Nonetheless, the very day the plants and ship were safely reestablished, Bligh had William Muspratt, the cook’s assistant, flogged with a dozen lashes for “neglect of duty.” Two days later Robert Lamb, the butcher, was also flogged with a dozen “for suffering his Cleaver to be Stolen.” This now brought the total number of men punished up to six.
Although the temperature remained warm, this new season brought torrential rain and squalls, and skies so dense with sodden clouds that for an entire month Bligh was unable to take a single celestial observation. It was on one of these dark, impenetrable nights that three of the Bounty’s men deserted. When the watch was relieved at four in the morning of January 5, 1789, Charles Churchill, the master-at-arms, John Millward, able seaman, and William Muspratt, who had only recently been flogged, were found missing. Gone with them were the small cutter along with eight stand of arms and cartouches of ammunition.
Bligh responded to the news with an icy resolve that he had hitherto not displayed. To his Tahitian friends, he stated in very clear, straightforward and polite language that he expected the men returned. Laughing nervously, they asked Bligh if he would hold them hostage on board his ship, as Cook had done. This was an unexpected and revealing question. In 1769, during his first visit to Tahiti, Cook had lost two marines to desertion and had retaliated by holding the chiefs hostage, his rationale being that his men could not survive on the island without the complicity of the islanders. That Bligh’s friends raised this concern twenty years after the event suggests that Cook’s actions had left a deep impression.
Bligh reassured his friends that he would not resort to such a stratagem, adding, in his log, that he had “never shown any Violence or Anger” at any of the petty thefts that had occurred and had enjoyed such mutual goodwill that he knew his friends had confidence in him, and that he had “therefore no doubt but they will bring the Deserters back”—but, if they should not, he would “make the whole Country Suffer for it.” Having issued his warnings, there was little Bligh could do but wait, relying on local intelligence to flush out the fugitives.
That some of his men would try to desert probably did not take Bligh completely by surprise; again, he had his experience with Cook to draw upon. Cook had suffered desertions on Tahiti during all three of his expeditions. Recognizing that the inducements to leave ship were many, Cook had summoned his crew and lectured them at length on the “spirit of Desertion,” informing them that “they Might run off if they pleased,” as one of the company later recorded, “[b]ut they might Depend upon it he would Recover them again.” Stern as it was, the speech did not deter other, also futile attempts. Some years later, on learning of the Bounty’s fate, James Matra, a midshipman on Cook’s first journey, would report to Banks the astonishing news that a mass desertion had been planned by “most of the People” and some of the gentlemen of the Endeavour. Mr. Midshipman Matra had been instrumental in dissuading them, so he would claim, his principal line of argument being that the men could be certain of “dying rotten” of the pox if they were to live out their lives on the island.
Within his own company, Bligh must have seen evidence that his officers and people were settling down into Tahitian life and adopting local customs, most visibly in their passion for being tattooed. The first tattoos had arrived in England with sailors returning from the Americas or the Pacific, and especially from the Endeavour (with Joseph Banks) at the end of Cook’s first voyage, when they had become tokens of great prestige. The Bountys’ tastes were varied, some sticking conservatively to English iconography. James Morrison, of all people, for reasons only to be guessed at, had had himself tattooed with the Order of the Garter around his leg and the Knights of the Garter’s motto: “Honi soit qui mal y pense”—“Shame on him who evil thinks.” Thomas Ellison wore simply his name and “October 25th 1788” on his right arm—the date he had first sighted Otaheite.
But several of the men had undergone traditional Tahitian tattooing over large parts of their body, particularly on their buttocks. In Tahitian tradition, a man was not eligible to marry unless he had undergone the lengthy and painful operation of having his entire backside blacked over. Bligh left descriptions only of the mutineers, and with one exception (John Mills, the Scottish gunner’s mate) every one of them was tattooed, and usually “very much tatowed” or “tatowed in several places.” Peter Heywood was in this company, being “[v]ery much tattowed,” among other things with the three-legged emblem of the Isle of Man. Those who had received the elaborate tattoos of Tahitian manhood included George Stewart, Matthew Quintal and Fletcher Christian.
Still, Bligh himself had encouraged friendly relations with the Tahitians, and his men’s enthusiasm for the more eye-catching aspects of their culture was not something to be readily, or fruitfully, legislated. But now, as he conducted his own grim investigation of the events, he made other discoveries. On examination of the men’s personal effects for clues, a piece of paper was found inside Charles Churchill’s chest on which he had written his own name and the names of three of the shore party. The deserters would later say darkly that “many others intended to remain among the islands,” and making a list of men committed to an illegal act such as desertion—or mutiny—was an old trick. When Captain Edward Edwards, back in his happier days before he captained the Pandora, had thwarted the mutinous plot on board his ship Narcissus, a list of names of the men involved in the plot had been discovered on one of the would-be mutineers; perhaps the rash act of committing a name to paper was perceived as a kind of security that bound the man in question to one’s cause.
