A Picnic and a Surprise.  
But the cyclone, terrible though it was, did not altogether put an end to the Dumplin’ picnic, if we may be allowed the phrase. It only delayed it. As soon as the weather cleared up, that interesting event came off.
 
“Who’ll go by land and who’ll go by water?” asked Thursday, when the heads of houses were assembled in consultation on the morning of the great day, for great it was in more ways than one in the annals of Pitcairn.
 
“I’ll go by water,” said Charlie Christian, who was one of the “heads,” inasmuch as he had been appointed to take charge of the hut which had been nearly carried away.
 
“Does any one know how the girls are going?” asked Matt Quintal.
 
“I’m not sure,” said John Adams, with one of those significant glances for which he was noted. “I did hear say that Sally meant to go by land, but, of course, I can’t tell. Girls will be girls, you know, an’ there’s no knowing when you have them.”
 
“Well, perhaps the land road will be pleasanter,” said Charlie. “Yes, now I think of it, I’ll go by land.”
 
“I think, also,” continued Adams, without noticing Charlie’s remark, “that some one said Bessy Mills was going by water.”
 
“You’re all wrong, Charlie, about the land road,” said Matt Quintal; “the water is far better. I shall go by water.”
 
“Dan’l, my lad,” said Adams, addressing young McCoy, “which way did you say you’d go?”
 
“I didn’t say I’d go any way, father,” answered Dan.
 
“That may be so, lad, but you’ll have to go one way or other.”
 
“Not of necessity, father. Mightn’t I stay at home and take care of the pigs?”
 
“You might,” said Adams, with a smile, “if you think they would be suitable company for you. Well, now, the sooner we start the better. I mean to go by water myself, for I’m gettin’ rather stiff in the legs for cliff-work. Besides, I promised to give Sarah Quintal a lesson in deep-sea fishing, so she’s goin’ with me.”
 
“Perhaps,” observed Dan McCoy, after a pause, “I might as well go by water too, and if you’ve no objection to take me in your canoe, I would lend you a hand wi’ the paddle. I would be suitable company for you, father, you know, and I’m very anxious to improve in deep-sea fishin’.”
 
“It don’t take much fishin’ to find out how the wind blows, you blessed innocents,” thought John Adams, with a quiet chuckle, which somewhat disconcerted Dan; but he only said aloud, “Well, yes, you may come, but only on condition that you swim alongside, for I mean to carry a cargo of staggerers and sprawlers.”
 
“There’s only one staggerer and one sprawler now,” said Dan, with a laugh; “your own George and Toc’s Dumplin’.”
 
“Just so, but ain’t these a host in themselves? You keep your tongue under hatches, Dan, or I’ll have to lash it to your jaw with a bit o’ rope-yarn.”
 
“Oh, what a yarn I’d spin with it if you did!” retorted the incorrigible Dan. “But how are the jumpers to go, and where are they?”
 
“They may go as they please,” returned Adams, as he led the way to the footpath down the cliffs; “they went to help the women wi’ the victuals, an’ I’ve no doubt are at their favourite game of slidin’ on the waves.”
 
He was right in this conjecture. While the younger women and girls of the village were busy carrying the provisions to the beach, those active little members of the community who were styled jumpers, and of whom there were still half-a-dozen, were engaged in their favourite game. It was conducted amid shouts and screams of delight, which rose above the thunder of the mighty waves that rolled in grand procession into the bay.
 
Ned Quintal, the stoutest and most daring, as well as the oldest of these jumpers, being over eight years, was the best slider. He was on the point of dashing into the sea when Adams and the others arrived on the scene.
 
Clothed only with a little piece of tapa cloth formed into breeches reaching to about the knees, his muscular little frame was shown to full advantage, as he stood with streaming curly hair, having a thin board under his arm, about three feet long, and shaped like a canoe.
 
He watched a mighty wave which was coming majestically towards him. Just as it was on the point of falling, little Ned held up the board in front of him, and with one vigorous leap dived right through the wave, and came out at the other side. Thus he escaped being carried by it to the shore, and swam over the rolling backs of the waves that followed it until he got out to sea. Then, turning his face landward, he laid his board on the water, and pushing it under himself, came slowly in, watching for a larger wave than usual. As he moved along, little Billy Young ranged alongside.
 
