the venerable McCoy was able to impart was not neglected. Reading, writing and the first four rules of arithmetic were soundly taught, and by Grace the beautiful accomplishment of singing through the tonic sol-fa method. They were altogether a singing people; it was ingrained, so that this took no trouble to teach. Beyond this in the way of education there was nothing except that the reading of the Bible was encouraged, not as a means of storing up virtue by reading so many verses or chapters, but for the pleasure and profit of seeing what God had said to His people. And this, with the exception of a few well-worn books, such as the standard poets, Dickens, Thackeray and Miss Wetherell, comprised their reading. None of the children were compelled to read as a task. When once they had learned to read they were allowed to read or not just as it pleased them.

Under such pleasant auspices as this what wonder was it that our hero at sixteen was as near being perfect in body and mind as the most exacting parent could wish. True, he would have been plucked at an examination for the fourth standard in any Board-school, but if he was ignorant of much school learning as Board-school boys know at home, he was also ignorant of a great number of other things, of practically all the evil knowledge acquired by our children in great cities in spite of all our efforts. And on the physical side, being a child of nature, there could be no comparison between him and city children of whatever class imaginable. His whole life, as was that of his companions, boys and girls alike, was spent in training, unconsciously, and so he was always fit for any of those manly exercises that the young human animal rightly loves. He could not play cricket or football, but he could swim and dive all day, could climb the tallest tree in the island like a monkey, could run from the level to the top of a three-thousand-foot hill without distress, and could not swear or lie, having never known any occasion for either.

Of course, he had not grown up so far without having brothers and sisters—two of each had been added on to the family circle, all of them fine children capable of keeping up the credit of the island people. But we have no concern with them further than to note their arrival, and to record the fact that, as they grew old enough to realize things, they all adored their eldest brother, who, for some reason or another which they could not understand, was looked up to as possessing some mysterious blessing from on high beyond that accorded to any one else. They knew, however, that he was totally unconscious of this. He went on his happy care-free way, full of gay life, full of fun and harmless mischief, but also full of love for all around him.

It was now that he had his first real adventure. As I have said, he was sixteen years of age, and, as was usual among the island people, he was as big and strong as a full-grown man, though, of course, not with so much stamina. He was a constant companion to his father, who was now a mighty man indeed, at the meridian of a life that had been so well spent and so peaceful that all his powers were in perfection. C. B. was never tired of admiring his father’s huge proportions, as, with only a pair of breeches on cut off at the mid-thigh, they swam or fished together. To C. B. his father was indeed a king of men, strong, wise and kind; and he was overjoyed to be near him, to feel his superiority, and to hope some day, if God willed, to be like him. They were companions in everything now that C. B.’s studies had finished, and the elder man felt his youth renewed as he watched his son springing to whatever work was in hand, felt indeed that he was signally blessed and was very happy.

So it came to pass that one morning, as soon as the first gorgeous heralding of the dawn had overspread the sky, Philip and C. B. arose from their several mats (bedsteads, bedding and all the paraphernalia of our bedrooms being unknown and therefore unwanted), and after a loving kiss and a blessing from mother Grace, who was still beautiful and always abundantly happy, they strode down to the shore for the commencement of a day’s fishing. It was the season when a special kind of fish greatly liked by the islanders came inshore near enough to be caught in large numbers with hook and line. It was always an occasion of great activity among the men, not that they depended upon the fishing, but because it afforded a large quantity of pleasant food, and they always attacked the opportunity eagerly.

So when Philip and his son reached the boat-house all hands requisite for manning the boats were there, and after the usual hearty greetings and the indispensable word of prayer, without which no enterprise was ever undertaken, were over, all sprang to the work, fairly hurling the vessels into the foaming surf, and in a few minutes the two vessels, doubly manned, were in the smooth water beyond the rollers, and to the accompaniment of happy song were making their way seaward to the fishing grounds.

The beauty of the day was not more marked than usual in such a lovely climate, but to any one who was accustomed to the grey cold mornings of our northern home it would have called forth ecstasies of admiration. For as the golden sun rose majestically from the horizon all nature was flooded with glory, an added wealth of beauty that made even those most accustomed to it catch their breath. The sea was like a sheet of shot-silk whereof every movement exhibited a wonderful play of different colours and shades in endless variety, while the diversity of hill, dale and beach ashore, unable to compete with all this glowing series of tints, yet showed a splendour of illuminated contour flecked with passing cloud shadows that held the eye enchanted with its beauty.

Every member of the boats’ crews noted this loveliness, revelled in it, and since there was no need for silence as in the chase of the whale, discussed it in such terms of affection as their limited vocabulary could command. Said John Young—

“Seems to me that the gold and jewellery of the New Jerusalem John writes about wouldn’t please me like this. If God’s going to make a new heaven and a new earth, I’d like to live on the new earth if it’s going to be like this. But I can’t imagine Him making it any better.”

“Ah,” responded Walter McCoy, “that’s because you’ve never been away from here, one of the most favoured spots on His footstool. Now I’ve been down south of New Zealand in the winter, an’ when the great gales blow, a sea gets up that’s like a ravening host of wild beasts. Snow and sleet strike you like whips, and the cold searches the very marrow of your bones. Then I thought of our dear island home, and prayed God to take me back there quick or let me die.”

Philip chimed in, with one of his beautiful smiles mantling his strong face, “Walter, my boy, that was because you let your body dictate to your soul. I know, and when I was up the Behring Sea I hid away one night when the call came to work. I had all the man frozen out of me. And as I laid in the stinking corner I felt the bitterest pang of shame I have ever known. Something said to me, ‘You’re a fine-weather man, and your trust in God only works when you are comfortable.’ I tell you, boys, that hit me worse than ever the mate’s boot would have done if he had caught me. But I thank God that He gave me courage to rush out of my hole as if I had been flung out, and do the work that fell to my share. And the lesson has lasted all my life.”

At that moment the leader in the other boat cried loudly, “Here we are, boys; ship oars and out lines. There’s a splendid lot of fish, thank God.”

All hands obeyed on the instant, and presently the boy was delighted beyond measure to see the fine big fish come tumbling inboard one after the other in quick succession. It was indeed a stirring scene, although from a sporting point of view it savoured too much of business, perhaps. These were not sportsmen though; they only fished to satisfy their bodily needs, having no idea of making game of taking life, their savage instincts having been entirely modified by their practical working belief in the loving Father.

They were in the height of their fishing, the boats being half full of spoil, when Philip, who had a very large fish on his line, turned to see how his son was faring with another big fellow, and as he did so, his foot slipped upon some slime in the sternsheets and he fell backwards, striking his side upon the boat’s gunwale and falling overboard. A great shout of laughter went up from all the boat’s crew except C. B., for with these amphibious islanders to fall overboard was just a bit of good fun. But C. B., craning over the side, saw that his father, instead of coming to the surface again like a cork, was still far below, and at the same instant he noticed an awful black shadow gliding swiftly in the direction of the still sinking man. Without a moment’s hesitation he dived, feeling at the same moment for the knife in his belt, a long keen-bladed weapon which all carried while fishing.