The Otaheitans of those days were a most harmless, amiable, and unsophisticated people. One day the gudgeon of the cutter’s rudder was missing, and was believed to have been stolen. “I thought,” says Bligh, “it would have a good effect to punish the boat-keeper in their presence, and accordingly I ordered him a dozen lashes. All who attended the punishment interceded very earnestly to get it mitigated; the women showed great sympathy.” The intercourse between the crew and natives was very pleasant. The Otaheitans showed the most perfect ease of manner, with “a candour and sincerity about them that is quite refreshing.” When they offered refreshments, for instance, if they were not accepted, they did not press them; they had not the least idea of that ceremonious kind of refusal which expects a second invitation. “Having one day,” says Bligh, “exposed myself too much in the sun, I was taken ill, on which all the powerful people, both men and women, collected round me, offering their assistance.” On an occasion when the _Bounty_ had nearly gone ashore in a tremendous gale of wind, and on another when she did go aground, after all was right again, these kind-hearted people came in crowds to congratulate the captain on her escape; many of them shed tears while the danger seemed imminent. In the evenings, the whole beach was like a parade, crowded with several hundred men, women, and children, all good-humoured, and affectionate to one another; their sports and games were continued till near dark, when they peaceably returned to their homes. They were particularly cleanly, bathing every morning, and often twice a day. It is sad to turn from this pleasant picture to find the spirit of desertion and mutiny appearing among the crew. There can be no doubt that the allurements of the island, its charming climate and abundant productions, the friendliness of the natives, and ease of living, were the main causes. Bligh made one fatal mistake in his long stay of over five months, during which the crew had all opportunities of leave ashore. Every man of them had his _tayo_, or friend. From the moment he set his foot ashore he found himself in the midst of ease and indolence, all living in a state of luxury, without submitting to anything approaching real labour. Such enticements were too much for a common sailor, for must he not contrast the islander’s happy lot with his own hardships on board?