Revised Jun 2 2021
PITCAIRN ISLAND, brought to notice through the events already narrated, is insignificantly small, being only about five miles and a half in circumference and two miles and a half across. It was, when the mutineers first settled on it, thickly covered with trees wherever there was soil sufficient for their roots to take hold; but, in the period of a hundred years, during which wild goats have roamed in herds over certain portions of the island, many of the trees have disappeared. The soil, thus made bare, has severely suffered by being washed away by heavy rains, and scarcely a trace of the once luxuriant growth of trees remains. Viewed from the sea, the island in two or three places presents a bare and sterile appearance. Its isolated position in mid-ocean, its rock-bound shores and precipitous cliffs, alike impress the beholder with a sense of the security such a place would afford to those whose chief aim was to hide their crimes and get beyond the reach of well-merited punishment.
The highest part of the island is about one thousand one hundred and nine feet above the sea. Facing the north is a peak, or immense rock, scarcely less high, called the Goat House. A cave in the side of this rock, partly hidden by lofty trees, is said to have been the intended retreat of Christian and his companions, in the event of their being sought after and their lone island discovered. The peak overlooking Bounty Bay, called Ship-landing Point, because it stands directly over the place where the Bounty was driven near the rocks and destroyed, has been described as "possessing considerable beauty." It rises in bold outline almost perpendicularly from the sea, its rugged, rocky front softened here and there by patches of grass and shrubs. The scenery surrounding the little bay, with its rocky shore, is always beautiful. Vine-covered trees, with foliage of intensest green—more especially the pandanus palm tree—flourish in rich growth quite near the water's edge, the salt spray frequently moistening their branches, while the soft sea air helps to diffuse the delicious fragrance of the sweetest flower that the island boasts of, the morinda citrifolia, named by the islanders simply "high white," in distinction to the pure white blossoms of the "four o'clock," which blooms on a low bush.
Overhead, near the highest extremity of Ship-landing Point, looking from the north, is seen a natural curiosity, a huge portion of the rock showing in profile a representation of a man's head of gigantic size. It is called the Old Man's Head, and it is not difficult to imagine that it looks down upon the small bay with an expression of mild benevolence. The ascent from the landing place is very steep, but is made comparatively easy by a very tolerable road leading up the few hundred feet.
On the southeast side of the island is the place known as "the Rope," so called because in former years the steep descent could only be accomplished by means of a rope. A zigzag path, only wide enough to afford a foothold, now leads down from the high precipice to the water's edge. The steep cliffs, rising almost perpendicularly from the shore, are grandly beautiful. The variegated colors of the soil, the rocks, and the foliage of trees, all blended together, or contrasted in shades of black and gray, yellow and brown, red and green, make the scenery altogether pleasing; and not less beautiful is the view of the waters of the little bay, when, calm and smooth, it spreads out like a lake, without a ripple on its surface, or when, with wild and roaring sound, wave after wave breaks and rolls in toward the shore, leaving the surface of the water as if covered with billows of loveliest lace, pure and white.
In the most sheltered corner of the bay, at the Rope, is a small stretch of sand, on one end of which, at the foot of the rock that towers above it, there were found by the mutineers some stone axes and other implements, which were made and used by the natives that originally inhabited the island. Here, too, are cut in the rocks some of the figures made by the rude artists of those by-gone ages. Most of the characters have been obliterated by more than a century's exposure to every kind of weather. A few, however, remain quite distinct, as may be seen by the accompanying illustration.
The pandanus palm tree, with its clustering branches of drooping leaves, fringes the shores of the bay nearly its whole extent. The innumerable huge stones and rocks that cover the bottom of the bay make it impossible for a boat to land. Its waters teem with myriads of small fish. The bèche de mer drags out its existence in the many sand-bottomed pools, while the cray fish and whelk, both of which are eaten, make their home beneath and among the seaweed-covered rocks that abound in the shallow bay. Looking north from the ridge of the Rope, the eye rests upon a small but lovely valley, named St. Paul's Valley, it being in the vicinity of St. Paul's Rock. Grand old trees, with their varied and changing tints of foliage, render the scenery always beautiful, while, as an accompaniment to their gentle, rustling music, comes the booming sound of the surf on the rocks far below.