Some years later, in personal correspondence, Bligh reported that “[t]his List had Christian, Heywood and several other Names in it,” and that he had approached his protégé “not conceiving Christian could be guilty of such a thing, and who, when I showed it to him, laughed as well as myself.” To a man, the shore party professed their innocence to Bligh, and “denyd it so firmly, that He was inclined from Circumstances to believe them and said no more to them about it,” according to Morrison. In the official log no mention is made of this mysterious list; Bligh’s personal log, in which he would have been most expected to have made some remarks about the event, ends on October 23, and does not resume until April 5, 1789; a comprehensive index, in Bligh’s own handwriting, is all that can be found of the missing portion. The official log, submitted to the Admiralty, makes no mention of his suspicions whatsoever and shows Bligh’s professionalism at its best. If the men had convinced him of their innocence, then he was bound to “say no more about it.” Or, was the incident omitted for more self-serving reasons—because later events proved he had been duped? At least “three of the Party on shore” would remain among the mutineers: Peter Heywood, William Brown and Fletcher Christian.
One curious and generally unremarked incident occurred four days after Churchill and his companions deserted. As Bligh reported, “one of my officers on shore” cut a branch of an oil-nut tree growing at a marae, or sacred site, and, “accidently bringing it into the dwelling where my people are at, all the Natives both Men and Women suddenly left.” The branch had tabooed the shore hut; no Tahitian would set foot here until the appropriate ceremony lifted the taboo. Curiously, however, as Bligh noted, “[w]hen I came on shore I found a branch of this Tree tyed to one of the Posts, altho they saw the effect it had of keeping the Natives from the House.” Is it significant that in the immediate aftermath of the desertion one of the officers—Christian or Heywood—tabooed the house in which three men implicated on Churchill’s list happened to live? Was this a sign to Tahitian taios and allies to stay away, perhaps in the wake of an aborted plot? A whimsical amulet to ward off further trouble? Or, as Bligh clearly believed, mere happenstance?
Bligh seems to have accepted that the outcome to this adventure did not lie in his hands, and he returned his company to their former routine while awaiting whatever news his Tahitian friends brought him of the deserters. His own time was once again divided between the nurse
ry and inquiry into local customs, and he observed with delight “the swarms of little Children which are in every part of the Country,” flying kites, playing cat’s cradle, and skipping rope, the latter game, as he noted being “common with the Boys in England.” While onshore on January 16, he received a message from Fryer that a man known to have given conveyance to the deserters was on board the Bounty: did Bligh want Fryer to detain him? Incredulous, Bligh returned to the ship to find the informant had escaped by diving overboard and that no attempt had been made to follow him.
“As he knew perfectly my determination in punishing this Man if ever he could be caught, it was an unnecessary delay in confining him,” Bligh wrote of Fryer. The following day, he had even greater cause for anger. Spare sails that Bligh had ordered to be taken out of storage and aired were found to be mildewed and rotting.
“If I had any Officers to supercede the Master and Boatswain, or was capable of doing without them, considering them as common Seamen, they should no longer occupy their respective Stations,” Bligh fumed. “Scarce any neglect of duty can equal the criminality of this, for it appears that altho the Sails have been taken out twice since I have been in the Island, which I thought fully sufficient and I had trusted to their reports, Yet these New Sails never were brought out.” Bligh had the sails washed in the sea, then hung to dry “to be ready for repairing,” a laborious task. The Bounty’s voyage was only half over; an estimated ten months of sailing lay ahead.
Almost three weeks passed before word was brought that the deserters had been located in Tettahah, some five miles distant. Bligh at once set out to apprehend them, although darkness was coming and it was a rainy, windy night. Surprised by Bligh where they had taken shelter, the three men resignedly surrendered without resistance. Once back at the ship, Bligh read the Articles of War and administered punishment: twelve lashes for Charles Churchill, two dozen each for William Muspratt and John Millward—to be repeated at a later date. In between the floggings, the men were confined in irons and found time to write Bligh an extraordinary letter:
Sir,
We should think ourselves wholly inexcusable if we omitted taking this earliest opportunity of returning our thanks for your goodness in delivering us from a trial by Court-Martial, the fatal consequences of which are obvious; and although we cannot possibly lay any claim to so great a favour, yet we humbly beg you will be pleased to remit any farther punishment; and we trust our future conduct will fully demonstrate our deep sense of your clemency, and our stedfast resolution to behave better hereafter.
We are,
Sir,
Your most obedient, most humble servants,
C. Churchill, Wm. Muspratt, John Millward.
If the men believed that a submissive, honey-toned letter would charm their captain into dropping the second part of the punishment, they were proven mistaken when, eleven days later, the second round was indeed administered. Why Charles Churchill should have received a lesser punishment than his fellows is unclear. The punishment as a whole was, in any case, lenient; convicted deserters—with good service and character taken into consideration—could expect to receive 100 to 150 lashes. Bligh’s leniency had been carefully considered. As he wrote in his log, “this affair was solely caused by the neglect of the Officers who had the Watch.” The officer in question, identified by Morrison as Midshipman Thomas Hayward, had been asleep at his station, a crime under the Articles of War no less serious than desertion. (“No Person in or belonging to the Fleet shall sleep upon his Watch, or negligently perform the Duty imposed on him, or forsake his Station, upon Pain of Death. . . .”) Bligh disrated the officer, turning him before the mast. According to an approving Morrison, he had also been clapped in irons until the runaways were returned.
