Mutiny on the Bounty

by Nordhoff

  The months from June to September of that year, 1789, are a nightmare in my memory, and since they have little to do with the main thread of this narrative, I shall give them no more space than they deserve.

  In spite of our hostile reception when we first visited Tupuai, Christian had determined to settle on that island. We were now southbound, like modern Noahs on our Ark, with livestock of various kinds to increase and multiply on the island, and even a few Indian Eves to become the grandmothers of a new race—half white, half brown. Christian's Maimiti was on board, and Young's Taurua; and Alexander Smith, distrustful of the ladies of Tupuai, had persuaded Bal'hadi to accompany him. Nor was any great degree of persuasion necessary, for the Indians were passionately fond of travel and adventure of any sort. Long after Tahiti had disappeared below the horizon north of us, it was discovered that we had on board nine Indian men, twelve women, and eight boys, most of them stowaways.

  Our reception on Tupuai was at first friendly, owing to the Tahitian passengers, who explained our desire to settle on the island. With incredible labour we hauled the ship up on land and built thatched shelters to protect her decks from the sun. We then built a fort, on a point of land purchased from one of the chiefs, and surrounded it with a moat twenty feet deep and twice as wide, all hands, including Christian himself, taking part in the work. The men murmured much at this truly Herculean labour, but Christian's foresight was soon evident. Our goats, loosed to increase among the mountains of the interior, descended on the taro gardens of the Indians, which they cultivate and water with infinite pains. Unable to capture or kill the wary animals, the people came to us, asking us to shoot them with our muskets. When we refused, explaining that the progeny of the marauders would provide an important supply of food, the Indians at first murmured and then broke out in open hostility, declaring that they would never cease their efforts until we were either exterminated or driven from the island for good. Time after time they attacked our fortress furiously, only to be driven off by the fire of our four-pounders and swivels, and before long it became impossible to venture outside save in strong parties, heavily armed. Our lives grew insupportable; even the hardiest among us wearied of the constant fighting, and early in September, perceiving that all hands were heartily sick of the place, Christian assembled the lot of us and called for a show of hands. All were for leaving Tupuai; sixteen expressed a desire to be left on Tahiti, and the rest wished to sail away with the Bounty to search for some uninhabited island where they might settle in peace. On being informed of our decision to leave Tupuai, the Indians agreed to cease hostilities while we launched and watered the ship, and after a week of labour such as falls to the lot of few men, we got the Bounty launched, her sails bent, and water and stores aboard. At the last moment, on the verge of leaving this ill-omened place, we nearly lost the ship in a tremendous squall which made up unperceived during the night. As it was, we lost the spare gaff of the driver and all our spare topgallant yards.

  At daybreak, with a fresh breeze at east, we weighed and sailed out through the narrow passage, heartily glad to be clear of a place where we had met with nothing but misfortune and strife, and five days later, after an agreeable voyage, we were at anchor once more in Matavai Bay. The following men had decided to remain on the ship:—Fletcher Christian, Acting Lieutenant; John Mills, Gunner's Mate; Edward Young, Midshipman; William Brown, Gardener; Isaac Martin, William McCoy, John Williams, Matthew Quintal, and Alexander Smith, Able Seamen.

  The rest of the Bounty's company had elected to remain on Tahiti. I was overjoyed at this sudden change in my fortunes, as were Stewart and Morrison. My old friend Hitihiti was among the first of the Indians to come off to us, and when I informed him that I hoped to go ashore and make my home at his house, his face beamed with smiles. As he had come out in a double canoe large enough to freight all my belongings ashore, I lost no time in asking Christian's permission to leave the ship. I found him at the main hatch, superintending the division of the muskets, cutlasses, pistols, and ammunition, of which each man was to have his share.

  "By all means," he said, looking up from the paper in his hand. "Go ashore whenever you like. And take a musket with you and a supply of lead to mould bullets. We are so short of powder that I can give only a few charges to each man. You will stop with Hitihiti, of course?"