In the valley between Ship-landing Point on the northeast and the Goat House, facing north, lies, nestling among trees, the little village settled by the mutineers a hundred years ago. Groves of cocoanut and orange trees surround it, while the beautiful banyan tree, with its curious growth of long, rope-like roots hanging in thick profusion, and its towering branches covered for ten months of the year with a springlike robe of green, lends a delightful charm to the scenery.
Although the island is rocky to some extent, it still possesses much picturesque beauty. Steep ridges and deep valleys are its chief characteristics, both being covered by grand old shade-giving trees. The only drawback to a thorough enjoyment of walking or resting beneath the trees is the absence of singing birds to enliven the branches with their songs. One little homely bird with its coat of brown and white is the only occupant of the woods, with the exception of a beautiful white sea bird that in the early warmer season comes to deposit its egg on a niche of the bare branch of the banyan or other large tree. These two birds, the former with its constant "tweet, tweet," and the latter with its lively, shrill calls, impart some life to the otherwise silent groves. Occasionally a few other varieties of sea birds, sailing overhead, pierce the silent air with their cries.
Ferns, of which there are about twenty-six varieties, adorn the valleys in lovely and rich profusion. Of wild flowers there are but few, and all of them are, with one exception, small, white, and fragrant. This one is a sweet little flower that loves to open its golden eyes during the colder months of the year, and is found mostly around the edge of the high precipices. It is a universal favorite. The "flower tree" (morinda citrifolia) is in bloom almost all the year round, but is at its loveliest from October to March. Its pure white blossoms contrast richly with the dark, glossy leaves, while its delightful perfume, as well as its simple beauty, makes it a favorite with old and young. Children, boys as well as girls, find a never-ceasing pleasure in stringing the flowers into garlands, which they wear around their hats.
The bright blossoms that here and there meet the eye have been introduced from time to time, mostly by the captains of passing ships, who have kindly given, from their own limited stock. Also many seeds have been sent by friends in England, America, and the Sandwich Islands; but only those from the last-named place have succeeded well, most of the others, owing greatly, no doubt, to the want of proper culture, having proved a failure. However, through the thoughtful kindness of friends, the little island is not entirely destitute of nature's loveliest productions.
First among the principal fruits that the island produces is the orange. The trees begin to be in blossom from the end of July at the earliest, and continue flowering until October. The season of the fruit is from April to November. As the trees occasionally produce a second crop, it is not unusual to have them in fruit the year round. Watermelons, muskmelons, pineapples, roseapples, and figs are in season from November to April. Bananas, of which there are a few varieties, can be had all the year round, but are at their best from January to June. The guava grows wild, and from March to July the trees are laden with fruit. Grapes might be cultivated. The sugar cane is also one of the principal productions of the island, the rich syrup made from its juice being used instead of sugar. Arrowroot is cultivated with profit. The process of making it involves much labor. The plants are set in the ground in the months of October and November, and the roots are fully matured by June. The yam crop is set at the same time as the arrowroot, and takes the same length of time to come to maturity.
Such are some of the present productions of the little island that became the hiding place of the mutineers. They themselves doubtless introduced the breadfruit, cocoanut, taro, yam, and one variety of the sweet potato. The places they once owned and cultivated are still called by their names, as John Adams' Breadfruit Patch, Ned Young's Ground, McCoy's Valley, and so on through the whole list. But, while their names remain, every trace of their burial Places is lost, the grave of John Adams alone excepted.
Pitcairn! To thee, land of my birth,
My song I bring;
Thy hills and valleys, trees and flowers,
Their praise I sing.
The cocoanut, with waving plumes
Of shining green,
The sweetly-scented orange blooms,
Both here are seen.
And stately trees, and luscious fruits,
Thy soil supplies;
But the enriching showers and rains
The heaven denies.
Thou once wast fertile, rich, and green.
But now, how bare;
And yet thou still art beautiful,
Still sweet and fair.
Such matchless days of calm, fair skies
Thy summers bring!
And lovely, too, are all the hours
Of balmy spring.
Each season, as it rolls around,
New beauties gives;
Arid every object, silent, cries,
"My Maker lives."