“I was induced to give them all a lecture on this occasion,” Bligh continued, referring to his other officers, “and endeavored to show them that however exempt they were at present from the like punishment, yet they were equally subject by the Articles of War to a condign one.” In other words, although his officers were exempt “at present” from being flogged, they were liable to “a severe and well-deserved” punishment. It is within this remarkable lecture that the tensions so fatal to the voyage can be discerned most transparently.
“An Officer with Men under his care is at all times in some degree responsible for their conduct,” Bligh wrote in his log, paraphrasing his lecture, “but when from his neglect Men are brought to punishment while he only meets with a reprimand, because a publick conviction by Tryal will bring both into a more severe and dangerous situation, an alternative often laid aside through lenity, and sometimes necessity, as it now is in both cases; it is an unpleasant thing to remark that no feelings of honor, or sense of shame is to be Observed in such an Offender.”
The list of his officers’ transgressions while in Tahiti, quite apart from incidents in the earlier part of the voyage, is impressive: when moving from Matavai to Oparre, Fryer had allowed the ship to run aground; a midshipman had slept on his watch and allowed three men to desert; the sails had been allowed to rot; on returning from capturing the deserters, Bligh had discovered that the ship’s timekeeper, critical to accurate navigation, had been allowed to run down; the ship’s rudder had been stolen from the camp; and in early March, an azimuth compass had been taken from under the noses of the men onshore, for which, according to Morrison, “Mr. Bligh . . . went on shore and rebuked the Officers at the tent for neglecting their duty.” In addition, there are two enigmatic entries in the index Bligh composed to his missing personal log that refer to “Mr. Hallet’s contumacy” and “Mr. Hallet’s behaviour.”
No wonder, then, that Bligh had raged after learning of the desertion that “[s]uch neglectfull and worthless petty Officers I believe never was in a Ship as are in this. No Orders for a few hours together are Obeyed by them, and their conduct in general is so bad, that no confidence or trust can be reposed in them, in short,” he concluded ominously, “they have drove me to every thing but Corporal punishment and that must follow if they do not improve.” The tenor of these occasional outbursts suggests that many more aggravations had passed unrecorded. It is a striking fact that, with one exception, Fryer and Purcell are the only officers named by Bligh in his official log. The names of Hallett, Hayward, Christian—other known offenders—have all been edited out, perhaps along with other of his young gentlemen. Bligh was later, privately, to refer to Edward Young, for example, as “a worthless wretch,” which at the very least suggests dereliction of some duties; and yet Young’s name is never mentioned in the Admiralty’s log. All of these young gentlemen were friends of the friends and patrons Bligh would have to rub shoulders with once back in England.
On February 4, two nights after the second part of the deserters’ punishment was meted out under cover of heavy rain, the cable of the Bounty’s bower anchor was cut, an act that could have brought the ship to disaster by allowing it to drift upon the reef. No explanation for what Bligh termed “this Malicious act” could be made; indeed, the mystery would be cleared up only much later, when the mutineers returned to Tahiti and learned that the agent had been the taio of Midshipman Hayward. His motive had been to wreck the ship so as to ensure that his friend never left Tahiti. More alarming, he declared that he had watched as the deserters were flogged and vowed that if a lash were laid on Hayward, he would kill Bligh for it. But now, perplexed and affronted, Bligh threatened “instant revenge” unless the perpetrator was produced. To underscore his displeasure, Bligh held aloof from Tynah and Iddeeah for two days, approaching them only to reiterate his anger. But for all his efforts, the unhappy chief was unable to produce the villain, and at length burst into tears.
“I could no longer keep these people under an Idea that I mistrusted them,” Bligh wrote, already repentant. “Our reconciliation therefore took place, and they came on board with me at Noon to dine.”
February and March, the last two months the Bounty was to be in Tahiti, were spent readyin
g the ship for departure. Under the great lowering cloud banks that filled the sky with violent color and claimed the island heights, the Bounty men worked through the daily fits of rain that ranged from light to torrential. Their very visible activities—caulking, repairing sails, mending iron fittings, stowing provisions and all the bustle preparatory to a long voyage—caused consternation among the Tahitians, now faced with the imminent certainty of losing their friends. Tynah began an unsuccessful bid to persuade Bligh to carry himself and Iddeeah to England. This period also saw an increase in the number of thefts, as many Tahitians saw their last chance for a little profit fading. As Bligh wrote, “it is to be expected when a ship is near the time of Sailing,” adding that he attached no blame to the Tahitians, because he was “perfectly certain that had the Ship been lying in the River Thames, a hundred times as much would have been Stolen.” Nonetheless, when, thanks to Tynah’s efforts, the thief of the azimuth compass was found, Bligh felt the time had come to deter all such future acts with a demonstration of Pretanee’s might.
The Bounty: The True Story of the Mutiny on the Bounty Page 15
