to rivers and fountains to perform an ablution equally reviving and cleanly.  They pass the morning at work, or walk about till the heat of the day increases, when they retreat to their dwellings, or repose under some tufted tree.  There they amuse themselves with smoothing their hair, and anoint it with fragrant oils; or they blow the flute, and sing to it, or listen to the songs of the birds.  At the hour of noon, or a little later, they go to dinner.  After their meals they resume their domestic amusements, during which the flame of mutual affection spreads in every heart, and unites the rising generation with new and tender ties.  The lively jest, without any ill-nature, the artless tale, the jocund dance and frugal supper, bring on the evening; and another visit to the river concludes the actions of the day.  Thus contented with their simple way of life, and placed in a delightful country, they are free from cares, and happy in their ignorance.’

Such is the picture drawn of the happy people of Otaheite by a cold, philosophical, German doctor, and such, with very little change, Bligh found them.  As far, however, as the mutiny of his people was concerned, we must wholly discard the idea thrown out by him, that the seductions of Otaheite had any share in producing it.  It could not have escaped a person of Christian’s sagacity, that certain interrogatories would unquestionably be put by the natives of Otaheite, on finding the ship return so soon without her commander, without the bread-fruit plants, and with only about half her crew; questions he knew to which no satisfactory answer could be made; and though, at subsequent periods, he twice visited that island, it was some time afterwards, and not from choice but necessity; his object was to find a place of concealment, where he might pass the remainder of his days, unheard of and unknown, and where it is to be hoped he had time for sincere repentance, the only atonement he could make for the commission of a crime, which involved so many human beings in misery, and brought others to an untimely end—­but of this hereafter.

CHAPTER IV

THE OPEN-BOAT NAVIGATION

     The boat is lower’d with all the haste of hate,
     With its slight plank between thee and thy fate;
     Her only cargo such a scant supply
     As promises the death their hands deny;
     And just enough of water and of bread
     To keep, some days, the dying from the dead: 
     Some cordage, canvas, sails, and lines, and twine. 
     But treasures all to hermits of the brine,
     Were added after, to the earnest prayer
     Of those who saw no hope save sea and air;
     And last, that trembling vassal of the Pole,
     The feeling compass, Navigation’s soul.

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