  "That is my intention, sir."

  "I shall see you to-night, then. I wish to speak to you and to Stewart—I shall! ask him to be there An hour after sundown."

  My hammock man and his lusty Indian wench lent me a hand to get my things out of the berth, and after a farewell glance about the Bounty's decks, and a silent handshake with Edward Young, I followed my belongings into Hitihiti's canoe.

  It was like a homecoming to return once more to the house of my taio , to greet Hina and her husband, and to see Hitihiti's grandchildren running to welcome me. I had lived so long among these kind people that they seemed joined to me by ties closer than those of mere friendship.

  When I had stowed my belongings and precious manuscript I became at once the centre of a circle of all ages, eager to hear the story of our adventures. I recounted at length, in the Indian tongue, the history of our attempt to settle on Tupuai, and ended by expressing some sympathy with the people of that island, who, after all, had done no more than repel what they considered an invasion of their home. Hina shook her head indignantly.

  "No!" she exclaimed; "you are wrong. I have seen some of those people, who came here in a large canoe five years ago. They are savages! You should have killed them all and taken their island!"

  "You are fierce, Hina," I said with a smile. "Why should we kill innocent men, whose only fault was love of their land? Had we desired to kill them, Christian would not have allowed it."

  "He was foolish, then. Did they not try to kill him, and you? But what will you do, now that you have returned? Shall you be long among us?"

  "To-morrow or the day after, Christian and eight of the others will set sail for Aitutaki to rejoin Captain Cook. The rest of us, who love your island, have permission to settle here."

  All of us who were to be left on Tahiti had given our words to tell the same story, and, little as I liked the task, I lied with a brazen face. Hina leaned towards me and seized me in a strong embrace, smelling at my cheek affectionately.

  "Ah, Byam," she said, "we are delighted, all of us! The house has been empty since you sailed away!"

  "Aye," said her husband heartily. "You are one of us, and we shall not let you go!"

  Early in the evening Stewart appeared on the path from Matavai, accompanied by Peggy and her father, olti Tipau. Hitihiti had returned to the ship, to fetch Christian and his niece. I walked down to the beach with Stewart and his sweetheart, leaving the old chief to gossip with the others in the house.

  The calm Pacific nuzzled lazily at the sands, and we sat quietly, as if the beauty of the evening had cast upon us a spell of silence and immobility.

  Twilight was fading to night when Stewart started slightly and gazed out to sea. "There they come!" he said. Rising and falling on the gentle swell outside the reef, I saw the double canoe—a moving shadow on the waters. She came on rapidly, and before long her prows grounded on the sand and Christian sprang out, turning to help Maimiti over the high gunwale. He nodded to us, saying only, "Wait for me here," and followed Hitihiti to the house to take leave of his sweetheart's family. At a word from Stewart, Peggy followed him.

  The sight of Christian on the twilit beach had moved me deeply. It was not hard to imagine his feelings on the eve of this final departure from Tahiti. Presently I heard a rustle in the bushes behind us, and his step falling softly on the sand. We rose, but he motioned us to seat ourselves, and sank down cross-legged beside us, casting aside his hat and running his fingers through his thick dark hair.

  "This is the last time I shall see you," he said abruptly, after a long silence. "We shall sail in the morning, as soon as the wind makes up.

  "I have told you
the story of the mutiny," he went on; "remember that I, and I alone, am responsible. In all probability, Bligh and those with him are long since dead—drowned or killed by savages. In the case of Bligh, I have no regrets; the thought of the others, innocent men, lies heavy on my conscience. You know the circumstances; they may explain, even to some extent excuse, the action I took, but they can never exonerate me. I am a mutineer and, since I made off with one of His Majesty's ships, a pirate as well. It is my duty to guide and protect those who have chosen to follow me. You know my plans. This is the greatest ocean in the world, set with innumerable islands. On one of them—north, or south, or east, or west of here—we shall settle, and destroy the ship. You shall see us no more—I promise you that."

