Murder!  
The planting time came round at Pitcairn, and all was busy activity in the little settlement at Bounty Bay. The women, engaged in household work and in the preparation of food, scarcely troubled themselves to cast an anxious eye on the numerous children who, according to age and capacity, rolled, tumbled, staggered, and jumped about in noisy play. The sun, streaming through the leaves of the woods, studded shady places with balls of quivering light, and blazed in fierce heat in the open where the men were at work, each in his respective garden. We have said that those gardens lay apart, at some distance from each other, and were partially concealed by shrubs or undulating knolls.
 
The garden of John Williams was farthest off from the settlement. He wrought in it alone on the day of which we write. Next to it was that of Fletcher Christian. He also worked alone that day.
 
About two hundred yards from his garden, and screened from it by a wooded rising ground, was a piece of plantation, in which John Mills, William McCoy, and Menalee were at work together. John Adams, William Brown, and Isaac Martin were working in their own gardens near their respective houses, and Quintal was resting in his hut. So was Edward Young, who, having been at work since early morning, had lain down and fallen into a deep slumber.
 
The three native men, Timoa, Nehow, and Tetaheite, were still away in the woods. If the unfortunate Englishmen had known what these men were about, they would not have toiled so quietly on that peaceful morning!
 
The Otaheitans met in a cocoa-nut grove at some distance to the eastward of the settlement. Each had a musket, which he loaded with ball. They did not speak much, and what they did say was uttered in a suppressed tone of voice.
 
“Come,” said Timoa, leading the way through the woods.
 
The others followed in single file, until they reached the garden where Williams was at work. Here their movements were more cautious. As they advanced, they crept along on their knees with the motion of cats, and with as little noise. They could hear the sound of the armourer’s spade, as he turned up the soil. Presently they came to an opening in the bushes, through which they could see him, not thirty yards off.
 
Timoa drew himself together, and in a crouching attitude levelled his musket.
 
During their absence in the woods, these men had practised shooting at a mark, doubtless in preparation for the occasion which had now arrived. The woods and cliffs rang to the loud report, and Williams fell forward without a cry or groan, shot through the heart.
 
The murderers rose and looked at each other, but uttered not a word, while Timoa recharged his gun.
 
The report had, of course, been heard by every one in the settlement, but it was a familiar sound, and caused neither surprise nor alarm. McCoy merely raised himself for a moment, remarked to Mills that some one must have taken a fancy for a bit of pork to supper, and then resumed his work.
 
Christian also heard the shot, but seemed to pay no regard to it. Ceasing his labour in a few minutes, he raised himself, wiped his forehead, and resting both hands on his spade, looked upwards at the bright blue sky. Fleecy clouds passed across it now and then, intensifying its depth, and apparently riveting Christian’s gaze, for he continued motionless for several minutes, with his clear eye fixed on the blue vault, and a sad, wistful expression on his handsome face, as if memory, busy with the past and future, had forgotten the present. It was his last look. A bullet from the bushes struck him at that moment on the breast. Uttering one short, sharp cry, he threw both hands high above his head, and fell backwards. The spasm of pain was but momentary. The sad, wistful look was replaced by a quiet smile. He never knew who had released his spirit from the prison-house of clay, for the eyes remained fixed on the bright blue sky, clear and steadfast, until death descended. Then the light went out, just as his murderers came forward, but the quiet smile remained, and his spirit returned to God who gave it.
 
It seemed as if the murderers were, for a few moments, awestruck and horrified by what they had done; but they quickly recovered. What they had set their faces to accomplish must now be done at all hazards.
 
“Did you hear that cry?” said McCoy, raising himself from his work in the neighbouring garden.
 
“Yes; what then?” demanded Quintal.
 
“It sounded to me uncommon like the cry of a wounded man,” said McCoy.
 
“Didn’t sound like that to me,” returned Quintal; “more like Mainmast callin’ her husband to dinner.”
 
As he spoke, Tetaheite appeared at the edge of the garden with a musket in his hand, the other two natives remaining concealed in the bushes.
 
“Ho, Missr Mills,” he called out, in his broken English, “me have just shoot a large pig. Will you let Menalee help carry him home?”
 
“Yes;—you may go,” said Mills, turning to Menalee.
 
The Otaheitan threw down his tools, and joined his comrades in the bush, where he was at once told what had been done.
 
Menalee did not at first seem as much pleased as his comrades had expected, nevertheless, he agreed to go with them.
 
“How shall we kill Mills and McCoy?” asked Timoa, in a low whisper.
 
“Shoot them,” answered Menalee; “you have three muskets.”
 
“But they also have muskets,” objected Tetaheite, “and are good shots. If we miss them, some of us shall be dead men at once.”
 
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” said Nehow, who thereupon hastily detailed a plan, which they proceeded at once to carry out.
 
Creeping round through the woods, they managed to get into McCoy’s house by a back window, unobserved. Menalee then ran down to the garden, as if in a state of great excitement.
 
“Oh, Missr McCoy, Timoa and Nehow hab come down from mountain, an’ is robbin’ you house!”
 
The bait took. McCoy ran up to his house. As soon as he reached the door there was a volley from within, but McCoy remained untouched.
 
Seeing this, and, no doubt, supposing that he must be badly wounded, Menalee, who had followed him, seized him from behind. But McCoy, being the stronger man, twisted himself suddenly round, grasped Menalee by the waist with both hands, and flung him headlong into a neighbouring pig-sty. He then turned and ran back to his garden to warn Mills.
 
“Run for it, Mills,” he cried; “run and take to the bush. All the black scoundrels have united to murder us.”
 
He set the example by at once disappearing in the thick bush. But Mills did not believe him. He and Menalee had always been good friends, and he seemed to think it impossible that they would kill him. He hesitated, and the hesitation cost him his life, for next moment a bullet laid him low.
 
Meanwhile McCoy ran to warn Christian. Reaching his garden, he found him there, dead, with the tranquil smile still on his cold lips, and the now glazed eyes still gazing upwards. One glance sufficed. He turned and ran back to Christian’s house to tell his wife what he had seen, but the poor woman was sick in bed at the time and could not move. Running then to Quintal’s garden, he found him alive, but quite ignorant of what was going on.
 
“They seem to be wastin’ a deal of powder to-day,” he growled, without raising himself, as McCoy came up; “but—hallo! you’re blowing hard. What’s wrong?”
 
As soon as he heard the terrible story he ran to his wife, who chanced to be sitting near the edge of his garden.
 
“Up, old girl,” he cried, “your nigger countrymen are murderin’ us all. If you want to see any of us escape you’d better go and warn ’em. I shall look after number one.”
 
Accordingly, with his friend of kindred spirit, he sought refuge in the bush.
 
Mrs Quintal had no desire to see all the white men slaughtered by her countrymen. She therefore started off at once, and in passing the garden of John Adams, called to him to take to the bush without del............