Aquatic Amusements.  
Now, it must not be supposed that the wives and widows of these mutineers gave themselves up to moping or sadness after the failure of their wild attempt to make their condition worse by slaying all the men. By no means. By degrees they recovered the natural tone of their mild yet hearty dispositions, and at last, we presume, came to wonder that they had ever been so mad or so bad.
 
Neither must it be imagined that these women were condemned to be the laborious drudges who are fitly described as “hewers of wood and drawers of water.” They did indeed draw a good deal of water in the course of each day, but they spent much time also in making the tapa cloth with which they repaired the worn-out clothes of their husbands, or fabricated petticoats for themselves and such of the children as had grown old enough to require such garments. But besides these occupations, they spent a portion of their time in prattling gossip, which, whatever the subject might be, was always accompanied with a great deal of merriment and hearty laughter. They also spent no small portion of their time in the sea, for bathing was one of the favourite amusements of the Pitcairners, young and old.
 
Coming up one day to Susannah, the wife of Edward Young, Thursday October Christian begged that she would go with him and bathe.
 
Susannah was engaged in making the native cloth at the time, and laid down her mallet with a look of indecision. It may be remarked here that a mallet is used in the making of this cloth, which is not woven, but beaten out from a state of pulp; it is, in fact, rather a species of tough paper than cloth, and is produced from the bark of the paper mulberry.
 
“I’s got to finish dis bit of cloth to-day, Toc,” said Susannah, in broken English, for she knew that Master Thursday October preferred that tongue to Otaheitan, though he could speak both, “an’ it’s gettin’ late.”
 
“Oh, what a pity!” said TOC, with a look of mild disappointment.
 
Now Susannah was by far the youngest and most girlish among the Otaheitan women, and could not resist an appeal to her feelings even when uttered only by the eyes. Besides, little Toc was a great favourite with her. She therefore burst into a merry laugh, gently pulled Thursday’s nose, and said, “Well, come along; but we’ll git some o’ the others for go too, an’ have some fun. You go klect de jumpers. Me git de womans.” Susannah referred to the older children by the term “Jumpers.”
 
Highly pleased, the urchin started off at once. He found one of the jumpers, namely, Otaheitan Sally, nursing Polly Young, while she delivered an oracular discourse to Charlie Christian, who sat at her feet, meekly receiving and believing the most outrageous nonsense that ever was heard. It is but just to Sally, however, to say that she gave her information in all good faith, having been previously instructed by John Adams, whose desire for the good of the young people was at that period stronger than his love of truth. Wishing to keep their minds as long as possible ignorant of the outer world, he had told them that ships came out of a hole in the clouds on the horizon.
 
“Yes, Charlie, it’s quite true; father Adams says so. They comes out of a hole on the horizon.”
 
Charlie’s huge eyes gazed in perplexity from his instructor’s face to the horizon, as if he expected to behold a ship emerging from a hole then and there. Then, turning to Sally again with a simple look, he asked—
 
“But why does sips come out of holes on de ’rizon?”
 
Sally was silenced. She was not the first knowing one who had been silenced by a child.
 
Little Daniel McCoy came up at the moment. Having passed the “staggering” period of life, he no longer walked the earth in a state of nudity, but was decorated with a pair of very short tapa trousers, cut in imitation of seafaring ducks, but reaching only to the knees. He also wore a little shirt.
 
“Me kin tell why ships come out ob de hole in de horizon,” he said, with a twinkle in his eyes; “just for notin’ else dan to turn about an’ go back into de hole again.”
 
“Nonsense, Dan’l!” cried Sally, with a laugh.
 
“Nonsense!” repeated Dan, with an injured look. “Didn’t you saw’d it happen jus’ t’other day?”
 
“Well, I did saw the ship go farer an’ farer away, an’ vanish,” admitted Sall; “but he didn’t go into a hole that time.”
 
“Pooh!” ejaculated little Dan, “dat’s ’cause de hole was too far away to be seen.”
 
Further discussion of the subject was prevented by the arrival of Thursday.
 
“Well, Toc, you’s in a hurry to-day,” said little Dan, with a look of innocent insolence.
 
“We’re all to go an’ bathe, child’n,” cried Thursday, with a look of delight; “Susannah’s goin’, an’ all the ’oomans, an’ she send me for you.”
 
“Hurrah!” shouted Dan and Sally.
 
“Goin’ to bave,” cried Charlie Christian to Lizzie Mills, who was attracted by the cheering, which also brought up Matt Quintal, who led his little sister Sarah by the hand. Sarah was yet a staggerer, and so was Dinah Adams, also Mary Christian; Polly Young and John Mills had not yet attained even to the staggering period—they were only what little Dan McCoy called sprawlers.
 
Before many minutes had elapsed, the whole colony of women, jumpers, staggerers, and sprawlers, were assembled on the beach at Bounty Bay.
 
It could scarcely be said that the women undressed—they merely threw off the light scarf or bodice that covered their shoulders, but kept on the short skirts, which were no impediment to their graceful movements in the water. The jumpers, of course, were only too glad of the excuse to get out of their very meagre allowance of clothing, and the rest were, so to speak, naturally ready for the plunge.
 
It was a splendid forenoon. There was not a zephyr to ruffle the calm breast of the Pacific, nevertheless the gentle undulation of that mighty bosom sent wave after wave like green liquid walls into the bay in ceaseless regularity. These, toppling over, and breaking, and coming ............