  Again silence fell upon us. The stillness of the night was broken only by the faint lap and wash of the sea, and far down the beach, where a fire of coconut husks made a ruddy point of light, I heard the wail of an awakening child.

  "Sooner or later," Christian went on, after a long pause, "a British man-of-war will drop anchor here. If Bligh, or any of his men, succeed in reaching England, the Admiralty will dispatch a ship at once, to apprehend the mutineers. If, as I fear, all those in the Bounty's launch are lost, a vessel will be sent out, after a reasonable period of waiting, in search of us. When she comes, I desire you earnestly to go out to her at once and give yourselves up to the officer in command—you two, and the others who had no hand in the mutiny. You are innocent, and no harm can come to you. As for the others, let them behave as they think best. Since they refuse to follow me, I am forced to wash my hands of them.

  "Once before, Byam, in a moment of desperation, I requested you to communicate with my father, in the event of my not reaching home. Fate was against me that night! Had I succeeded in leaving the ship...My father is Charles Christian, of Mairlandclere, in Cumberland. Will one of you, the first to reach England, go to him and explain the circumstances of the mutiny? Tell him the story as I have told it to you, and explain particularly that my design was only to relieve Bligh of his command and take him home in irons. A full acquaintance with the truth may extenuate in my father's eyes, though never justify, the crime I have committed. Will you do this for me?"

  Christian stood up and Stewart and I sprang to our feet. I was the first to seize Christian's hand.

  "Yes," I said, too moved for further speech.

  A moment later Christian turned to hail the house. "Maimiti!" he called, in his strong seaman's voice. She must have been awaiting the call, for she appeared almost instantly, a slender white figure flitting under the palms. The paddlers followed her, seized the canoe, and dragged it into the wash of the sea. The Indian girl came to me without a word and embraced me tenderly in the fashion of her people. Still in silence she embraced Stewart, and sprang into the canoe. Christian shook our hands for the last time. "God bless you both!" he said.

  We stood on the beach, watching the double canoe fade into the night. At dawn, when I walked out of the house for a plunge in the sea, the Bounty was standing offshore with all sail set, heading north, with the light easterly breeze abeam.

  CHAPTER XII.—TEHANI

  Though I had reason to congratulate myself on my present situation, the week following the Bounty's departure was an unhappy time for me. For the first time in my life, I think, I began to question the doctrines of the Church in which I had been brought up, and to ask myself whether human destiny was ordered by divine law or ruled by chance. If God were all-powerful and good, I thought, with a lad's simplicity, why had He permitted one man, in a moment of not unrighteous anger against oppression and injustice, to ruin his own life and the lives of so many others? Many a good and innocent man had accompanied Bligh in the launch: where were they now? The majority of the mutineers themselves were simple fellows with a grievance that might have led better men to revolt. Held in subjection by the iron law of the sea, they had endured with little complaint the hardships of the long voyage and the temper of a man considered brutal in a brutal age. Had Bligh not goaded his junior officer beyond endurance, no other man on the ship would have raised the cry of mutiny, and the voyage would have been completed peacefully. But one moment of passion had changed everything. Out of the whole ship's company, only seven of us—those who had had no hand in the mutiny and were now awaiting the first English ship—had come out of the affair scot-free. And our fate could scarcely be termed enviable—marooned for an indefinite time among Indians, on an island at the very ends of the earth. As for the mutineers who had chosen to remain on Tahiti, I knew only too well what their fate was likely to be. Young Ellison, who had been our mess boy, was often in my thoughts at this time. He had no realization of the gravity of the part he had played. Yet I knew that unless he quitted Tahiti before the arrival of a British man-of-war, our sea law would infallibly condemn him to death.