“Here’s a big un, Billy,” cried Ned, panting with excitement and exertion, as he looked eagerly over his shoulder at a billow which seemed big enough to have wrecked an East Indiaman.
 
Billy did not reply, for, having a spice of Dan McCoy’s fun-loving spirit in him, he was intent on giving Ned’s board a tip and turning it over.
 
As the wave came up under them, it began as it were to boil on the surface, a sure sign that it was about to break. With a shout Ned thrust his board along, and actually mounted it in a sitting posture. Billy made a violent kick, missed his aim, lost hold of his own board, and was left ignominiously behind. Ned, caught on the wave’s crest, was carried with a terrific rush towards the shore. He retained his position for a few seconds, then tumbled over in the tumult of water, but got the board under him again as he was swept along.
 
How that boy escaped being dashed to pieces on the rocks which studded Bounty Bay is more than we can comprehend, much more, therefore, than we can describe. Suffice it to say, that he arrived, somehow, on his legs, and was turning to repeat the manoeuvre, when Adams called to him and all the others to come ashore an’ get their sailin’ orders.
 
Things having been finally arranged, Adams said, “By the way, who’s stopping to take charge of poor Jimmy Young?”
 
A sympathetic look from every one and a sudden cessation of merriment followed the question, for poor little James Young, the only invalid on Pitcairn, was afflicted with a complaint somewhat resembling that which carried off his father.
 
“Of course,” continued Adams, “I know that my old ’ooman an’ Mainmast are with him, but I mean who of the young folk?”
 
“May Christian,” said Sally, who had come down to see the water-party start. “Two or three of us offered also to stay, father, but Jim wouldn’t hear of it, an’ said he would cry all the time if we stayed. He said that May was all he wanted.”
 
“Dear little Jim,” said Adams, “I do believe he’s got more o’ God’s book into him, small though he is, than all the rest of us put together. An’ he’s not far wrong, neither, about May. She’s worth a dozen or’nary girls. Now then, lend a hand wi’ the canoe. Are you ready, Mistress Toc?”
 
“Quite,” replied the heroine of the day, with a pleased glance in Thursday’s somewhat sheepish face.
 
“An’ Dumplin’, is he ready?” said the seaman.
 
The hero of the day was held up in the arms of his proud father.
 
“Now then, lads, shove off!”
 
In a few minutes the canoe, with its precious freight and Thursday at the steering-paddle, was thrust through the wild surf, and went skimming over the smooth sea beyond. Immediately thereafter another canoe was launched, with John Adams and a miscellaneous cargo of children, women, and girls, including graceful Bessy Mills and pretty Sarah Quintal.
 
“Now then, here goes,” cried Matt Quintal, wading deep into the surf. “Are you coming, Dan?”
 
“I’m your man,” said Dan, following.
 
Both youths raised their hands and leaped together. They went through the first wave like two stalwart eels, and were soon speeding after the canoes, spurning the water behind them, and conversing as comfortably on the voyage as though the sea were their native element.
 
Close on their heels went two of the most athletic among the smaller boys, while one bold infant was arrested in a reckless attempt to follow by Otaheitan Sally, who had to rush into the surf after him.
 
Descended though he was of an amiable race, it is highly probable that this infant would have displayed the presence of white blood in his veins had his detainer been any other than Sally; but she possessed a power to charm the wildest spirit on the island. So the child consented to “be good,” and go along with her overland.
 
“Now, are you ready to go?” said Sally to Charlie, who was the only other one of the band left on the beach besides herself.
 
Poor Charlie stood looking innocently into the sparkling face of the brunette. He did not know what was the matter with him, still less did he care. He knew that he was supremely happy. That was enough. Sally, who knew quite well what was the matter—quite as well, almost, as if she had gone through a regular civilised education—laughed heartily, grasped the infant’s fat paw, and led him up the hill.
 
Truly it was a pleasant picnic these people had that day. Healthy and hearty, they probably came as near to the realisation of heaven upon earth as it is ever given to poor sinful man to know, for they had love in their hearts, and their religion, drawn direct from the pure fountain-head, was neither dimmed by false sentimentality on the one hand, nor by hypocrisy on the other.
 
Perhaps John Adams was the only one of the band who wondered at the sight, and thanked God ............