  During those days of doubt and depression at Hitihiti's house, when Hina strove to divert my thoughts and my good old taio tried fruitlessly to cheer me up, I ceased to be a boy and became a man. Morrison was settled with Poino, the famous warrior who lived not far off, and Stewart was living with Peggy, in the house of Tipau, at the foot of One Tree Hill. I went frequently to pass the time of day with these two friends, and from their example learned to be ashamed of my fruitless depression. Morrison and Millward, who lived with Stewart at Poino's house, were already planning the little schooner they eventually built, and in which, without awaiting the arrival of a ship from home, they hoped to sail to Batavia, whence they might get passage to England. Stewart, who loved gardening, worked daily at beautifying the grounds about the new house old Tipau was building for him. When I mentioned my thoughts to him, he only smiled and said: "Never worry about what you cannot change," and went on with his digging, and planting, and laying out of paths. Perceiving at last that hard work was the remedy for my greensickness, I set to once more on my dictionary and was soon absorbed in the task.

  One morning, about ten days after the departure of the Bounty , I found myself unable to sleep and set out for a walk on the long curving beach that led to Point Venus. It was still an hour before dawn, but the stars were bright and the northerly breeze blowing from the region of the equator made the air warm and mild. A dog barked at me as I passed an encampment of fishermen asleep on the sands under blankets of bark cloth. Their great net, hung on stakes to dry, stretched for a quarter of a mile along my path. At the very tip of the point, sheltered by the reef and provided with a deep, safe entrance, lies one of the most beautiful little harbours on the island, resorted to by travelers in sailing canoes who wish to pass the night on shore. The water is always calm and beautifully clear, and a good-sized vessel can be moored so close in shore than a man may leap from her stern to the beach.

  The point was a favourite resort of mine at this hour, for the view up the coast at sunrise was one I loved. I was pleased to find the cove deserted, and, settling myself comfortably on one of the high sand dunes, I gazed eastward, where the first faint flush of dawn was beginning to appear. At that moment a slight sound caught my ear, and, glancing seaward, I perceived that a large sailing canoe was stealing in through the passage. Her great brown sails of matting were ghostly blots on the sea, and presently I could hear the low commands of the man at the masthead, conning her in. She came on fast under her press of sail, rounded-to smartly inside, and dropped her stone anchor with a resounding plunge. The sails were furled while paddlers brought her stern to the land, and a man sprang ashore to make fast her stern-line to a coconut stump.

  From the size of the vessel and the number of her crew, I judged that she carried passengers of consequence, but whoever they were, they still slept under the little thatched awning aft. Several of the crew came on land to build a fire of coconut husks and prepare food for the morning meal, and I saw two women helped ashore, who strolled away westward along the point and disappeared.

  It was full daylight, with the rim of the sun just above the horizon, when I rose, unperceived by the trave
lers, and walked across to the large river which emptied into the sea on the west side of the point. It was called Vaipoopoo, and close to the mouth there was a long reach of deep clear water in which I loved to swim—a quiet and beautiful spot, distant from the habitations of the Indians. The water was a good twenty yards across and so deep that a boat of twelve tons burthen might have entered to a distance of a quarter of a mile. Tall old mape trees arched overhead, their buttressed roots forming many a rustic seat along the banks.

  I had long since chosen such a seat for myself, high above the still water and at a distance of about a cable's length from the beach. Frequently in the late afternoon I spent an hour or two alone at this place, listening to the rustling of the trees high overhead, and watching the small speckled fresh-water fish as they rose for their evening meal of flies. In my fancy I had named this spot Withycombe, after our home in England, for indeed there were moments when the place seemed English to the core, when I fancied myself in the warm summer twilight at home, watching the trout rise in one of our West Country streams.

  To Withycombe, then, I repaired for my morning bath. I threw off the light mantle of Indian cloth from my shoulders and girded up the kilt about my waist. Next moment I slipped into the deep clear water and swam leisurely downstream, drifting with the gentle flow of the current. High in a tree overhead a bird was singing—an omaomao , whose song is sweeter than that of our English nightingale.